A father-son pair almost bumped into him. Kazi brushed past them and avoided heavy contact at the last second. Rubbing the back of his head, he murmured, "Man, this place is busy."
Valhalla's Colosseum, the massive base that served as a port for battle and betting. Like an airport, the walk was endless. Hundreds of angels at the tables for support. Sections of chairs to stare up at a sports betting exchange mindlessly. Only at the end of the cardinal directions were an even greater awe. Massive staircases that led players to a set of floors. Huge gates next to three of them for spectators. After all, on every tenth floor was a stadium. A tournament. Tournaments needed sponsors and people for it to make a profit; for them to get eyes and for people to recognize the winner's greatness.
"Dad, no, the ticket says the west!"
"My bad, my bad. I keep forgetting."
