[center][h3][color=cyan]γ€Žπ•Šπ•’π•Ÿπ••π•–π•£γ€[/color][/h3][/center] [center][img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][/center] [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center] [hr][center][color=silver]𝕄: π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. πŸ™πŸœ, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / π•Žπ•šπ•€π•—π• π•£π••, 𝕄𝕒𝕣π•ͺπ•π•’π•Ÿπ•• / / π•‹π• π•¨π•Ÿ / / πŸ™πŸŸπŸπŸ [/color][/center][hr] Sander hit the ground running, his inhuman speed took him through the ruined streets of Wisford with ease. Voices came through the cuff, on and off; the words fell on deaf ears. Sander had marked them irrelevant as he navigated winding roads, staying away from any scent that was remotely familiar or tempting. But the scents were overwhelming, even when he kept his distance. So much blood shed. So much death. This was so much more than that first fight. So much more than what he had seen within the confines of the Facility. This was war. This was hell. This was where he belonged. If more of him were there at the moment, he would have wished for something better. Would have even believed that he deserved better. But he didn’t. And he couldn’t really find it within himself to care. The scents brought him to the rooftop of a crumbling building. This was Evac. This was where the voices in the cuff requested help earlier. He could tell who was bleeding below. There were scents he recognized and ones that he didn’t, so his eyes looked for the cuffs, determining acceptable targets. There were more than one. Disconcerting, yet Sander felt nothing but inappropriate glee and anticipation. Launching himself from his vantage point, he let the bloodlust pick a victim. Gravity disappeared the moment Sander fell within the upper range of the glowing yellow field, but he had accrued enough forward momentum to plunge deep into the field, colliding with the dark-skinned man near Marcus and sending them both tumbling through the air, initially on a downward trajectory before the collision and the continuous upward force of the yellow field lifted them up slowly again. The man's gun was empty, and he fumbled for the extra ammunition in his pockets, swinging the butt of the grip at Sander's head. Ice particles were condensing faster now, and the three USARILN students caught in the field were slowly beginning to freeze. Sander barely felt the impact as the gun collided with the side of his head. Red eyes flared as he caught the offending hand and crushed it in his grip, while his other hand reached up to seize his opponent’sshoulder. Around him, the air grew colder, and had Sander been saner, he would have noticed the ice particles clinging against his fever skin. A scream as his hand folded under the inhuman grip like paper, the gun floating away as his grip disappeared into broken fingers and twisted muscles. Desperation raked fingers against Sander's eyes, while legs tried in vain to push away from him, kicking and twisting with all his might. Below them, a large spike rose to separate the two, spiking upwards at the space between them. Sander let go of the rogue mage’s shoulder, but he held fast to his victim’s ruined hand. Snarling in rage, he turned to look for whoever had launched the attack, legs wading through air. Eventually, he gave up, turning his attention back to the ice mage. With a jerk of his arm, he pulled the mage toward him, just as his free hand reached for the dark-skinned boy’s throat. His victim never gave up struggling, pounding and clawing at Sander's head with his other hand and desperately pushing back, even though the strength of a person was less than nothing to Sander's power in its current state. The frost mage tried to wrap himself around the protruding spike, clinging to it when his repeated attacks failed. Sander’s hand clenched into a fist once the spike was between them, and he slammed it against the obstacle full force. The top fourth broke off from the impact and before more could grow from the remnants of the spike, the blonde Aberration a short distance away already knew it was too late. Sander hadn't released the frost mage's hand, but his punch had sent a chunk of asphalt flying into the enemy trying to hide behind it. The attack had left Sander holding only the remnants of a hand and wrist, and floating backwards. Behind the hovering chunk of tapered asphalt, blood streamed upwards in the antigravity field, collecting into droplets of varying sizes. A crushed body eventually separated slowly from the floating tarmac, face and torso barely distinguishable. With his current target dead, Sander turned, his limbs working in vain against the manipulated gravity as he tried to reach for the next opponent. Meanwhile, the ice field was gone.