Kaiden hated riding with others.
Not because they stared — though they did. Not because they whispered — though their sideways glances and hushed muttering never stopped.
He hated it because every bounce of the transport cage made the loose parts in his left leg rattle. A harsh metallic clack that echoed between his joints and his pride.
Every time it did, the youngest soldier flinched.
Not that Kaiden blamed him.
There were four others riding with him now. Squad 7 — or what was left of it.
His squad, apparently.
At the far end sat Sergeant Varn. Broad, weathered, silent. His face was half hidden under a worn helmet, but his burn scars were unmistakable. A crystal node replaced his left eye, softly glowing with mana pulses. Varn hadn't said a single word to Kaiden since he joined.
Beside him leaned Liyah — a stealth-type, wiry and sharp-eyed. She chewed something bitter that smelled like bloodroot and ashmint. Her sneers were never subtle. Her glances even less so.
Then came Krass — young, twitchy, all nerves and half-trained aggression. He clutched his spear like it was a crutch. His armor didn't fit right.
And finally, Renn — a flamecaster with too much grin and too little caution. His fingers never stopped twitching, a thin flicker of flame dancing between them as if he was practicing how to burn boredom away.
Kaiden sat opposite them, his back against the cold metal wall of the cage. His left leg hissed again, piston leaking steam.
"Half-soul," Liyah muttered under her breath. "Doesn't blink. Doesn't breathe. Just hums like a broken furnace."
He heard it.
Didn't answer.
He wanted to. Every comment dug under the plating where his skin used to be. But the pain radiating from his shoulder was louder. His systems had been failing since the trial spar — and no one had cared.
The left shoulder joint clicked too often. His hip jerked in the wrong direction when he turned. Some stabilizer was off-kilter. He could feel his core struggling to regulate power flow.
Already degrading.
Or maybe… already meant to.
The cage screeched to a halt. Dust kicked up through the grated floor.
The door slammed open.
"Village perimeter," Varn grunted. His first words since morning. "Quick recon. No glory. In and out. Unless the humans get clever."
No one laughed.
The village was already wrong.
Houses stood half-collapsed. Smoke drifted from smoldering rooftops. Livestock lay dead in pens. No signs of civilians. No signs of life at all.
Squad 7 split into pairs.
Kaiden was stuck with Renn, of course.
"Nice day for a ghost town," Renn muttered, tossing a small flame between his palms. "You know, they say you're some secret prototype built by the Forge Lords. But I think you're just a recycled corpse with wires glued in."
Kaiden kept walking, servo joints whining.
"What's it like?" Renn asked, voice too casual. "Knowing you were dead, and now you're… what? A haunted wrench?"
Kaiden stopped.
"It's like walking next to a campfire I'd love to toss someone into."
Renn whistled low. "Still got teeth. That's good."
A flare suddenly exploded in the sky — red and fast.
"Trap," Varn's voice crackled through their earpieces. "Spies. Prepare for engage—"
Static.
Then silence.
Then—
An explosion tore through the wall next to them. A blast of concussive force threw Kaiden back.
Humans. Cloaked. Quick. Arcane armor glinting under the haze. They surged from the smoke like blades from shadows.
Kaiden rolled. His left leg slipped — too much torque. He hit the ground awkwardly, sparks flying from the joint.
Renn ducked behind him, casting wild fire in the direction of the attackers. A bolt of light magic zipped past Kaiden's head.
Two human soldiers closed in — one armed with a glowing blade, the other wielding a chain whip of coiled mana.
The first blow came fast.
Kaiden stepped in to meet it — but his left arm locked mid-motion.
Too slow.
The blade slashed across his torso, glancing off metal, biting into flesh beneath. Sparks burst. Pain followed.
He stumbled, tried to lift his arm.
Dead.
The limb didn't respond. Overheated. Fried.
Another enemy lunged.
He should have died.
Instead, Kaiden screamed — not in fear, but defiance. He ducked, surged forward, and slammed his head into the attacker's skull. Both went down.
Kaiden rolled, ripped a jagged shard of metal from his ruined shoulder, and plunged it into the man's throat.
Blood soaked the snowless dirt.
He stood, panting.
One arm useless. One leg twitching.
Breathing through clenched teeth.
Across the clearing… a figure stood watching.
Unarmed. Still. Robed in black with blue trim, the symbol of an unknown order stitched into his collar.
A mage.
He wasn't attacking. Just… observing.
Calculating.
Kaiden stared at him.
The mage tilted his head, as if studying something unexpected.
"That one…" the man murmured, voice calm and thoughtful. "He wasn't supposed to survive."
Then — crack — the air folded. A teleportation rune snapped into place. And he was gone.
By the time the squad regrouped, Krass was dead — throat pierced, body limp. Liyah was injured. Renn limped, arm burned.
Kaiden dragged his own destroyed limb behind him, every step sparking against the ground.
Varn didn't ask questions.
Didn't offer condolences.
Back at the outpost, Kaiden was repaired.
Mostly.
His left arm wasn't replaced — just sealed with a metal cap. The socket charred, wires fused over. The fix was cheap. Temporary. Like taping a cracked engine and hoping it still ran.
The demon commander looked him over.
"You lived," he said flatly. "Acceptable."
Kaiden said nothing.
He wanted to respond. Something bitter. Something proud.
Instead, he just sat, fingers twitching with frustration.
Later, alone, he stared at the wreckage of his old arm — rusted, bent metal sitting lifeless on a stone table.
"I'm not broken," he whispered.
His voice trembled — not with fear. With fury.
"I'm just… upgrading."