The thunderous chants continued to shake the Grand Arena.
"FINISH HIM!"
"FINISH HIM!"
"FINISH HIM!"
The voices of thousands of spectators merged into one overwhelming roar, echoing far beyond the arena walls and throughout the capital itself.
Every eye remained fixed on the battlefield.
Every heart pounded with anticipation.
Lucas stood motionless amidst the shattered stone, his robes fluttering gently in the lingering heat of his flames.
Across from him, Khan could barely remain upright.
Blood streamed down his battered face.
One eye was swollen nearly shut.
His breathing was ragged, every inhale labored, every exhale stained with blood.
His once-proud posture had long since disappeared.
The contrast between the two men could not have been greater.
One stood tall, calm, and completely composed.
The other looked as though a single gust of wind might knock him to the ground.
The crowd's chanting only intensified.
"FINISH HIM!"
"FINISH HIM!"
"FINISH HIM!"
