This is a very specific kind of assault. The sensation of being hit by the same fist on two different sides of her face is disorienting. The burst of pain is nothing, but she doesn't know what to do with the feeling of the exact same grooves in the fingers, oriented in exactly the same position, connecting with the exact same part of the knuckles before folding into the heaviest, flattest part of the fist with the exact same timing, but on opposite sides. 

The smell is even more difficult. The same pheromones and the same emotions, the same skin and flesh and even the same chipped stone of the same age from the same soil all stacked on top of each other is enough to cause physical pain on a level this girl could never hope to even with all five of her natural companions working with this same degree of synchronicity. 

They feel wrong. Smell pixelated. Look unreal. Mosaic's smirk is lopsided, almost drunk. Her arms lift to block the hits that come for her face, and drop for the ones that try to weaken her body. Her posture drops into a crouch to help her shift and tumble away from what is simply too much to block. The three (two) of them dance for several long seconds around the stone block and over it.

Her mind is filled with the color yellow and the memory of the smell of cleaner. With bronze and red wood in a long, thin shape that seems more like a spear than a rifle. With a name she does not know and never knew in the first place, but that she is nevertheless certain is connected to a dozen different memories she can't quite hold onto. Together it leaves very little room for fighting.

"That's good, that's good! I think that counts for enough of a handicap, don't you? Good enough for one anyway."

Mosaic lifts her arm to the sky. Her body remembers heat, enough to melt the mountain beneath her feet. Her body remembers rain, enough to raise an army out of nothing but belief. Her body remembers power. Her claws shine on the tips of her fingers. She pulls them together, snatching at the air. 

And she vanishes. For a moment there is nothing but confused looks around the space that she had been, but then her laughter echoes from the sky. She falls as if fired from a rail gun, fists raised above her head and hair whipping in the tempest she has created. A shame to do this, but there are spares. 

The sound of the impact is loud enough to be heard back in Beri. Mosaic tears through her prize in a single blow. It shudders under the strain of her impact, and then explodes into a shower of shards and splinters. The ground craters in her wake, and trembles like an earthquake where it does not give way. The dirt and rock are blinding, the sound is deafening. It is simple shock and awe, no different from an SP barrage. But it's an assault with godly force behind it, and she did it with nothing but her hands.

She rises from the crater and steps out into a cloud of smoke and steam, digging at her ears as if she could pull the ringing out of them. A tiny spur of bone sticks out from her wrist; she plucks it from her skin with casual disdain.

"My name is Mosaic. I have come here for the mountain. But I have not come here for myself. Send an army, if you must. Make one, if you dare. I promise here and now in the shadow of Mars, I will not lose."