[🎶 Blame It On Me – POST MALONE.]
"I choose the redhead," said Olivar, the [Red Belt] warlock novice. Rafel recognized the young man's hands as the kind that found itself every morning to the leather of a boxing pouch, or perhaps it'd be more accurate to say bricks of a stone wall. Olivar's fists were chaffed and the knuckles and he joined them together as he made a snarling face.
"—what's the matter, Red! You scared?"
His use of the mock name, Red implied to Rafel's [Phoenix Arc] and his slick ginger top. Rafel stepped forward, giving a short yawn like he was bored. Poor Olivar didn't know who he pointed as challenger: a Blood Prince of the Underworld. One with an [A Rank] infernal system and [Divine] blood line.
Rafel had been in knife fights from the time he was old enough to count his balls.
"So, this is about jealousy, is it?" Rafel made back at the Red Belter.