A heavy silence hung over the coliseum like a brewing storm. Dust swirled where blood had spilled, and divine sparks still lingered in the air, crackling faintly.
Then Iris, the radiant herald of Olympus, raised her voice to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen! We've decided to take a short recess!"
A collective gasp, then murmurs.
Hermes, who just returned to his senses, swiftly joins her.
"What an intense match! Let's hear it for our two incredible fighters!" He cried, lifting the audience's tension with theatrical flair.
Behind the colorful words and forced smiles, this was a strategic pause—called not by the Earth faction, but by Kronos himself.
Ares, the pride of the Kronos faction, was down. Broken. His face shattered, body in shambles. And Thrax? He was no better. Barely clinging to life, his torso cleaved open, blood still streaming as he was carried from the battlefield.
In the medical chamber beneath the arena, the atmosphere was grim.
