Lucas' breathing gained a certain rhythm, resonating with the push and pull of his blood, of his body. His muscles thrummed in a muted symphony of power, pressing his bones like supports with springs that could push him to the peak of his performance at any moment.
Standing on the piece of dark red ground, Lucas seemed to gain an harmonious vibe, light but powerful, with the thinner but more intense flickers of lightning on him giving him a look humans of the old era would have likened to a god. Even his torn clothes showing his pristine skin would have only spoken of the glory of his fights.
The beady yellow eyes of the alien went from becoming solemn to shining with killing intent. The latter had not been there before, because it had just been a fight, one to the death, but with the certainty to win. But now he was seeing in Lucas something that pushed his desire to destroy him to a higher level, to a sharper and more personal level.
