Aftermath
Mason kneeled, bloodied and about to fall over, but triumphant. He could still support some of his weight, so he didn't think the piercing of his leg had completely crippled him. He was more concerned about the shot that had nearly taken his eye, he still didn't dare try to open it. Half his face is covered with blood, rapidly staining his clothing.
The arena is like something Kubric and Escher might have collaborated on, with some bits of shrapnel thrown even into the stands. Kerouac is laid out, barely conscious, having admitted defeat.
The crowd is already in an uproar, some calling foul over Mason's mutation, some calling for another to challenge in Kerouac's place, others cheering just for the spectacle of what had been a truly impressive battle, and even polite applause from a few romantics, glad to see the defending champion triumph.
"My name... is Mason Jeffries..." He coughs out the words, forcing a grin as he tries to limp towards the royal box. "--and I. Am. Canadian."
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