The Scarlet MegamantisThe gate creaked open before him, the metallic sound ringing out like a death knell. Mordred stepped forward, one deliberate stride at a time, into the dark tunnel that led to the arena.
There, the light awaited him. And with it, the ravenous eyes of tens of thousands.
As he advanced, the roar of the crowd grew sharper, deeper, more oppressive. Jeers, whistles, insults. Occasional cheers, too. Blended together, distorted.
But Mordred heard none of it.
His gaze remained fixed, his shoulders square, his hands already near the hilt of his katana. The arena sand unfolded before him—vast, cold, laden with the scent of dried blood, animal sweat, death.
When he crossed the gate and stepped into the light, the Coliseum erupted.
-"MORDRED!"
- "THE DOG WITH A MAN'S FANGS!"
- "HE'S BACK!"
The announcer exulted, his amplified voice rising above the tumult of the crowd:
