BANG!
Sylas landed in the middle of an arena, his aura rippling out in waves of wild sparks of lightning.
Deng. Deng. Deng.
One piece of the Scorpion Warlord Armor after another snapped into place, sounding so solid and real it reverberated akin to metal sliding along metal and mountains clashing against mountain.
As soon as the last piece slid into place, the world roared and his tail swayed.
Ahead, on the bottom of the stage, Alex cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. He had put on formal wear—a black suit, finely pressed, adorning him from head to toe along with a nice top hat. He played his part all too well.
In the crowd, not too far off, Old Brama stood next to Jala, shaking his head. Both were wondering what was going on and wanted to ask more questions, but Alex seemed gung-ho with what he had already gotten.
They weren't even technically allowed to be here, but apparently, rules didn't matter anymore.
