Instantly, a beautiful sword materialized in Lumine's hands, while a sleek bow appeared in Yelena's grasp. She drew the string taut, and a translucent green arrow shimmered into existence, aimed precisely at the Plague.
The Plague calmly massaged his neck, entirely unfazed.
"It's futile, really. The more you resist, the longer you prolong your deaths—and the more painful it becomes for all three of us. Just surrender."
Lumine gritted his teeth as the Plague continued casually,
"Your teamwork is commendable, but you can't possibly defeat a High Commander. We stand at humanity's pinnacle—skills, affinities, combat arts, strength. At least one aspect of ours is unmatched, rivaled only perhaps by the Supreme Leader himself."
He stepped forward slowly, confidently.
"If you'd fled earlier, there might've been a slim chance of survival. But now? What's done is done."
