The arena fell silent as Zafron and the Butcher squared off, the tension evident in the air. Zafron's heart raced, but he forced himself to stay calm.
"Calista," he muttered under his breath, "time to put Hector's gift to use once again."
[Oh joy, another round of the old man's contraptions. You might have just been lucky the last time, I do hope it doesn't explode. Or turn you into a frog. Or both.]
Despite Calista's sarcasm, the suit materialized around Zafron, encasing him in a second skin of advanced technology.
He settled into a fighting stance, eyes locked on his monstrous opponent.
The Butcher's lips curled into a sneer, his metallic jaw glinting in the harsh arena lights.
Without warning, the blade protruding from his arm burst into green flames, the heat so intense Zafron could feel it from across the arena.
[Well, that's new,] Calista quipped. [Perhaps he's trying to make slime fondue?]
