Young Writers Society

Bishop groaned loudly in pain as he entered the forcefield. He grabbed the two tendrils that had wrapped themselves around his midsection, and pressed them to himself, before leaning back. The force of his weight eventually pulled Sockettrip down to the floor.
Bishop yanked the tendrils, gasping, until his opponent drew close enough for him to aim a kick at his chest. Sockettrip coughed, and the attendant by the stands shouted. “One point!”
Aruna found that she was gripping the railing tightly as well. She loosened her grip. Took a deep breath. Bishop would have to repeat the whole stunt before thirty seconds ran out.
If he didn’t, things could still be fine. It would be a draw, and old man Howler could still win the last round.
But if he did, what happened in the last round wouldn’t matter at all.