The suit wasn't made.
It was grown.
No seams.
No rivets.
No fiber optics.
No interface ports.
It didn't hum. It didn't glow. It didn't speak.
It listened.
Damien stood in the heart of the Vault, wrapped in something that felt less like armor and more like an extension of his own skin—if skin could think. It fit him without fitting onto him. No pressure points, no shifting weight. It moved with him, not around him.
When he inhaled, it expanded slightly at the ribs. When he blinked, the visor shaded instantly, reducing the harsh light.When he narrowed his focus, its outer texture shifted, becoming smoother, faster.
Designation: Prototype X-01
Purpose: Adaptive enhancement of Subject 000 genetic lineage.
Cognitive pairing: In progress.
Warning: No AI assistance. All control must be earned.
The last phrase echoed differently—not in his ears, but in his mind.
Control… must be earned.
No tutorial. No guidance. Just him and this living shell, learning each other through movement and intent.
Damien stepped out of the chamber's light. The Vault door sealed with a sound like stone hardening. When it was done, there was nothing but blank wall.
He exhaled through his nose. "No way back," he muttered. But his heartbeat didn't spike.
The X-01 didn't give him strength—it sharpened what was already there. Every stance, every feint, every counterstrike he'd spent his life perfecting… now carried more precision. No wasted energy. No hesitation. A fighter's instinct, distilled into its purest form.
Outer Orbit of Vael'Tris
A stolen courier vessel punched through hyperspace, its hull rattling like it might split.
Inside the cramped cockpit, Sera Thorne's hands gripped the controls with surgical precision. Her eyes—same gold as her brother's—flickered as she parsed data streaming from a hacked Null Sanctum comm burst.
The stolen passcodes were still holding. The stealth mesh was holding. She had no backup. No extraction plan. But she had a single reason to come.
On her display: SUBJECT THORNE LOCATED.
VAULT ACTIVATION CONFIRMED.
CODE: X-01 ONLINE.
GOD-KILLER PROTOCOLS EN ROUTE.
Her stomach turned to stone. "Damien…"
The moment the ship hit atmosphere, she dropped it hard into the burn layer. Hull plating screamed. Warning lights flared. She didn't care.
The landing wasn't a landing—it was a controlled crash.
Sera hit the dirt running, smoke trailing behind her like a comet tail. The air was sharp with scorched minerals and metallic spores. She slid a fusion pistol into her belt, shouldered her pack, and vanished into the wilderness.
Nothing else mattered. She would find him.
Scorched Crater Basin – Hours Later
Damien moved like water over jagged rock. Four Sanctum bounty units closed in—fusion-enhanced, AI-assisted, precision-trained. No wasted steps, no intimidation displays. They weren't here to prove a point. They were here to remove him from the board.
They failed.
The X-01 shimmered mid-motion, reconfiguring with each strike. Damien's punches landed with the weight of orbital debris. His footwork broke their targeting AI before they could recalibrate.
One unit deployed a paralysis field. He stepped into it. Kept walking. No visible strain.
A fusion hunter tried a back-angle charge, spear tip vibrating with plasma heat. Damien pivoted—too slow to block—
CRACK.
The sound was wrong for a spear fight. It was the sound of a staff hitting bone.
The attacker dropped, limbs twitching once before going still.
Damien turned, eyes narrowing—then widened.
Golden eyes met golden eyes.
Sera stood behind the fallen bounty, dirt streaking her face, a split lip still bleeding. The staff in her hands was weighted with purpose.
"Hey, big brother," she said with a crooked grin. "Miss me?"
Damien stared a beat too long. "You shouldn't be here."
"You're one to talk."
"This planet will kill you."
"So?" Her grin sharpened. "You're here."
His mouth twitched—just barely a smile. "Took you long enough."
And like that, the Thorne siblings stood together for the first time in years.
Which meant the world's problems had just doubled.