The roar of one hundred thousand spectators hit the staging tunnels like a physical wave of excess pressure. The Grand Colosseum of Aethelgard was a stone-built titan. A five-tiered arena of heavy ferro-concrete and polished granite that rose eighty meters above the central sand arena. High above the stadium rim, massive light-projected projection globes broadcasted the panoramic feed to billions of viewers across the seven federal mega-cities, their displays flashing with dynamic odds, sponsor logos, and high-definition rosters: STAGE II: THE 64TH INTER-CITY College CRUCIBLE.
Arthur stood at the head of the Ironfang Vanguard delegation in the northern entrance archway, adjusting the heavy brass buckle of his tactical chest harness. Behind him, Toby carried the squad’s ammunition drums and field repair cases. Meanwhile, Instructor Valerie leaned against the damp concrete wall, checking the action of her sidearm with cold skilled calm distance.
Grimm stood beside Arthur’s left hip, his black coat brushed until it looked like buffed black glass. Around his muscular neck, Arthur had fitted a shock-absorbing combat collar equipped with a high-capacity neural tracking data transmitter. Above them, Pip perched on Arthur’s right shoulder plate. His wings tucked was tight, his golden eyes scanning the blinding sweep of the stadium lights. Titus brought up the rear, his four-ton mass rumbling over the granite flat stone slabs like a slow-moving siege tower.
