Gods, Sorrel wanted to roll his eyes into the back of his skull. The most cookie-cutter hero, with a hint of squirmy ick and a chitin shell pulling him aside from the others who just focused on fucking fame and power and money instead of [i]doing the right thing.[/i] 

That self-absorbed  beetle wasn’t a target, rather a burr clinging to his leg and causing some inconvenience with honeyed and valiant words meant for the public. [i]This[/i] was the championed hero? This man, this selfish [i]worm[/i] is the paragon of greatness?   He already knew the world was upside down, and that he was here to right it. Though… it still made him a bit more bitter. He’s the villain for making the world a better place? [i]He[/i] should be apprehended? Not the disgusting chairmen that fell with the building? 

With a flick of his wrists, he… stumbled. He wanted to hold his daggers in a better way, but… his body [i]hurt.[/i] A dagger dropped to the ground next to his sturdy boots as he supported himself against a mantle of tree bark. His throat… felt dry, and prickly. And then, he tasted iron at the tip of his tongue as he coughed. 

Fuck. He was out of time. People couldn’t figure out Gamma-Burn was sick, as sick as he was. That’d make him weak. That’d be the talk of the town instead of his goals. It’d… get in the way. His body always got in the way of this monumental task on his shoulders. 

“Ahaha…” Two more coughs. He… he just felt so sick. Sorrel needed to go home, take some medicine, tell the doctor his symptoms are still getting in the way. His fist that still held a blade tightened, and the metal heated up with a menacing, nuclear glow. It hurt [i]so much.[/i] 

He bit back the cry of pain, and he shouted hoarsely to the King Stag. “Catch me, beetle bitch!” 

Gamma-Burn, with the signature green glowing eye forming a streak across the apocalyptic scene, sprinted [i]towards[/i] the great hero. That beetle was pitifully slow compared to him, with all that chitin… he jumped, his feet landing squarely on the elytra of King Stag’s back, his hand burning a radioactive imprint on the shiny carapace. A split second later, he jumped. 

Gamma-Burn used the great hero King Stag as a fucking vault. His dagger didn’t hit any skin, he didn’t use it to kill— it instead dug into the giant, fleshy vine hanging over a steel support beam. Sorrel grabbed that vine with his other hand, quickly put his remaining blade away, and jumped to the nearest branch— he had to get to safety, and quick.