Boom!
The arena shook as the sound echoed across the battlefield. Then—silence. Not a word from the spectators. Not a breath, not a whisper. The thousands of Titans, creatures known for their pride and bloodlust, sat frozen. Their gazes were locked onto the center of the arena, their minds struggling to process what they were seeing.
It was nothing like they had imagined when the battle began.
Lying there, broken and battered, was Zenith—their champion, their pride. His massive frame twitched unconsciously, sprawled across the stone floor, his blood pooling like spilled ink. Crimson stained the ground, painting grotesque patterns beneath him. Bits of torn flesh and internal organs were scattered amidst the gore, a testament to the sheer brutality he had suffered.
Standing over him was Greg, untouched, his expression one of mild annoyance.
