*Potata || No reservations. Punching started to become much more like breathing; automatic. His golden wash flaring in and out of existance, fluxuating Potata's power accordingly. Kizaru had comitted a terrible sin. Vicariously through the mask's influence or not, the Saiyan did not care. All he saw was his friend in pain. All he felt was an incredible urge to destroy. Potata was not usually a man of primal tendency. Exceptions always had to occur at some point or another. Today had proven to be that breaking point.

Alaric might have had reservations about murder. But in a state of animalistic adrenaline, Potata's own revelations could not be brought to light. Humanity in Saiyans is lost after a certain point. And everything that the whole squad went through, it all poured and bottled inside Potata's burning soul. As the gentle glow of Spirit Energy finally dissipated, the Saiyan was still overflowing with ire. However - what once was a mighty roar was reduced to a growl at this end. His power crutching only on his sheer willpower to continue laying on the hurt. Nothing more - and certainly nothing less.

Sprinting forwards, the snowed-over grass would be kicked up from the force. Potata's speed was not any faster, yet his feet still slammed against the ground with a very audible thump. A short leap turned into a dive as the Saiyan's body would crash onto Kizaru's frame. Potata picked his body up wildly, into a classic mount. An open palm raised up skyward - closing into a fist one finger at a time. It was slow, and likely intended to be quite threatening. All Potata desired was to see this man writhe in pain and fear.

"Don't." A dark tone casted upon Potata's voice. The fist slammed down - right into Kizaru's maw. Mask or not, Potata was out to set the record straight between the Samurai and himself. Bart's name flashed within his brain. That caused his other arm to fly into the sky and form a fist just like the other. It flew down as a vision of Okara's defeated form flashed through his memory. His arm raised again, slamming down with the force. It was all to remind Kizaru of his place among the Saiyans. To commit retribution for the sins Kizaru had commited against the Saiyans, and those close to them.

"Ever." Another strike, still aimed towards the face. Each and every blow had every ounce of Potata's motive in it. That was all he could feel now. Motive. "Hurt." Another slamming fist. This time it was aimed directly straight with enough momentum to cause Kizaru's head to bounce off the ground like a deflated basketball. "Her." He caught the man's skull while it still had airtime and raised it up. Much like a workout method, Potata used all his might to drive Kizaru's skull right into the ground. The power of which caused an indentation into the soil, which would likely remain for some time.

"Again." Potata returned to the punches. One after another. There were no special martial arts behind them. The time for that had passed. Now was only the gorrillish might of the Saiyan race. His fists started to become coated with blood. A mixture of Kizaru's and Potata's. Knuckles splitting wide open as each wild slam met with Kizaru's nose, jaw, eye. Basically anything Potata hit, he did.

Kizaru was liable to die right here. If he was durable enough to endure such a pounding - Potata's rage was not too far off from dying out. Either way...

Kizaru might want to choose another mask to wear if he ever gets out of this.*