A Fitting Adjustment

As the thick smoke began to thin, curling toward the stone ceiling before slowly dissipating, Archimedes coughed into his sleeve. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction despite the minor mishap.

"Well, that was effective!" he said, waving away the last wisps of smoke. "But, as you can see, it's not something you can use constantly."

Luke shook his head, still clearing his throat.

"No kidding."

"Unlike the flamethrower, which relies on a fuel system, the smoke function works by burning a special mixture. And that mixture? Well, it only works once before you need to reload it," Archimedes grinned and gestured toward the hidden mechanism in Luke's sleeve. "You'll need to refill the chamber with fresh compounds each time. Not too difficult, but it's not like the fire function, which—"

"—runs on filtered monster blood, yeah, yeah, I remember." Luke waved a hand. "Haven't even needed to refill it since I left."