The Spar's results

Everywhere fell silent as all spectators fixed their eyes on the corner of the stage veiled in a dense cloud of raised dust. The tension in the air was palpable, some clenched their lips tightly, others emitted muffled murmurs, while a few even rose from their seats, their gazes darting within their sockets, dancing between hope and disbelief. Nyxander stood motionless, a stoic figure against the backdrop of chaos, his calm eyes piercing through the swirling haze as he waited for it to dissipate.

Slowly, the dust began to settle, unveiling Kal's shadow like the silhouette of a wounded predator clinging to survival. He knelt on his right knee, his trembling hand gripping the hilt of his sword, which was planted into the ground for support. "Kuff, kuff," Kal coughed, blood dripping from the right corner of his lips. As the last remnants of the dust cleared, he forced himself upright, though his body swayed unsteadily.