The teleportation light shimmered, humming with quiet authority before it peeled away in soft tendrils of light.
Alex appeared, his boots hitting stone with a sharp, deliberate thud.
But the instant his soles met the ground, a signal blared in his instincts.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
The air wasn't calm. It didn't welcome him with the usual serene stillness reserved for the VIP Combatant Zone, where fighters gathered between rounds to rest, reflect, and prepare.
Instead, it was choked.
Heavy.
Not with tension, but with cinders and ozone.
The scent struck first. Burnt roots. Cracked stone. The metallic tang of residual mana cooked at high heat. It hit his nose like the remnants of a smothered wildfire.
Alex's eyes sharpened.
His senses extended.
This wasn't residual magic.
This was aftermath.
He took a slow step forward, scanning the surroundings.
The room once pristine was now in ruin.
