Duke watched the fight engagedly, sitting with his head in his hands as skill met strength. He could see Michael's glorious skills as paint practically flowed out of his suspiciously shiny paintbrush. The dark horse of the night slowly lost his ground, lost his strength, and lost his control. The arena cracked and the ground rumbled. The tournament was over. Duke got up and sighed. It was truly a shame, he had been looking forward to seeing who would win the fight.

[color=palegreen]"'Scuse me, 'scuse me. Coming through, calm down everyone."[/color]
The lanky teenager weaved through the crowd against the flow, towards the disaster zone. The area around the arena was quickly being vacated, which would make things convenient for him. Duke drew his knife. It was an ornate switchblade patterned with skulls and flame imagery, polished to a mirror's shine. It was a rather ordinary blade, in spite of its appearance. But Duke needed sharpness, and it was certainly sharp enough. Holding out his left palm facing upwards, Duke slowly lowered the knife tip down into his hand. He felt the familiar prick of the blade piercing his skin and dug deeper. He felt a small stabbing pain as blood pooled in his palm. He could feel a small spike of adrenaline shoot through his nervous system. Time seemed to slow down as he assessed the situation.

The other participants of tonight's tournament would hopefully help out, though he wondered how effective they would be. They hadn't fought too much tonight, but their stamina had inevitably been dented. Still, he was sure they would provide some reliable support. Michael the painter, the round's other contestant, was in a bad spot right now. More than likely, the breaking of the arena would have knocked him off balance, and the dark horse was currently aiming to turn him into paste. This wouldn't do, this wouldn't do at all. Duke couldn't let one of the stage's stars get knocked out so early.

The teenager grinned, removing his blade from his palm. The blood in his hand ignited into pale green flames, dyeing the boy's grin with an eery glow. He wound his arm back like a baseball pitcher, yelling [color=palegreen]"Fire in the hole!"[/color] as he threw the palm sized wad of fire at the fleshy student. The flames traced an arc in the air and splashed the back of the hulking contestant's head, setting his hair alight. It acted as both flame and liquid, one portion sticking on the student's head while the rest dribbled onto his back.
[color=palegreen]"Hey big guy, I know I said I was rooting for you, but you just ended our night of entertainment. I can't let you get away with that."[/color] Duke said, taunting the enraged figure.
He walked forward slowly with his hands in his pockets, a deliberate display of fake calmness. The flames burned on, sucking away at the contestant's energy, though in this state he probably had plenty to spare.

[color=palegreen]"Would anyone else care to join me? If you do, please keep an eye out for my flames. I'm not responsible for what happens if you touch them."[/color] Duke declared loudly.

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