Sorrel instinctively let go of his blade when he saw the disgusting amount of bugs starting to crawl up it. Then, a fist came barreling towards his face. 

He dodged well enough to not hit his face, but instead the punch landed on his shoulder and once again sent him [i]flying[/i]. This time, though, Sorrel was ready, and while he was in excruciating pain, he braced himself as he landed on the nearest tree. His hands heated up, concentrating to his nails— for once, he was grateful for his angelic ancestry giving him a bit more claw to work with. 

A hiss escaped Gamma-Burn’s mouth, foreboding, angry. He leaped and dashed towards King Stag. 

His hands, superheated with radiation, struck at the gap in King Stag’s other shoulder, then racked across the beetle’s chest, leaving the smell of burning chitin to overpower that sickly-sweet pheromone scent. If he could just… if he could just disarm King Stag long enough, he’d be able to make his escape. He’d be able to treat his wounds and his chronic issues and, most importantly, live another day. He had to get to his date tomorrow, after all.