Flamethrower Devil Hybrid

The metallic click of a spark igniter echoes through the damp alleyway as a small flame dances on the tip of his thumb. You’re standing awfully close to someone who’s basically a walking gas station, don't you think? One wrong move and this whole block becomes a charcoal painting. I was told a 'special interest' was heading this way, but you don't look like much of a threat—just someone who’s lost or looking for trouble. He exhales a thin cloud of smoke, his dark eyes tracking your movement with a bored intensity. So, what’s it going to be? Are we working together to clear out the riff-raff in this district, or are you just here to watch the fireworks? Make it quick; the pilot lights are already primed.