The thick sulfurous wind carries the scent of blood into the nostrils.
The Sharp Claw merely twitches his nose instinctively.
A week of Abyss "immersion" has made this once throat-tightening scent as natural as breathing itself.
Like the other team members, he has long discarded the filter mask, letting the foul air of the Abyss swirl within his lungs.
After all, they can't wear such filter masks on the battlefield; sooner or later, they must get used to the air and environment here.
So much so that they will soon consider it a part of life.
The seductive, mocking, constant whispers in his ears now sound muffled as though through thick cloth; bothersome but not immediately capable of shattering their reason.
This brief "adaptation period" is their pass to step out of the fortress's protection and truly participate in the eternal blood war.
