The crowd roared again as another fighter collapsed to the ground, rolling into the edge of the stone pit with a heavy grunt.
Tap! Tap!!
Blood dripped from his nose, and a single spark of residual magic fizzled out on his forearm as he gasped for air.
The announcer, a tall man with silver rings braided into his beard, lifted his arms with theatrical flair.
"Another one down! That makes five straight wins for our champion tonight! Raithe the Breaker!"
Raithe raised one fist to the crowd, his knuckles stained and cracked. His chest heaved, but there was no weakness in his stance—only practiced power and confidence bred by repetition. The crowd chanted his name like thunder.
Damien stood beside the railing, arms folded, eyes cold and calculating.
Lyone had barely blinked for the past three fights.
"That guy's scary," Lyone muttered. "He's like… all muscle, no mercy."
"Sharp eyes," Damien said dryly.
The announcer stepped back into the ring and pointed to the gathering crowd.
