Welcome to Gaia! ::

Watching the two fighters fight it out, the man in the trillby hat and white hair with the glistening green eyes to boot propped his feet up on the seat before him, patting a crying spectator on the shoulder somewhat thoughtfully. She they both paid good money for this.

Upon Jesus' appearance, he merely pointed back, and said with almighty clarity "You died."

He then went back to spectating like a good spectator, doing his part to calm the crying woman besides him, while munching on salted pop-corn somewhat thoughtfully.

/sleeps from boredom

A d***o. It was a d***o. While the plastic and quite synthetic shell caught aflame, it did not falter in its velocity and trajectory. At a moment or two in time prior to potential impact with its target, the outside would burn away entirely, igniting the sticky gel within.

Not the unmistakable scent of semen or KY or other personal lubricants, but of victorious napalm in the lovely desert morning. This would explode in all directons for a few yards, a deceptive amount of splash damage considering the size of its temporary vessel. Though in relative perspectives, the 'package' was not all that small.

Meanwhile, the inspector was still walking briskly along his opponent's flank. Though the second fireball veered more than a few inches off his shoulder, three quarters of it flattened instantly and thinned out into a perfect 270-degree angle before disappearing completely, leaving the other quarter to actually pass him.

As he went on, his left pinky still bent to an unsettling degree, he brought up his arm to point directly at his opponent.

The presumably undead and poorly-armored opponent did not move, which resulted in a prodigous amount of combusting petroleum derivative and low-oct gasoline to adhere to the entirety of the front and sides of his body. Within seconds its burning temperatures would rise to approximately around two thousand two hundred Farenheit, more than enough degrees to heat armor to scald and meld against soon-to-be nonexistent skin.

Full thickness, fourth-degree, which would cause no physical pain because incapacitation and death would come first.

His left arm still pointed at the opponent, the inspector uncocked his stubborn finger with a mechanical spring-loaded click. Two flicks of his opened hand, and two cylinders sprung from underneath his sleeve at the verbose swordsman like a Nerf gun on steroids. They vaguely resembled fire extinguishers, hurting at half-hypervelocity; one towards the left side of and one just behind the outspoken poet laureate.