Lazek Oberon sat cross-legged upon the translucent back of his winged jellyfish chimaera, floating hundreds of meters above the pitch-black floor of the crater.
Cold black eyes locked onto the swirling vortex of obsidian scale and shimmering green light far below. From this height, the violent clash looked less like a battle and more like a microscopic experiment on a slide, a raw interplay of biological variables he had engineered and released into the wild.
He had watched from the very moment he shoved Kale off the ledge into the dark abyss, his expression originally fixed in a mask of heavy, terminal boredom.
Yet as the minutes dragged on and the pit floor turned into a rising tide of severed lizard carcasses, even the Grandmaster Fleshcrafter felt the sharp, familiar spark of a manic curiosity stir in his chest.
The sheer combat prowess on display from the pair was nothing short of monstrous.
