Chloe exhaled. The air didn't get easier. It got heavier. The pouch infernal was gone.
The taste of ash coated her tongue. Each breath pulled more smoke and blood into her lungs. Her chest rose and fell like she was drowning on dry land. The world narrowed to sound: screams, tearing flesh, Linda's shield hissing like a dying thing. Sweat burned in the cuts on her face. She blinked hard, trying to clear the haze, but the weight only pressed down harder.
It was her, Deena, Linda's fading shield, the crowd fighting and screaming with groans and devastation and the sound of more infernals crushing through the crowd and tearing them into pieces.
The ground shook under their feet. People were breaking. Not just bodies — hope.
"Deena," Chloe called. "Your status?"
"Don't worry missus." Deena spat blood. "My thorns regenerate faster than they kill." Her left arm hung wrong but it tried to hold Chloe's back.
