"Shut. Up," Peter ground out, fury flashing across his expression. For a moment, he almost wished that he knew something personal about Sylar, something that would really push his buttons, just so that he could return the insult. It was a strange thing to wish for.

Twitching his hand, Peter telekinetically ripped a leg off a nearby chair, and with a thought, it was rushing towards Sylar - missing impaling his head by what was probably only a few inches. The miss had been intentional, but Peter still looked like he would have liked nothing more than to his his target.

"The next one goes through your head," he warned, his voice low in anger that was getting the better of him. "I doubt you'd survive in a wood chipper much better than I would. Good luck finding one."