Sol deactivated his field. The molten golden-silver liquid inside his chest settled back into a steady, hot crawl beneath his ribs, and the invisible weight that had been pinning the dead marauders vanished into the morning air.
He walked over to where Hargon was lying in the dirt. The boar-spirit veteran was clutching his caked chest armor, a deep, jagged gash leaking dark red blood across his fingers, but his teeth were still bared in a rough grin.
Sol reached down with one bare hand, hooked his fingers into Hargon's leather shoulder bindings, and hauled the massive warrior straight up onto his feet in one smooth motion.
Hargon winced, his breath catching in his throat from the sudden torque on his ribs, but he managed to stand stable.
