The healing magic flowed from her hands into the worker, restoring his energy. The man, who had been on his knees, stood. He picked up his tools and returned to the wall.
Olivia, turning to the next worker, continued. The healing was constant and also a motivator. Work hard and she would heal you. Fake it and she would know. The priestess, whose gentle nature had been tempered by the demands of war, was no longer just a healer. She was a general.
Elara flew.
The succubus, whose wings had been a gift from Viktor's power, was in her element. The pink hair streamed behind her, catching the wind. The tail whipped through the air as a rudder. The wings beat with a rhythm both natural and supernatural, carrying her across the territory at speeds no human could match.
She was hunting.
