[CONTINUATION—]
The devil's camp burned faintly with a low, eerie hum— like the breath of embers waiting to awaken. Sparks glowed in pockets of the ground, rising in faint orange trails before dissolving into smoke. On the right side of the arena, far from the noise of the others, Bulb stood shirtless in the dust, sweat glistening against the faint brown hue of his skin.
His palms flickered with small bursts of flame— fssh, fssh.
The rhythmic crackle echoing across the camp. He was practicing again, perfecting the control of his fire abilities. Each flick of his wrist summoned sparks, each breath guided them into shape.
One moment, they were tiny orange orbs swirling around his hand, and the next, he was tossing them into the air, where they burst like fireworks and faded into the dark.
He muttered to himself, his voice half-lost in concentration.
"Too weak… no, steadier…"
