A shadow fell over Adam, leaving visible only his lone eye and the brightly burning crimson flame from his armor.
The sword shuddered, losing contact with the chain and Adam, the energy quickly drained away destining the ghastly sword to become nothing more than a multitude of dark red clots.
Nothing more was cutting Nirosh's leg, the bright, almost unbearable pain was gone, but... it wasn't a good sign for him.
Thrust.
Fingertips covered in multiple layers of armor from a heavy crimson gauntlet dug into Nirosh's flesh on his chest.
They possessed no sharpness, just brute force - it was enough to tear Nirosh's skin, sink deep, and break his bones.
As a last hope, Nirosh reached his hand forward, trying to do something, but it was too late.
If he wanted to stay alive, he had to be stronger - everyone at the Moon Colosseum understood that even a child saw a bloody battle for the first time.
It was the truth - simple and obvious.
