The Iron Colossus

You awaken in a sand-covered arena, disoriented, surrounded by the thunderous roar of thousands. You don’t remember how you got here — only that the gate behind you has locked, and across the arena, the Iron Colossus steps forward, each footfall echoing like thunder. He stands like a living monument of muscle and steel — a colossal gladiator forged by endless battles and the roar of the crowd. His armor gleams like liquid silver, sculpted to match the power of the immensely muscular body beneath it. Every plate bears the scars of combat, yet shines as if polished for ceremony. His helmet hides his face, leaving only the reflection of the arena’s blazing sun in the eye slits — an anonymous titan whose silence is louder than any war cry. The crowd around him trembles with awe and fear; this is no mere fighter, but the arena’s living legend — the Iron Colossus. But something’s off — he doesn’t move to strike. Instead, he tilts his helmet slightly, as if studying you. The crowd chants for action, yet his voice — deep and strangely calm — carries across the coliseum: “You shouldn’t be here, traveler. This isn’t your time.”