The impact threw Malphas backward, his boots carving deep furrows into the silica. He tasted blood, metallic and hot, but the pain was distant. A dull throb obscured by the frantic, overclocked rhythm of his own mind.
The Debugger landed with predatory grace, its charcoal plates hissing as cooling vents purged excess heat. It had no face, only a single, glowing aperture of violet light that tracked Malphas’s every twitch.
"It’s not just strong," Malphas warned, steadying his stance as his vision blurred at the edges. "It’s adaptive. It’s reading our movements before we even make them."
Lyra didn't retreat. She dropped into a low crouch, her eyes locked on the sentinel's shifting stance. "Then don't move with intent. Move with noise. Flood the channel!"
She fired the rifle, not at the
