The morning breeze cleared the lingering haze of copper vapor from the central platform.
Across the four tiered halls of Mount Apex, one hundred thousand fighters sat in breathless silence. Nobody dared to rustle their silk robes.
In the middle of the shattered floor, Class 404 conducted routine site cleanup.
Shen Shitou wheeled an iron wheelbarrow past the scorer’s table, heaping twisted fragments of assassin bone daggers into a scrap pile with metal clangs.
Xiao Yu swept copper soot and charred wraith-mail ash into a zinc-coated dustpan, humming a rhythmic shop tune.
Princess Ling’er stretched yellow caution tape across wooden stakes to keep spectators from tumbling into the high-voltage pit.
Murong Seven sat on an upturned crate, carefully wiping the rubber-padded jaws of his lineman’s pliers with an oily rag.
Frank stood by his folding card table, clicking his ballpoint pen against his grease-stained clipboard.
