"He killed him!"
After ten seconds of silence, a single word of a young girl sitting on the audience benches was enough to plunge the atmosphere into chaos. Everyone saw what happened, but she was the only one who could articulate it; Mel Malcom, nicknamed Plant Division genius, would never let his opponent breathe again.
When he removed his fingers from the skull, parts of the white brain were on his red-dominated hand. Like a noble with mud splashed on his body, he shook off the remains of his opponent and threw them onto the floor of the arena, and raised his head, which had been bent on the ground for a long time, and spoke.
"Whoever confronts me today, who steps on the battlefield against me, will have his end like this!"