The Colosseum was gone.
Not truly gone—its walls still loomed, its stands still held thousands—but the stage where champions had fought for centuries no longer existed. In its place yawned a crater, wide and deep, stone melted into slag at the edges, dust still choking the air. Fires burned in the ruins, smoke curling skyward to choke the silver of the moon.
No one could see the fighters within. No one even knew if they still stood.
The silence of the crowd broke all at once.
Phil was the first to move, stumbling forward with both hands clutching at his horns as if that would keep his head from splitting. "Sweet merciful gods above!" he barked, voice cracking under panic. "That was my stage! My Colosseum! Do you have any idea how many days—how much munny—it'll take to fix that?!" He kicked a loose stone that rolled from the shockwave, only to wince when it struck the crater's edge and bounced back at his hoof. "This isn't a tournament anymore—it's demolition! They're not fighting, they're tearing my livelihood apart!"
Despite the satyr's outrage, his voice shook, not only with frustration but with fear. He knew. They all knew. What had happened in the crater wasn't a match. It was war.
Hercules stood nearby, fists clenched, golden aura faintly flickering around his shoulders. He stared at the devastation with wide eyes, voice soft with disbelief. "That… that power…" He shook his head slowly, curls falling into his face. "I've fought monsters. I've stood against storms sent by the gods themselves. But this—" He swallowed, his usual optimism strained. "Can anyone even survive something like that?"
He said it like a question, but in his heart he wanted it to be faith.
On the other side of the stands, Kurai stood still, arms folded. Her expression was the same mask she always wore—cold, unreadable—but the darkness coiling faintly at her feet betrayed her agitation. Her gaze never left the crater, eyes narrowed as if they could pierce the smoke itself.
"He pushes himself further than his body can endure," she said flatly, though her voice was tight around the edges. "That's always been his flaw. He wins battles by bleeding himself dry."
Her arms tightened across her chest. She said no more, but she didn't need to. The very act of her speaking first said enough.
"HELIOS!"
Skuld's voice rang sharp, cutting the air. The girl leaned over the railing, knuckles white as she gripped the stone, tears threatening the corners of her eyes. Her voice was raw, breaking, but louder than the chaos of the crowd. "You idiot—don't you dare fall now! You're not allowed to leave us like this!"
Her words tumbled one over the other, half a cry, half a demand, born of desperation. Beside her, Zack leaned over as well, his tone the opposite—cheerful, but forced.
"That— that was the coolest thing I've ever seen!" His voice cracked midway, his grin too wide. He jabbed a finger at the crater, trying to distract himself from the knot in his stomach. "Did you see that wave?! And Sephiroth just—just cut it like it was nothing! Phil never trained me like that! All I got was running laps and smacking barrels with a wooden sword!"
Skuld snapped her head at him, eyes blazing. "Zack!"
"I'm just saying!" His hands went up in mock defense, though his eyes darted back nervously to the crater. The grin faltered, his voice lowering. "…He's not… really dead, right?"
No one answered him.
Tempest slammed her fist against the stone railing, sparks of her element snapping against her knuckles. "Damn it! Sitting here, watching while they have such an epic battle is hard!" Her eyes burned, jaw tight with fury. "That bastard Sephiroth is stronger than I thought, I'll—" She cut herself off with a sharp inhale, shoulders trembling. Her voice dropped, bitter as ash. "I should have been down there fighting. Not… just watching."
Helga exhaled slowly beside her, arms resting against the railing. She had no fire in her expression, no tears or anger. Only a calm analysis, heavy with weight.
"That blast," she said softly, "would've killed anyone else ten times over." Her eyes narrowed at the crater, as though willing the smoke to clear. "If they still stand, they're something beyond what we're meant to witness."
"Mm. Such seriousness."
Helga blinked as a voice cut across her shoulder—smooth, melodic, faintly mocking. She turned, and there was Circe, leaning against the rail as though she had been there all along. Her smile was sly, her gaze half-lidded, but her eyes shimmered with interest as they traced the smoke-filled crater.
"Quite the spectacle, isn't it?" Circe purred, lips curling. She tilted her head, studying Helga with obvious amusement. "But then, I suppose you do enjoy staring at powerful men exhausting themselves."
Helga's jaw tightened. "…Now is hardly the time, Circe."
"Isn't it?" Circe teased, brushing a strand of her dark hair back. "Moments like these bring out true colors. Fear. Awe. Desire." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that only Helga caught. "Tell me, which burns brighter in you, dear Helga?"
Helga's glare could have carved stone. She said nothing, choosing instead to turn her focus back to the smoke. Circe chuckled lightly, enjoying herself, and finally added, louder so all could hear: "Still… one has to wonder. Did either of them walk away from that?"
No one answered.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as the dust began to shift. Rubble cracked, stone gave way, faint sparks of energy still danced in the ruin. The crowd leaned forward as one, breaths caught in collective anticipation.
Somewhere in the crater, a shadow stirred.