A sentry of ground erupted where Luthar had crashed; the sand exploded into a dome of glittering grit that fell like brown rain. When it settled, both fighters were breathing hard, their faces masks of resolve and fatigue. The sound of the crowd faded until only the wind remained, sweeping through the silent arena like a whisper of judgment. Everyone was frozen, eyes wide, hearts racing, watching two forces collide beyond their understanding.
Luthar's eyes were dark embers now, burning with pride and fury. "You'll die," he hissed. "No one."
Nolan cut him off with a movement that looked more like a ritual than an attack, a calm, deliberate palm to the chest that felt like the closing line in a confession. Luthar staggered backward, breath breaking from his lungs. The ring of sand around them trembled and curved inward, carving itself into a shallow moat where all the tension and violence of their clash seemed to gather.
