'Heal.'
The beast didn't just watch, they surrounded him in a tightening circle. Their presence immense. Godlike within this enclosure. The ground beneath them seemed more solid than beneath him. Their movements were unaffected, fluid, natural, sovereign. They were absolute here.
The first hammer swing came low.
Bruce braced. The impact sent him skidding across compressed ice, boots carving trenches. The fourth Turtle didn't attack physically. It stepped forward slowly, red eyes burning brighter, and Bruce felt the will Domain press harder, his thoughts dulling at the edges. Not confusion. Fatigue of spirit. The sensation of inevitability creeping in like frostbite, numbing not flesh but resolve.
Before he stabilized, the second Turtle closed distance and drove its shield into his side.
Ribs fractured.
Heal.
The third brought its staff down across his spine. He dropped to one knee.
Heal.
