Nathan lowered Moonlight, the bowstring humming as the tension bled out. His core ached; his mana reserves were hovering at thirty percent, and the Capacitor on his wrist was half-drained. The party was battered, drenched in sweat and soot, and Greyvale was still two agonizing hours away.
But they were breathing. And the Nemesis Court had just received a masterclass on why ambushing Nathan Cross was a fatal error in judgment.
"Status," he ordered, his voice cutting through the ringing silence.
"Cosmetic damage," Garrett grunted, running a heavily gauntleted hand over Red's soot-stained wool. "Red took a kinetic hit, but the fleece held. We're operational."
"Cloudy's battery is running low, but she's got some spark left," Dillon said, landing lightly on the scorched earth. "I've got maybe one more Thunder Edge before I start mainlining mana potions."
