The six towering Architect Avatars marched down the dark tunnel. Their solid gold bodies shined brightly, and their giant white energy-swords hummed with terrible power. They were nine feet tall, moving like perfect, unstoppable machines. "You will not reach the controls, copy," the leading Avatar’s voice boomed directly into Silas’s mind. Silas Kapito stood in front of the heavy blast door of the Nervous Center. He looked at the golden monsters. He only had one working arm. He knew he could not punch six ancient Gods to death. "Get ready to fall," Silas whispered to his pack. Silas gripped the rusted iron tether-spike tightly in his right hand. He raised his fist high into the air. He did not aim at the Avatars. He aimed straight down at the metal floor beneath their feet. The Dead Zone was incredibly unstable. The gravity here was already a mess. Silas drove his fist downward. He executed a massive, focused "Zero-Inch Strike" directly into the steel floorplates. The kinetic im

The air in the Dead Zone was freezing and thin. Silas Kapito stood on the wide metal platform, looking down into the dark abyss. He could hear them coming. Thousands of heavy, tungsten-dense boots were climbing the magnetic rails. The Great Legion—his own people, the army he had just woken up—were marching up the Pillar to kill him. General Krov had used the "Blood-Lock" to hijack their minds. Their beautiful amber eyes had turned a sick, jagged red. "Silas, what do we do?" Ren asked, his voice shaking. He backed away from the edge of the platform. "I cannot fight Julius! I cannot fight Mother Rona!" "We do not fight them," Silas said softly. His flat, digital voice was full of deep, human sorrow. This was Silas’s ultimate core struggle. He was built to be a perfect weapon. His machine mind could calculate the exact kinetic force needed to kill a thousand men. He could punch through steel and catch a bullet with his teeth. But he was also a King. And a true King does not slaughte

The glowing red plasma-rifle hummed loudly in the quiet room. Anya’s hands shook. She squeezed her eyes shut. She pulled the trigger. A bright red blast of plasma shot out of the barrel. The heat was blinding. But it did not hit Silas Kapito. At the very last micro-second, Anya jerked the barrel of the rifle sharply to the right. The deadly red plasma blast flew past Silas and smashed into one of the tall glass display cases lining the wall. The glass exploded. A priceless, ancient wooden shield burst into flames. Anya dropped the smoking rifle onto the wooden floor. She fell to her knees, crying uncontrollably. "I can't!" Anya sobbed, covering her silver-masked face with her hands. "I can't kill him, Krov! I don't care if you kill my brother! I can't be a monster like you!" Young General Krov stared at the crying girl. His perfect, pale face was a mask of cold, absolute disgust. "You are weak," Krov sneered. "Just like the rest of the Council." Krov did not look scared. He did

Ren’s terrified voice echoed from the stolen radio on Anya’s belt. “There are thousands of them, Silas! And they all have Krov’s face!” The radio went dead, leaving only sharp, awful static. Inside the Sanctum of Ages, young General Krov stood on the circular platform of the giant obsidian archway. The golden liquid pulsed wildly around him. He laughed, a cold, arrogant sound that filled the giant stone library. “A thousand copies,” Krov sneered, looking down at Silas. “A thousand perfect soldiers, all carrying my mind. You cannot kill me, Ash-King. Even if you break this body, my soul will just wake up in another one.” Silas Kapito stared at the massive machine. This was Silas’s struggle. A machine would calculate the numbers and see that the war was lost. One man with a broken arm cannot fight a thousand immortal clones. But Silas was a King. A King does not run away when his family is screaming for help. Silas tightened his good right hand into a fist. His marble-white skin gl

The sharp black combat knife swung directly toward Silas Kapito’s throat. Silas engaged his 0.08-second reflexes. He was exhausted, but his machine mind was still sharp. He tilted his head slightly backward. The deadly blade missed his neck by a fraction of an inch. Silas stepped inside Krov’s guard and grabbed the General’s wrist with his good right hand. He squeezed his tungsten-dense fingers tight. Krov grunted, trying to pull his arm free. But even with a cloned body, Krov was not as strong as the true Master Draft. "You are just a copy, Krov," Silas whispered, staring into the angry amber eyes. "You cannot beat the original." Silas twisted Krov’s wrist sharply.Krov yelled in pain and dropped the black knife. It clattered onto the stone floor. Silas kicked the knife far away into the corner of the locked glass box. Silas pushed Krov backward. The young General stumbled and hit the shattered remains of the obsidian archway. Silas stood in the center of the room, breathing