Synergy of Dark
"I am the King of ice cubes," he muttered dubiously, staring with a sort of care down at the beyblade in his small, skilled hand, gaze centered at the bit-chip that glowed an ethereal blue. Fresh out of the test tube, this abomination of canine nature. Fresh out of the test tube and into his keeping; Boris had looked so gracious, as though he'd expected to be thanked. He had been... his red-haired protégé was trained to be generally polite, if immoral. This beast was an affirmation of Tala's greatest fears and greatest desires: he was a favorite, a general among lowly soldiers; he had real power, the price of which was the chilling dark eyes of the director trained across his back. He wasn't just imagining it anymore. He had been handed real power. Every move in the dish from then on would, as the source, have to be Boris' doing – something rung unpleasant, owing the glorified monk anything. However, as he gazed on, the bit-chip glistened threateningly, demanding respect. Tala respected – soon everyone would. He turned from the demolished practice dish, leaving in his eight-year-old wake a room the temperature of a meat-locker, and an opponent frozen solid.