Ascendant Zion stared at the healer, his brow furrowing with bewilderment.
Braham continued to drag himself backward while his body lurched forward as though an invisible chain yanked him toward some unseen destination.
He caught Ascendant Zion's perplexed gaze and waved a dismissive hand.
"Oh, please don't mind me. Some thing... is just... stop! moving!"
His voice crescendoed into a shout as he stomped his feet against the ground, muscles straining like taut bowstrings as he fought against the mysterious force propelling him forward.
Never had he experienced anything like this. The armor—gifted by that peculiar Drifter who'd insisted on healing his girlfriend—had impressed Braham upon inspection. Its defense capabilities were unmatched, impenetrable as mountain stone.
Yet today it behaved with a will of its own. Since the battle of the behemoths began, the armor had been dragging him relentlessly from his private parlor, the sanctuary he'd carefully established for himself.
