Pangea Academy's Number Two! (BOOK 2)

Greetings From An Old Friend!

America woke up a little later than usual but of course his friends had already saved him a seat. Russia gestured down next to him, and America happily obliged.

The grand colosseum stood firm, its colossal form looming majestically against the backdrop of the academy. Carved from ancient stone, its weathered facade bore the marks of time, yet retained an undeniable aura of power and grandeur. As the sun began its ascent, casting a warm, golden glow over the horizon, the towering arches and intricately adorned walls seemed to come alive with a sense of anticipation. 

Within the colossal amphitheater, the vast expanse of the arena lay bathed in sunlight, a sea of sand stretching out beneath the open sky. Tier upon tier of seating rose in concentric circles around the arena, each level teeming with eager spectators, their voices a rising tide of excitement and fervor.

The air was electric with anticipation as the audience slowly filled the seats, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone corridors. Students, faculty, and scouts alike mingled in the bustling throng, their faces alive with anticipation and excitement for the spectacle that was about to unfold.

At the heart of the colosseum, a raised platform served as the focal point of attention. Here, a trio of announcers stood poised, their figures silhouetted against the backdrop of the arena. NATO stood shoulder to shoulder with the other two headmasters. Clad in elaborate attire that spoke of tradition and reverence for the occasion, they surveyed the scene before them with a mixture of pride and anticipation.

The atmosphere crackled with energy as the announcers prepared to address the gathered masses. Without a word spoken, their presence alone commanded the attention of the audience, who waited with bated breath for the spectacle to begin.

Around them, the colosseum buzzed with excitement, the air alive with the hum of anticipation and the murmur of countless conversations. Banners and flags fluttered in the breeze, emblazoned with the sigils of rival factions and favorite gladiators, their colors a riot of vibrant hues against the backdrop of the ancient stone.

NATO cleared his throat, "These coming weeks, beneath the watchful gaze of the gods, the grand spectacle of the colosseum will unfold, a testament to the power you all were gifted since birth."

Roaring cheers cascaded through the colosseum like a thunderous wave, echoing off the ancient stone walls and filling the air with electrifying energy.

Just that one sentence invoked such excitement from the crowd. Hell, America was excited and he wasn't even allowed to participate.

The School of Viking director spoke next, "Today, we stand on the threshold of greatness, ready to witness feats of courage, skill, and valor that will echo through the ages. Let the roar of the crowd fuel your spirit, let the thrill of battle ignite your passion, for within these sacred walls, the fires of triumph burn bright, and only the bravest shall emerge victorious."

"So let the battles begin, and may the gods themselves look down upon us with favor as we embark on this epic journey of glory and honor!" The headmaster of Greek Warrior Academy concluded.

A roar of cheers surged through the colosseum like a mighty tempest, an unstoppable force that swept across the arena and reverberated through every stone and crevice. It was a symphony of excitement and anticipation, a cacophony of voices united in fervent support of the gladiators about to clash in the arena. Each cheer was a thunderous declaration of allegiance, a testament to the unyielding passion and fervor of the spectators who had come to witness the spectacle unfold. 

Russia whistled, "That old sack really knows how to get a crowd going."

"Was he there when you were a student?" America turned his attention to Russia.