Broken And Torn Apart
The scythe boy's vision spun wildly, the world around him dissolving into a dizzying blur of light and shadow. His knees buckled, and the scythe slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the stone floor. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the silhouette of the young man, calm and composed, standing over him like a predator who had just claimed its prey.
The arena fell into stunned silence.
The brown-haired young man straightened, his movements deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. His calm expression never wavered as he bent down and picked up the fallen scythe. The weapon's once-menacing aura was gone, its blade gleaming innocently in the sunlight.
He examined the scythe for a moment before resting it over his shoulder, his dark brown eyes sweeping across the crowd one after another.
The spectators were frozen, their faces a mix of disbelief and awe.