Suddenly—crack-crack-crack—dozens of tendrils of darkness shot outward from the crater, faster than bullets, twisting midair like sentient webs. They didn't go for Galisk directly. No—these were strategic, calculated.
Like thick strands of oily spider silk, they latched onto nearby buildings—shattered towers, broken antenna spires, even the skeleton of a collapsed stadium. And then—
Snap.
They pulled.
The tendrils coiled around Galisk's massive mech, locking its limbs in place with violent force. Like a trap sprung by a beast of nightmares, the shadowy cords strained and creaked, trying to bind the golden giant midair.
Galisk's golden eyes narrowed as the mecha shuddered against the pressure.
"Tch..." he muttered, teeth grinding. "You really don't get it, do you?"
A pulse of light surged from within the cockpit.
The mecha shattered apart—then reassembled instantly, shifting like liquid gold as parts warped and reformed to adapt.
