Myghell's head turned, his golden gaze meeting Leonel's pale violet irises.
For a moment, the world turned still, a hollow clash reverberating before what sounded like the roar of dragons and the cry of phoenixes resonated through the air. Though, it was difficult to tell if this was truly what was happening, or if it was simply an illusion created by the thumping hearts of those spectating.
It felt as though the other still ongoing battles were meaningless, as though what remained of the Selection had suddenly become a poor attempt at extending vacant, vacuous entertainment when the true root of what they wanted to see was already right before them.
Leonel might have still stood on his stage while Myghell had already stepped down from his own. And yet, their gazes still somehow felt level.
A thick violet aura hung around Leonel, a dense golden fog hanging around Myghell.
