Calm swept the insides of the hall when Tristan fell to the ground, unconscious. A strange decorum unfolded as everyone who had witnessed that fight felt their minds buzzed as though they had just tried to assimilate too much.
Some wondered if Tristan was dead now because he indeed had taken a lot of damage, his silver-haired friend was also impressive. Having the type of firepower to disable his opponent from a distance spoke of skill and a lot of practice.
Isril continued to pant from exhaustion. He once again had to nearly empty his pool before he could put his friend down. It was even worse since with each wave he upped the amount of energy he put into those shooting pellets.
Feeling his knees grow shaky he wondered how that spar had turned into a near life-and-death battle. What exactly happened to Tristan?
He had switched out of nowhere, but a portion of his mind tried to remain trusting, while the other portion already wanted to leave him.
