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The two combatants circled each other, sizing each other up.
The tension was palpable, a physical force pressing in from all sides.
The moment hung, stretched thin, a thread ready to snap.
And then, like a thunderclap, they clashed.
Ashale moved with a dancer’s grace, every motion precise and fluid.
He spun, ducked, and parried, his sword gleaming in the artificial lights.
Sneik, on the other hand, was all brute force.
He lunged and slashed, his movements wild and uncontrolled.
Yet there was raw power behind those swings, a kind of feral energy that made them terrifying.
Each time his weapon made contact with Ashale’s shield or armor, a resounding clang echoed through the pit, a chilling reminder of the damage he could inflict.
My senses became attuned to their battle.
The sharp tang of metal as swords clashed.
The thud of boots on sand.
The harsh breaths of exertion.
Each sensation magnified, making me hyper-aware of the unfolding drama.
At one point, Ashale executed a masterful feint, drawing Sneik in before pivoting and landing a solid hit on his opponent’s side.
The crowd erupted in cheers, but I barely heard them.
My heart raced, not with excitement, but with fear.
Every blow Ashale landed was a reminder of the blows he might receive.
Sneik, though clearly outmatched in skill, was not to be underestimated.
With a roar, he charged at Ashale, throwing his full weight behind a vicious swing.
Ashale barely managed to sidestep, and the blade narrowly missed him, sending up a spray of sand.
They continued their deadly dance, moving faster and with more urgency.
With every second, Ashale seemed to be gaining the upper hand.
His strikes became more confident, his footwork more assured.
But I couldn’t shake off a nagging feeling.
Sneik might be out skilled, but he only needed one solid hit to change the tide of the battle.
I remembered Ashale’s warnings about underestimating the opponent.
Sneik was strong, and strength, when rightly placed, could be devastating.
For a heart-stopping moment, Sneik seemed to gain the advantage, his blade coming dangerously close to Ashale’s neck.
