[center][b][color=slategray][sup][h1]F E N R I R[/h1][/sup][/color][/b][/center]
[COLOR=slategray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]T H E   S A N C T U A R Y[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][sup][color=darkgray]July 3[sup]rd[/sup], 2020  |  Mount Justice, Rhode Island[/color][/sup][/INDENT][/INDENT]

	Magnus knew Andy was following him, even before the younger boy spoke. The advantage of superior senses. There was an odd smell that seemed to linger around Hellfire, too faint for a normal person to scent, but heady and pungent to the wolfman. It was like the high-summer sky before a thunderstorm, the aroma of sweet and tangy ozone. No one else he had ever met carried such an odour. It was like a promise of power, a signifier of the puissance held within the boys unassuming frame. And powerful he was, if half the stories about Hellfire’s supposed potential were true. Of course, great potential meant very little if you couldn’t realise it. Magnus didn’t let people’s potential influence his opinion of their abilities. After all, he had the potential to be a great poet, but no one was studying the body of his romantic works, because he hadn’t written any. Judge a man on the acts he had committed, not the acts he was capable of committing. And so far, Andy hadn’t committed many.

	He pushed the door open, leading a gabbing Andy into the gymnasium, to be met by a scene of mild destruction. Training dummies lay in a haphazard broken ruin, littering the vinyl floor. The perpetrator of the destruction stood amidst his handiwork, and embarrassed smile upon his sweaty face. The stink of shame filled the air, tinged with a hint of the [i]unknown[/i]. Tachyus always smelt [i]different[/i], though not in a way that Magnus could place. It wasn’t as if his scent changed, it was more that his aroma was completely identifiable, equal parts mysterious and surreal, almost like it was halfway between a physical sensation and an abstract one. It put Magnus’ hackles up, and he disliked being around the godling because of it. At least, that was one of the reasons.

Tachyus had been to only one of them left unable to finish the fight, and therefore had marked himself as the weakest member of the team. Even the runt, Mirage, had fared better. It was an embarrassing display for someone who consciously described themselves as a [i]‘demi-god’[/i]. Breaking some metal puppets wasn’t going to make up for that failing.

	Not that you’d know he had failed, the way Andy consoled and joked with the weakling. Massaging his bruised ego. A soft growl escaped Fenrir’s lips, involuntarily vocalising his annoyance of the pair. [i]’Don’t sweat it’[/i]? Naivete. If they had all performed as poorly as Tachyus then they’d all be dead and the Jokerz would still be free to continue their rampage, to ruin more lives and spill more blood. He and Andy came from two different worlds, that much had been clear from the beginning, but he hadn’t been aware of just how [i]blind[/i] to the real world his team mates really were.

	The whiff of artificial freshness came wafting towards the gymnasium. Juno. She clarted herself in expensive cosmetics, thinking it added to her appeal. Magnus detested them. They clogged the air and stung his nostrils. He much preferred a person to wear their natural musk proudly, rather than try to mask it with foul, imitation scents. Ironically Juno had quite a pleasant smell. It filtered though the wash of her nauseating products occasionally, earthy and sweet. He didn’t know why she would try to cover that up.

	[b]"Impressive."[/b] Came her voice at his shoulder. She was surveying the wreckage Tachyus has wrought. Worse, she looked like she meant it. He had thought that she would be the person on the team most likely to agree with him in that the Godling shouldn’t be coddled in the face of his incompetence, but it seemed she was as bad as Andy. He growled again, a pang of anger sparking in his chest, though it was oddly directed at Tachyus rather than Twilight. 

	[color=slategray]“No,”[/color] He replied, knowing she hadn’t been speaking to him, but unable to resist the urge to answer. His frustrations were getting the better of him. [color=slategray]“It isn’t. Dummies don’t hit back.”[/color] He glared at the Godling, clenching and unclenching his fists, over and over again, blood up. He had voiced the sentiment loudly, but if she heard him she didn’t react. That annoyed him even more. By the time she mentioned training he was more than ready to get his claws stuck into something. Though her suggestion for training against projections was less than enticing. He didn’t like to fight against anything that didn’t bleed. It didn’t feel right. It lacked viscerality.

	Still, it was better than nothing.

	[color=slategray]“Fine. Make projections. Quickly.”[/color] He was eager to get started. If he didn't vent some of these pent-up aggression's soon, he was in danger of gutting someone. Probably Tachyus.