The lone fighter in critical condition was a man who'd somehow survived his encounter but was barely clinging to consciousness. His platform was soaked with blood, his breathing shallow and irregular.
He wouldn't survive another round. Everyone watching knew it. He probably knew it too.
"Impressive!" Jeren announced cheerfully, as if commenting on a particularly entertaining play rather than mass slaughter. "Such tenacity! Such will to survive! The gods are most pleased!"
He clapped his hands together.
"You've earned a longer rest this time. Thirty minutes! Use it well—eat, recover, prepare yourselves. You've made it to the final round!"
The platforms' barriers flickered and lowered slightly, no longer trapping the fighters in complete isolation. The oppressive divine presence that had permeated the arena seemed to lift somewhat—the gods withdrawing their attention momentarily.
For the first five minutes, divine lights descended again. But noticeably fewer this time.
