The chamber walls liquified, transforming from cold iron into a shimmering lattice of gold and ultraviolet light. Gravity buckled, pulling them sideways as the room itself began to fold like an origami nightmare. Malphas felt the sword in his hand grow heavier, vibrating with a high-pitched frequency that harmonized with the Foreman’s glowing cube. He was no longer fighting a man; he was fighting the logic of the world itself.
"Lyra, get behind me!" Malphas shouted, though his voice sounded distorted, layered over by the screeching of the tearing space.
The constructs. The data-wrought soldiers, leapt forward. They moved with a terrifying, stuttering speed, flickering in and out of existence as they adjusted their position in time. One swung a blade of white static at Malphas. He parried
