'That thing moved like liquid murder,' he thought, glancing at the corpse of the Glassmaw, 'Any beast lower than E rank would have been more or less decimated by it…'
He turned his head towards the opening gate, 'And yet there's more? Of course there is.'
He spat on the stone beside him, tasting iron in his mouth.
The rusted chains above jerked taunt, and a low mechanical rumble rolled through the arena like the growl of some sleeping colossus. The noise echoed off the carved walls, growing louder as the gate began to rise.
Dust and flakes of blackened moss dropped from the ceiling, cascading like Ash. Ash braced himself, crouching low, every muscle coiled tight with anticipation.
Something else was coming.
Another.
His muscles screamed, but his stance didn't falter. Not yet.
He took a shaky breath, letting the cold air burn his lungs.
The air still hadn't settled. The stones beneath his feet pulsed faintly, as if the arena itself was hungry for more.
