The Iron Brotherhood survivors, their numbers reduced to just over 200, roared with a madness that shook the air. Their red aura of war's belief pulsed like a living thing, amplifying their strength as they charged the Red Sun divisions. The 6th and 7th Divisions braced for impact, their defenses tightening, but before the clash could erupt, a voice rang out: "Soloris Flore!"
A golden cascade, like a radiant waterfall, poured from the sky, flooding the Iron Brotherhood's ranks. Though it couldn't cover their entire formation, its effect was immediate. The weaker members crumpled, their bodies purged of the frenzied madness induced by war's belief. Clarity returned to the survivors' eyes, replaced by shock and despair. War's belief wasn't just a technique—it was their core, a pact that bound their armor to their bodies, sacrificing all other affinities and powers to serve their god through slaughter. To have it stripped away left them hollow, their purpose shattered.
