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“What are you so happy about?” Ingram asked. He was taller and older than Roc, with hair that fittingly resembled an owl’s plumage.

However, the tide of battle began to change. Despite Abner receiving all the damage, Reiss was the one getting tired. No matter how much blood Abner puked up, he kept getting to his feet and charging, while Reiss, after every blast, was breathing harder and harder with a noticeable tremor of fatigue running through his body. Noah decided it was time to end the fight. Once again, Abner, albeit slowly due to all his injuries, hobbled towards Reiss, shouting with resolve. Reiss, scrounging up what little strength he had left, hit Abner with a weak blast, knocking him back only a few feet and kicking up a cloud of dust. Once again, Abner started to get up.

The fights continued, but they were becoming more and more drawn out. The weakest combatants had all been culled in the first three rounds, and now the remaining warriors were going at it with everything they had. Eventually, Noah’s first target entered the arena. He was a young man, spirited and garbed in plate mail, having won his fights with hard-won determination and effort. His name was Falco. Noah followed him outside, the warrior unaware of his presence. On the other end of the ring, his opponent arrived, another man, a few inches taller and years older, wearing dark clothes and an amused smirk upon seeing Falco. Both were brawlers, entering the ring without weapons.