"Mixie, take us home!" Z shouted, practically barking out the order into the communications device attached at his ear. His sword was still drawn in one hand, though it had proven less useful than his talent over fire in this particular confrontation. With his other hand, he was holding tightly onto Toxic's hand.
Though she was standing, the majority of her body was limp now, and she had a distant look in her eyes, entirely unable to meet his gaze.