Rider had one, just one last blow. He dashed forwards, jumped, flipped, and landed, plunging the sword into the girl. She would be back to normal soon, but for now, he had won. 

Rider sheathed his sword and holstered his pistol. The job had been done, and with such a performance, money was raining onto him from the stands. He stood there, staring at the girl, who's body lie there, limp. You could see the path that he took through the arena, and twists, turns, and straightaways of black stain the arena floor.