The words barely hit before Oliver's glare sharpened even more.
His jaw twisted, lips peeling back.
"This isn't about your damn pride!" he snapped, the sound cutting sharp through the hub.
"Guards. Shard users. Civilians. They're all on the line. Use the weapon—or I'll have you court-martialed."
He didn't wait for them to answer.
The launcher came up in his hands, quick and mechanical.
One trigger pull.
The canister shot out with a heavy thunk, arcing high across the wreckage before splitting apart in midair.
The cloud hit fast.
Sickly green, thick, and foul.
It clawed across the ground first — then into the air — hissing like something alive.
The stench slammed into them hard, sharp and chemical.
Then the heat followed, thick and crawling into the back of the throat.
Jasmine's mist Ikona surged to meet it.
The silver light flared bright, desperate — folding itself tighter around her.
For a second, it held.
