The initial erasure strike came hammering on the outer hall, a blade-keen edge meant only for endings.
Black Star operatives filed through the breach in disciplined lines, their armor marked with termination law rather than capture codes. Surrender was not an option. Binding was not the goal. Every movement was designed to excise coherent signatures from the field, and leave only refuse in their wake. One acolyte near the far wall went down without a sound, her frame folding inward like a rejected proposition.
"Formation!" Zeus barked.
