The entity hovering above the dead seabed did not move its hands, nor did its spun-glass sleeves shift in the motionless water. The six geometric rings behind its back continued their slow, silent rotation, casting cold silver reflections across the oval plate of mirror-like metal that served as its face.
Kyle stood his ground, the dark living metal of his gauntlet pulsing with a deep, violet hum. His right boot was planted firmly against the slagged basalt, his left hand resting on his hip, his posture deceptively calm.
Then, the oppressive, weightless silence was shattered.
The sound that echoed through the water wasn't a booming declaration or a resounding battle cry. It was a low, amused huff—a raspy, dry chuckle that sounded eerily like a weary traveler laughing at an inside joke.
