The crowd had finally calmed down; they had seen the newcomer creep towards Nero. Skirting through the corridors and making his way behind the foe. Cheers went up from the crowd as they thought it was all over, some shouted encouragement, some shouted with rage at Nero for not noticing. Zelos remained silent.
With a sharp bang the crowd roared, Nero had pulled it off. People jumped and roared in frenzy. As they always did, empty drink cups, hats and food were being thrown into the air as the crowd rejoiced. Zelos did not join the merriment, instead he reached into the inside pocket of his long, black trench-coat. He pulled out a small book and began to study it.
The crowd had begun to quit the stand, excitedly chattering about the latest match of Blood box. Some were grinning, probably gamblers who had bet on Nero, others were complaining that it wasn’t a fair fight. There were always those sorts of complaints. Zelos ended up as the last man in the stands. He made a little mark in his book and snapped it shut. Taking one last look into the stand, he noted the body of Nero’s unfortunate foe. The bullet had obviously lodged in the nervous system as he was still twitching like a bug.
For a bug is what he was, thought Zelos. Insignificant, rising stars like Nero barely noticed they had stepped on them as they rose to the top. Zelos knew this better than anyone.
Sweeping his long, silver locks back he turned to leave. The lights illuminating the stage went out, and the Blood box was silent once again.