Gravel and rust ripped across the arena as the wind user brought his palms together.
The air pressure in the sunken pit dropped violently. Dust spiraled upward, caught in the localized cyclone forming between the man's hands. Beside him, the acid spitter recovered his footing, his jaw unhinging with a wet crack as bright green bile pooled at the back of his throat. The remaining two D-Block users flanked them, wielding salvaged steel pipes, their eyes hollow and feral.
Elias stayed on his hands and knees, staring at the coarse sand. The iron wedge he had conjured to shatter the leader's ankle had completely drained his core. His fractured ribs ground together with every shallow breath. The familiar hollow pull in his stomach threatened to drag him into unconsciousness.
"Get up, Kael!" Tidwell barked, stepping forward. He didn't have his cloud Ikona to hide behind anymore. He gripped his lone combat knife, planting his boots wide. "We can't outrun a gale in a locked box!"
