The atmosphere in the arena had changed, not physically.
The stone remained the same, the banners still fluttered overhead, and the crowd still filled every seat.
Yet the atmosphere was different, a bit heavier and gloomier.
As though a blade had been drawn and left hanging over everyone's heads.
All of it because of Donovan Young. His actions turned the atmosphere foul.
The Drevlorn noble rose slowly from the cracked arena floor after the referee released him.
His cheek was swollen, dust was in his hair, and his pride was wounded far worse.
The booing began almost immediately.
It rolled through the arena like thunder.
"Cheater!"
"Go home! Drevlornian bastard."
"Ungrateful trash!"
"Who hits after surrendering? Fuck yourself!"
Even candidates joined in. The insults came from every direction.
Donovan's jaw tightened, his grip clenched until his knuckles whitened.
But he kept walking. One step, then another.
