Angel speaking

The little guy glanced back at me, his face sick and pale. Then he turned to face the Titan.
And he squared his shoulders.
And he raised the Sword, a sudden white, pure light in that place, an unseen choir providing hushed music around it.
In that light, Ethniu’s armor looked . . . sharper somehow, harder, more uncomfortable, more inhibitive to her movements. Her beauty seemed flawed, harsh, as if it had been a trick of the light, and in her living eye I could see nothing but a desperate, empty hunger, a void within her soul that could never be filled.
Before that light, even the ancient terror of the Titan hesitated.
“Begone, Titan,” Butters said. His voice was quiet, mellow, resonant. It wasn’t a human voice at all. Though the volume never lifted, it could be heard over the battle, over the thunder, over the crackle and roar of fires. “These souls are not for you. Begone to the depths of your hatred and rage. There is no world for you here any longer.”
Ethniu’s face became a thundercloud, her lips twisting into a snarl of pure hate. “Do you dare give me orders, you lapdog, you traitor, you coward.”
“Ethniu,” murmured that voice, and the depth of compassion in it was like a deep, quiet sea. “I only offer vision, that you may avoid suffering.”
“You’re no more powerful than your instrument now.” Ethniu spat toward Butters, and the spittle actually began eating a hole in the ground, it was so virulent. “You chose the side of the insects. Be crushed with them.”

Battle Ground Chapter 31, Page 290-291