The pair stumbled, the swirls of the portal around them erupting the gasps of ongoing mercenaries. Routines turned aimless in the absence of their leaders, now onlooking what was left of the Black Dragon’s hierarchy.
Billie’s head hung as her knees nearly gave out, hands tightening suddenly around what she swore wasn’t in her hands before… Dark blue leather and silk concealing a curved blade, the hilt’s grooves melding just right in her organic fingers. Her breathing was heavy, uneven, unable to meet back the roar of questions, of whispers. Friends, her friends' voices. Their eyes.
She swallowed hard, Netherrealm ash still stuck in the back of her throat, bitter reminders among others.