The National Colosseum had never been this loud.
Every standing section was packed six people deep. The aisles were clogged with bodies. Vendors had given up walking through the crowd and were just tossing bags of roasted nuts over people's heads. Banners from a dozen different academies waved overhead, but the two most common were the gold of the Crown and the hand-painted, slightly crooked "TEAM SOUP" signs that had spread through the slum districts like wildfire.
Holden stepped onto the championship stage.
The stone platform was wider than the Semi-Finals arena, a perfect circle fifty meters across. The edges dropped off into a shallow sand pit where eliminated fighters landed.
He looked across the stage.
Four figures stood in a tight formation, completely still.
