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[color=red][h1][center]Christopher Francis[/center][/h1][/color]
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As soon as the slime had been destroyed, Chris's driving will and anger ceased altogether. With nothing left to force his body forward the dragon-arbiter merely collapsed over the leftover slime before being carried off by Kadabra. His barely conscience state gleamed over the destruction of the city, for a moment he thought that he was in ground zero, but that delusion wasn't believable enough to console him. 

Chris had failed.

He had failed to help his teammates, he had failed to save any civilians, and he had failed to kill [i]any[/i] of these damned monsters. He had let everyone down with his cascade of poor decisions today, and it was this very self-loathing that made contemplate if he would even be upset if he was being dragged to some kind of firing squad or prison for his poor performance. Any sense of pride he once had was now shattered and broken.

While he was being carried off, he didn't revert his form yet. Perhaps it because he still wanted to feel that unbearable, now almost-numb pain to fixate some form of reality; Perhaps he wanted to avoid walking among his peers and superiors in a naked form, defeated by today's battle; Or perhaps it was merely some hidden caution of reverting his transformation while being moved in the air.

He wasn't able to pay attention to other students chatting away while being carried, though he didn't want to. The shame he felt made him grow distant from the others, their voices and the whole. Perhaps the only things he cared about now was of the lack of fellow casualities, he hoped to god that Angelique, or god forbid, Siena wasn't dead or worse. Hell he even hoped that Brent and Marcus weren't too messed up either despite his animosity towards them. Feelings like these are best kept inside, anyhow.