He nods, unsurprised by the statement. Encouraged by it, too - it's not as if he isn't made to fight to the death, wouldn't do it no matter what. But with her beside him saying so it's easier to feel it, to feel that part of him that in spite of everything is still eager for it, hungry for the fight even if that fight ends in his death.

Though death, in this place, means something very different from what it used to. No point in thinking much on that now, and in the next moment he's distracted from it anyway. The light flickers, the engine noise stuttering for a moment, and the sparklight illuminating the stairwell dies. His memory, in some areas, isn't what it used to be, but the sight in front of him does strike a note. Hopefully not as many endless tunnels and huge, otherworldly creatures waiting below, but from here it looks the same. "Almost makes me wish we had some fire," he says over his shoulder at her, a corner of his mouth curling upward.