The Grand Arena, a colossal amphitheater carved directly into the bedrock of the central peak, was packed to absolute maximum capacity.
Banners of every color snapped in the morning wind.
Floating projection screens replayed the greatest hits of the past three days.
Ji'an stood in the center of the extraction circle, her ears ringing, her Szechuan Red combat silk hanging in tattered ribbons. She blinked, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the blinding glare of the morning sun.
"Look at them!" a commentator's magically amplified voice boomed from the executive box. "The vanguard of the new era! The survivors of the most brutal crucible in sectarian history!"
But the cheers were not evenly distributed.
As the dust settled and the sixteen survivors became visible, the crowd's roar didn't focus on the pristine, silver-haired Ice Demon, nor the radiant, golden-haired Holy Son.
The stadium hysterically lost its collective mind over the exhausted cook standing in the middle.
