The shocked gasps that escaped the mammoth crowd echoed through the arena, and though their sound gradually faded, their widened eyes did not follow suit. They remained fixed, raw and unblinking, on the scene revealed at the center of the arena as the crouching dust finally began to settle.
Because of the speed of his strike, most had not seen it connect—only the burst of dust that followed the impact. But now Kuracha's disposition had changed entirely. He stood in a mirrored stance against Kunku, hands locked against hands, feet planted firmly into the ground. Though he had approached carelessly, almost lazily, once within reach he unleashed a back-swinging slap. The ripple came from the clash—but the dust had risen from Kuracha's violent stomp, a force meant to amplify his strike. Even so, it met heavy resistance against Kunku's already braced posture.
When the dust thinned completely, the real clash began.
Fist met fist.
