The elevator reached the bottom of the vertical shaft with a dull metallic thud, sending ripples across the dark water covering the sub-platform floor.
The strike team stepped out into the flooded railway corridor, their armored feet submerged to mid-calf in freezing, stagnant runoff.
Thick void vapor leaked from cracks in the foundation walls, hissing as it dissolved ambient mana and corroded the lenses of the municipal surveillance cameras.
Overhead, thick bundles of severed tournament broadcast cables hung like hanging vines, sparking weakly against the rusted ceiling beams.
"The ambient mana density is seventy percent void-aligned," Vasa whispered, checking the glowing needles on his handheld atmospheric gauge.
"Without our shadow cloaks, our skin would suffer chemical necrosis in less than three minutes!"
"Maintain your breathing filters and keep your barrier shields active," the young commander instructed, moving forward with silent, fluid strides.
