Zevran's laughter rolls across the sky, and then his aura changes.
The pressure doubles.
Then triples.
Wind and earth mana erupt from his body in violent harmony, spiraling together until the clouds are torn apart, shredded into raw strands of vapor. The air itself screams as Zevran's presence swells, vast and overwhelming, drowning out every other aura on the battlefield.
The fused being stiffens.
Hecrad's eyes narrow.
Kevom's grin vanishes.
Their shared mind rings with a single, unified thought.
Danger.
Below, soldiers drop to their knees as the pressure crashes down. Walls creak. Towers fracture. The city groans like something alive, being crushed under an invisible weight.
Zevran spreads his wings fully.
They blot out the sun.
"Alright," he says, voice calm now, almost reverent. "Enough warm-up."
The wind dies.
For half a heartbeat, there is silence.
Then Zevran inhales.
The world responds.
