The portal spat them out, and Nova hit the ground rolling. The dirt and grass bashed into his face, with the kind of landing that can knock the wind out of an ordinary person. He coughed, pushing up on his elbows, and blinked against the sudden glare of sunlight.
Around him, the American guild sprawled in a loose cluster. The battlefield stretched out like some twisted park gone wrong. Rolling hills dipped and rose under a sky that looked too blue, too perfect, like the tournament folks had cranked up the graphics.
But up close, it was a mess. The ground was cracked in patches, dotted with weird stone pillars. Trees clustered in thick batches here and there, their leaves mixing purple and green together, blocking sight.
In the distance, a massive spire loomed at the center, golden in color, that had to be the submission point, a good mile or two off, easy to spot but hell to reach without eyes on you. The flags? It was going to be a long day, though Nova wanted to cut it short.
