Raphael was somewhat reassured by the small party they had put together. He trusted them, and felt protective and with a certain degree of honour to uphold as the only angel going into the dead zone. As they crossed over the edge, he shivered, an ice-cold feeling washing over him. It was a little disorienting. He held out a hand to help George up, not liking the heaviness that seemed to fill his bones.
"Agatha, Anthony and Patrick, hang back with me," he said, letting George take point. Joan ran forward to catch up with George. Being entirely killable had never stopped her before, and she wasn't going to let it stop her now. She just adjusted her mindset. If she died again now, she would go to the arms of God.
"What do you think?" she hissed to George, biting her lip and hefting the gun she'd been given. She had always been impatient, and living a few hundred extra years hadn't dampened that. The promise of a fight made her eyes shine with eagerness.