The moment the last PK fell, the entire battlefield changed.
Not quieter.
Worse.
Focused.
The surviving Zetharians regrouped almost immediately despite the exhaustion hanging over everyone. Priests were already moving between the injured while tanks repositioned themselves on instinct alone. Mages downed mana potions without even taking their eyes off the sky.
Because the real problem was still there.
Kaliesha hovered above the ruined battlefield like some blood-soaked nightmare that forgot how to die.
And she was smiling.
Still smiling.
Honestly, if someone told me the tower generated psychopaths naturally like dungeon mobs, I'd believe them.
I landed hard beside the others, dragon wings folding behind me while my boots skidded across broken stone.
The second my feet touched the ground, Kael grabbed my wrist.
Not aggressively.
Checking.
His eyes swept over the stab wounds already healing from potions and Uriel's support magic.
