Zogar pants heavily as sweat and blood drip down his shirtless figure, his hand gripping the handle of his axe tightly as his long hair cascades down his back and framing his face. His lips are parted and tusks on full display before he throws his head back and releases a loud roar of triumph, punching his fist high in the air as the stadium cheers.

He huffs and rubs blood off his nose ring, making his way back to the stand where the chiefs remain. Blood is everywhere, as well as corpses.