And standing guard around the Anchor are the biological drones.
They are not human. They are nightmares of shifting, razor-sharp slag. They have six multi-jointed limbs, no eyes, and a central maw filled with spinning, crystalline teeth. They hit the floor and scuttle toward us with terrifying speed.
Contact! Lyra roars, opening fire.
The heavy assault rifles roar, the recoil jarring my shoulder. The shatter-rounds tear through the freezing air, striking the nearest drone in the chest. The chemical compound on the slugs reacts instantly with the programmable matter. The drone’s armor shatters, dissolving into gray sludge.
But there are too many of them.
A volley of violet energy blasts tears through the chamber, striking the stone walls. The stone dissolves into gray dust. The magical
