[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Y6tEFKV.png[/img]
[hider=❄]22 | Female | Freelancers | Meltwater Spring
Moya-no-Yume | Dagger | Physical | Frosted Sheen
Snowdrop Vestige | Sangfroid Convention 
Glacial Stream | Aqua | Rime Rose 
[Freeze, Cold Insulation] Damage X, Restrain, Dispel, Rain, Trap, Enhance, Trigger, Blink, Powerful

DAMAGE: D | SPEED: C | SENTINEL: E | 750

[Silver Touch][Trap][Powerful][Damage X] = -108 Mana

PHYSICAL: E| ARCANE: D | CHAOS: C | 602[/hider][sub][@mantou][@BrokenPromise][@OwO][@FamishedPants][/sub][/center]

[color=6ecff6][b]“Yeah, man! Do your own thing and fight the power.”[/b][/color] Klava said, pumping her fist in the air to encourage Apollo to follow his heart…and her orders. Glacial ice burst into prismatic glory, disabling everyone on the first floor, before the muscled skinsuit-man decided to start spraying a stolen gun blindly. Not a very cashmoney move, but it was moves like those that made the frost maiden remain behind the APC to begin with. Whatever chastisements their boss of the day was gonna be giving them, none of it would relate to herself.

Sadly, good things like APCs weren’t meant to last, likely because the precinct must’ve had at least one or two rocket launchers in their armory, as per standard American police force armory requirements. With Protector being besieged by shotgun-bro and his two shield-bros, however, and Klava herself being so much less sturdy than the eight-foot sentinel, she didn’t really want to head in from the backdoor either. [color=6ecff6][b]“Alright, Binky, just give me a few seconds, yeah?”[/b][/color]

Leaping up, Klava pulled herself up onto the top of the APC, sighted a second floor window, and ran at full speed, her sandals clanking against the reinforced roof. At the last moment, the dark-haired esper jumped, body curling into a ball as she somersaulted, before kicking them out as she neared the window. With the chiming of brass bells, glass shattered inward, showering two grunt mafiosos. They jerked back, surprised at the sudden incursion, and that flinch was all that Klava needed.

She didn’t like killing, after all, but this was America. Hesitation meant defeat.

Moya-no-Yume slipped through the air, driving up into the soft flesh underneath the jaw and puncturing the unprotected brains above. Using that as her point of leverage, she pulled the dead man’s body around her, just in time to block a barrage of bullets from the second, before flicking her blade out and tossing it at her assailant. It whispered through the air, swift as snowmelt on a summer’s day, and struck his knee. He collapsed, cursing in pain, eyes drawn to the ruined muscle and sinew. Before he could look back up, Klava’s shoe had already connected with his jaw, the man spinning backwards and slumping against the open window, his neck at an odd angle.

She looked at the first man she had killed. Young. Maybe just a couple years older than her. A soft jaw, babyfat not yet burned away. Glassy gray eyes and black curls, in the way that some British kids were. Unpleasant business, being an Esper. But the government paid well. Grabbing the corpse by his tie, Klava spoke coolly into her earpiece, [color=6ecff6][b]“Sending down a gift. Could you make sure the three lvl 10 goons stay where they are?”[/b][/color]

Without waiting for a response, she pressed her hand against the dead man’s chest. Atmospheric mana crystallized into the symbol of a snowflake, pure white over the bloodstained fabrics, and Klava whispered, [color=6ecff6][b]“Deaddrop Snowpile.”[/b][/color]

And in the next moment, she tossed the corpse down, letting gravity deliver the gift of death upon the trio at the end of the staircase.