A ripple of distorted space twisted around Razeal's form and in the blink of an eye, he reappeared outside the massive gates of Worth.
He staggered slightly on impact, catching himself just before his boots fully touched the floor.
"Tch... dammn," he muttered, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. "Time's already up?"
His gaze flicked upward toward the setting sun, casting a bleeding orange hue across the field of survivors. The warmth of it contrasted harshly with the cold reality around him.
All around, one by one, others began appearing in pulses of glowing lightteleported just like him dumped outside the Trial Grounds with no fanfare, no applause. Some stumbled forward with haunted eyes, others limped, bloodied, limbs wrapped in hasty bandages torn from their own clothes. Mud. Ash. Blood. Despair.
The air reeked of iron and exhaustion.
And silence.
Dead, heavy silence.
Only broken by murmurs like ghosts lingering in the wind.
