It was a sight to behold, seeing this little man in front of him bask in the moment like he did. Ronan could feel just how the man felt. The crowd was barely a handful, nothing compared to the good old days, but the effect was only slightly less as the guests of the Four in Hand were shouting at and encouraging their favorite fighter while cursing the other one as best they could. The fight was at its peak moment, the grand finale. Even those who didn't see the flow of the fight, which Ronan assumed was mostly everyone present here, could feel that the end was near, that they had to pour every bit of energy they had into their favorite fighter, the person they put their money on.
The final confrontation lasted all of two trills. One moment, Ronan and his opponent were facing off, the next, Ronan stood victorious over his opponent. Those that blinked at the wrong moment missed it all, the others barely comprehended what had happened. Only Ronan, and perhaps his opponent, knew for sure.
When his opponent sprang forward, charging him, Ronan acted mostly out of sheer instinct, reacting to his opponent, rather than defending himself in any sort of controlled fashion. The distance between them was closed quickly, his opponent sure of his victory, forsaking his defense in an attempt to end it quicker. The man's fist rushed for Ronan's seemingly defenseless side and Ronan shifted out of his faked injury. His opponent's fist cut through the air as Ronan turned to his right, spinning around. The back of his hand bumped into the side of the fist just before his fingers wrapped around the man's wrist. His left hand gripped up higher, in the middle of the upper arm. Ronan continued to spin, aiming for the opening in between his opponent's arm and body, placing his body there.
Both his hands gripped tightly in their respective spots and forced the man's arm up, just above shoulder height. Once the momentum of his spin had him turned with his back to his enemy, Ronan bent forward and pulled his opponent forward. He shifted his left foot back slightly, pushing his hip back into his opponent's center of gravity. The sudden break into the balance of a man was more often than not enough to throw him off and turn him into little more than a stuffed, practice toy. His entire body tensed as his muscles clamped down, forcing all his strength forth to pull this man over his shoulder. He could feel his blood coursing through his body faster, his nose bleeding even more as he exerted himself, as he put such strain on his own body. One trill.
His opponent went flying, half next to Ronan, half overtop of him. To increase the damage as much as possible, Ronan leaned forward as much as he could, putting more momentum behind the man's throw. The moment his opponent crashed into the ground, Ronan was letting go of his arm and straightening back up. The force of the impact knocked his opponent back up from the ground. Balancing on his right foot, Ronan pulled his left knee up and forward before his opponent landed again on the floor, he brought his booted foot down, aimed at the man's face. Pulling his fists in to himself, Ronan kicked down as hard as he could. The two trills were over.
Those who saw it saw the spectacle, the feat of strength, skill and speed that the large, muscular, golden haired Eídisi had just completed. They were impressed by what they could see, impressed by the show of it, the visuals of it. Few, or more probably none, of them understood the full extent of such an attack. Even Ronan felt a surge of pride welling up within for having been able to pull it of, even if it had been purely on instinct. His opponent had taken multiple impacts from the counter Ronan had lured him in. A skilled fighter might have understood the full extent here.
Pulling his opponent by the arm over his shoulder put strain on the shoulder of his opponent. This was then followed up with the full body impact to the ground. Before it could fall again, Ronan's boot connected with the man's face, kicking it, for a second impact, down quicker than the rest of his body, a third impact. The rest of the body followed and fell back to the ground, a fourth impact, the momentum of that knocked his head back up, like a whip, down for a fifth impact. Ronan stood over his opponent, eyeing him in a fully red world, his blood coursing through his veins, pulsing in his ears and forehead. He was ready to continue, ready to finish this if the man on the ground so much as twitched.
From the corner of his sight he saw two people moving into the ring, hurriedly. One was the announcer from before, the other wore a green hood and robe.