Hurts Ethniu

Ethniu twisted on the way down and hammered an awkward blow at Sanya with one arm. The Knight of Hope caught the blow on the blade of Esperacchius.
And again, a Titan screamed.
Maybe two thousand individuals from both armies simply collapsed to the ground, howling in agony as a wave of psychic pain washed out of the Titan. It felt like my arm had been set on fire.
But it sure as hell wasn’t the first time.
This time, I’d been ready, bracing myself against the Titan’s suffering, and surged through it like a swimmer breaking through the first wave at the beach. I closed the last few yards, slammed my feet down hard to brace them, and thrust the Spear at the Titan’s face.
Ethniu swept her stolen spear from left to right like a windshield wiper, and she was fast, way faster than she’d looked when I hadn’t been within stab range. I tried to slip the parry but was just too slow, and she batted the Spear aside, seized Sanya by a handful of his mail shirt, and threw him at me with about as much energy as a runaway golf cart.
We both went down in a heap, hard enough to take breath and cause stars and comets to whirl in front of us.
Esperacchius spun out of Sanya’s hands.
There was blood on it.
The Titan’s blood.
Ethniu glanced at a smoldering pile of what was mostly corpses, their body fat blazing in flames where one of the bolts of lightning or flying shards of Power had struck incidental targets. With the head of the spear, she flicked the Sword of Hope, smeared with blood too red to be real, into the fire.
And then she thrust her wounded arm into it, her expression twisting with pain as the fire scorched and boiled the wound.
The light of the Sword died.

Battle Ground Chapter 33, Page 219-320