***Cassius***
The center of the battlefield was hell.
I'd never imagined war could be like this, the screaming, the blood, the overwhelming stench of death and sweat and fear. My hands glowed constantly as I moved from one wounded soldier to another, my holy power flowing out in steady streams.
A Draven guard with a spear through his shoulder. Healed.
An Ashforde soldier with his leg nearly severed. Healed.
A knight with ribs crushed by a warhorse. Healed.
My power poured out endlessly, and I was dimly aware that I should be exhausted by now, but the adrenaline kept me going. Every person I saved was another fighter who could return to the battle, another chance we might actually survive this.
