The Colosseum was silent.
A moment ago, it had been a cauldron of noisem, 100,000 people screaming for blood. Now, the only sound was the hiss of cooling stone.
Gareth, the Champion of Class C, stood frozen inside his earth fortress. He didn't breathe. He didn't blink.
He reached up slowly, his gauntleted hand trembling, and touched his ear. His fingers came back red.
He looked at the stone wall in front of him. A perfectly circular hole, no wider than a gold coin, had been melted through three feet of magically reinforced granite.
The edges of the hole were glowing white-hot, dripping molten slag onto his boots.
"Surrender," a voice squeaked from across the arena.
Gareth looked up.
Lukas stood twenty meters away. He looked terrified. His knees were knocking together, and he was gripping his right wrist with his left hand as if trying to steady a violently shaking gun.
Smoke curled from the tip of his index finger.
