"Bang!"
On the Arena, the Black Cloak whirled, and from its expansive sleeves emerged a pale palm. It moved swiftly, breaking the air and striking the chest of the Fighter in front. The surrounding airflow shook with the sound of empty air being shattered.
The strong-bodied Fighter was sent flying straight out, rotating clockwise in mid-air as if touched by some inexplicable force. Suddenly, he spun like a windmill.
A few seconds later, the man thudded to the ground, dizzy and disoriented.
He tried to support himself to stand up, but he kept falling to one side. After several attempts, he stood up, pale-faced, leaning on the Arena's protective railing. Yet as soon as he let go, he fell down again.
This condition seemed like the complete malfunctioning of the inner ear's position sensors. He felt an overwhelming urge to vomit, as if the blood in his body was flowing backward.
"Match number twelve on the Arena has concluded."
