Willow's crimson eyes darted toward Ezra.
The young Gun Alchemist was sitting calmly on the damaged platform, one knee slightly raised while the other leg rested against the ground. Parts of the platform around him had been carved apart by Willow's Crimson Blood Webs, leaving long, clean cuts across the stone surface.
Some sections were now getting covered in thin layers of snow falling gently down.
Others had been reduced to broken pieces of stone that were scattered around the two Young Alchemists.
The air still carried traces of the battle.
There was the faint smell of smoke from the explosions.
The sharp scent of blood remained around Willow.
Tiny particles of the M38 SDMRs that had disappeared moments ago were still fading from the battlefield, drifting away like small points of light whenever the wind passed through the Arena.
Ezra was breathing heavily.
