<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/BibuB9H.jpg)<div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Blue Team</span></span></div></div><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">NAME:</span></strong>Luus Remiril (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=329029.msg15725923#msg15725923)<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">RACE:</span></strong>Turian<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">OCCUPATION:</span></strong>Mercenary/Demolitionist Vanguard<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">DATE:</span></strong>December 20th, 2174 CE<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">WEARING:</span></strong>As shown<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">LOCATION:</span></strong>North of LZ<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">CONTENT:</span></strong>Violence!<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">TAG:</span></strong>Team Turian Tongue<br/><br/><br/><br/><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><br/>More explosions rang in the distance, breaking through the ringing that assaulted his ears and the burning pains that distracted his mind. For a time they were what tied him to the battle still, the only other thing being his growing rage, borne purposefully from the pain. It would fuel him. All he needed was enough time to recover. Just enough--<br/><br/><em>"Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck, boss.  You better not fucking die, or I'm gonna be so pissed at you!" </em><br/><br/>The words brought him more to his senses, and his response was a hoarse but enthusiastic cackle. It hurt his sore and moderately burned body, but damn was it worth it. Especially when, seconds later, he felt the soothing wash of medi-gel numbing his pain and soothing his wounds. A deep, breathy, reverberating sigh sounded from his helmet, more full of pleasure than relief.<br/><br/>"That's it..." he breathed, the smirk clear in his voice as he rose with Jay's help to take cover beside her. "Ha! As the humans say: I could kiss you. Or much, much more." He peered over cover at the krogan who now seemed intent on approaching Coaf in a flank, using the klixens' advance on the quarian as a distraction and his own heavy armor and regenerative biology to eat the odd shots sent his way. All while providing his own covering fire against Coaf and Maxine. "Later though, I've got some unfinished business." He paused, calculating something. Hm, he'll do for some good cover." He reloaded his Phaeston with practiced ease, giving a meaningful nod to the asari who saved him before leaping to his feet ready for more of the thrilling action to come.<br/><br/>In a twisting spiral of turian biotic energy, he charged again, crashing into the krogan's shoulder in the flash of a second and sending him reeling backwards, but still standing. Before the krogan could get both his hands on his weapon again, Luus aimed his, incendiary rounds readied, at the most weakened point in his armor. Then he blasted, full auto, into that point. The armor, already more damaged by klixen explosion than his own, gave way under the siege of bullets and fiery impact, and soon the krogan's flesh was met with the very same.<br/><br/>The thing about krogans' reductive systems and regenerative prowess was that, while they were very good, no organic could beat fire.<br/><br/>The krogan writhed and roared and shouted as its body was filled and covered in bursts of flame, then, inevitably, he toppled over with a thundering crash. Luus then leaped into a prone position near the large burnt out corpse, using his body as cover against the batarians as he aimed for the klixen still moving on Coaf. Knowing its already slower speed and the dangers of it getting close, he focused fire on its large, skittering limbs, hoping to hobble it enough before his thermal clip ran out. Just enough for the others to finish the job.