Time soon passed, and the horn blasted a deep, resonant vibration carved from the hollowed tusk of a Mammoth that rattled the very bones of the spectators.
DOOOOOM.
The heavy iron gates of Block C ground open, screeching against the permafrost like a dying beast.
A roar from fifty thousand throats hit the competitors like a physical wave.
The Arena of Fangs was a pit of white ice and frozen blood, surrounded by tiered seating carved directly into the sheer glacier walls.
"Fighters!" The announcer, a scrawny Fox-kin perched safely on a floating platform, grinned with too many teeth, his magically amplified voice cutting through the wind.
"Welcome to culling games!"
Below, fifty warriors stood in a loose, chaotic circle.
Massive Polar Bear-kin hefted stone pillars like twigs, Wolf-kin packs coordinated their breathing in sync, and Boar-kin sharpened their tusks against the ice.
And in the corner, a solitary island of calm in a sea of aggression, stood
"Leo."
