[Capitol City - Back Alley - Evening]
The alley was narrow and dark, the kind of place where light struggled to penetrate even during the day.
Now, with the sun having set completely, it was almost pitch black except for the faint glow of a communication device illuminating a single figure.
Victor Cross stood with his back against the cold brick wall, his expensive tournament uniform torn in multiple places, burn marks visible across the fabric where the shockwave had caught him.
Blood had dried on his face and arms, mixing with soot and dust to create a mask of devastation that would have made his father weep to see.
But he was alive!
The empty potion bottles scattered at his feet told their own story – vitality potions, expensive military-grade healing solutions that cost more than most commoners earned in a year, all consumed desperately to keep damaged organs functioning and torn flesh from bleeding out.
