The gladiators backed away worriedly. Mercy stood gracefully in the middle of the battlefield, her large black and red scythe in hand.
With her crimson eyes raised to the sky, she mesmerized spectators with her powerful aura. Her hair had been cut short, back to its length from 2 years prior.
Her radiant body was now unblemished, marked by flame tattoos that flowed down to her hands glowing like fire.
She looked down, a contented smile on her lips, and exhaled slightly. Her heart was beating faster than ever, but it wasn't a feeling she hated.
Almost blushing, she felt a rush of pleasure and excitement then observed the enormous scythe whose blade did not touch the ground. She caressed the metal with a melancholy look.
"... Sorry Peet, looks like I couldn't make a spear...but that's okay too, right? Because I'm me."
She raised the weapon effortlessly and twirled gracefully like a dance. It was as if she had made one with the scythe.
