Then, for a brief moment, Kyrion's expression darkened. His body tensed, shoulders tightening as if preparing for something unseen. His eyes dropped, shadowed beneath his brow, and a deep frown carved across his face. Then, just as suddenly, he relaxed. His breathing steadied. Slowly, he closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the light within them was gone replaced by a cold, piercing calm. The familiar grin returned, but it wasn't the same. It was darker. Empty.
In that instant, the blood soaking the sand began to stir. Droplets shimmered crimson under the arena lights, trembling as if answering an unspoken command. The crowd watched, frozen in disbelief, as every drop of Kyrion's spilled blood along with torn muscle and flesh rose from the ground like threads of liquid red drawn by invisible strings.
