The Gate let HIM go the same way it always did, with that faint pop of displaced air and a swirl of mist that clung to his shoulders for a few seconds before drifting away.
Theodore stepped out onto the cracked concrete with his blade still resting loose in his hand, shoulders damp with sweat that chilled instantly in the evening breeze.
The noise of the plaza hit him all at once, cheers, a few scattered whoops, the rustle of bodies pressing closer to the barricades just to get a better look at the quiet guy who hadn't flinched once inside.
Up above, the big scoreboard flickered in blocky neon, his name stamped clean at the top.
[FINAL SCORE: 78 pts — CURRENT TOP SCORE.]
He didn't look up at it long. The numbers were what they were, enough to keep the next treatment paid for, maybe even enough for another round after that if he stretched it.
He rolled his shoulders once, feeling the tired pull in his arms where the hobgoblin's axe had grazed him, it wasn't anything serious.
