"I can't believe they still gave us these masks," Sage grumbled, tugging at the filter strapped over her face. "Sure, they upgraded them after the last mission, so we don't pass out instantly, but it is so uncomfortable."
"Do you want to die by the gas first?" Milo muttered without opening his eyes, his head resting against a tree trunk. "Just wait ten minutes. Maybe Mira can slit your throat and put you out of your misery."
"You are going to jinx yourself." Sage shot him a sharp glare, then turned that same glare on Willow.
Willow hadn't said a word. She sat cross-legged on the forest floor, mask fitted neatly on her face, her attention fixed on her sword.
Though calling it a sword felt inaccurate now.
It hummed faintly in her hands, the metal pulsing with faint, glowing red veins, energy lines tracing up the blade. It looked halfway between a weapon and a machine, almost thick enough to be mistaken for a gun.
