"It's been more than ten moves, you lose!" Ethan's voice was detached and cold, slicing through the air with factual finality.
He planted himself before Bram with the unyielding poise of a mountain, his eyes devoid of fear, unimpressed by dynastic pride or illustrious heritage.
Bram, battered yet stubborn, spat back, "Fart, I haven't lost yet!" Before the crowd could recover, he swept out his spear in a flash of golden light, unwilling to admit defeat, refusing to see the mark of his own loss.
Ethan's body bent low, posture almost mocking, and Azure flames flared to life in his palms—streaks of blue fire burning with a spiritual intensity that could melt steel and purify poisons.
With brutal precision, he struck upward. The elemental force crashed into Bram's Golden Dragon Spear, swallowing its power whole above all expectation.
