Above the battlefield, three figures Dragon, Flame, and Judicator bore down on the Voidflame Titan like arrows. Below them, on the field, Kero cursed, half-sane and half-hate, and the world around Tildaroot held as if waiting to see which will would break the other first.
Khael's jaw tightened. The teal in his eyes deepened, and something like an animal thrill threaded through his indrawn breath. He held the pressure until every tendon in Kero's neck quivered — then, with the precise cruelty of a surgeon, he eased it.
Kero gasped as if pulled back to shore. He coughed, one hand scrabbling for his sword, the other pressed to his throat where Khael's influence had been. He spat dark saliva and managed a wet, dangerous smile.
"You, " he rasped. "You're not merely human."
"No," Khael said quietly, almost to himself. "I'm what I must be."
