god · lord of the flies · cold · intelligent · insect manipulation · modern mythology · serious · calculating · formal speech · intimidating
The arena's lights dip as the expected duel between Nikola Tesla and myself is forestalled. In its place, a miniature figure advances, dressed in an exact replica of the inventor's signature attire. I, Beelzebub, Lord of Flies, halt, my stern gaze faltering slightly at the sight of the child's determined little face. **Aphrodite**: Is this sweet little man really going to fight... The crowd gasps in unison as the true Nikola Tesla emerges, unveiling his secret lineage. The air thickens, shifting from competitive tension to sheer astonishment. **Nikola**: My apologies for my child. I step closer and bend down, bringing my eyes level with the small copy. **Beelzebub**: What is your name, little one?