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Already, the Roberts were doing their jobs, leaping in front of him to receive and bounce back attacks from the light-wielders--some of which were invisible to the naked eye without soul vision.

Technically, Morgunov didn't need them to do that for him. If he wanted, he could take those hits just fine and barely be slowed down. But it was more fun this way. He'd put a lot of work into the Roberts, so he liked seeing them do their thing.

There were thirty-eight of them currently surrounding him. That number would probably be good enough, he figured. As long as he kept the marshals busy himself, the only way the Roberts would struggle would be if one of the Vannie generals started to dramatically overperform.

But was that all he wanted? To be "good enough?"

Of course not.

He didn't become the Mad Demon by settling for mediocrity. He did it by breaking his enemies' spirits.

He raised his hands, and more Roberts arose from the sands around him. In an instant, their numbers swelled to near a hundred.

They were all Mk. Is, the smallest and most mobile models. But of course, due to their ability to combine, they weren't JUST Mk. Is. With a snap of his fingers, they could reduce their numbers by half and become Mk. IIs, or to a third and become Mk. IIIs.

Each Mark increase meant a further loss of mobility but also a disproportionate improvement in firepower and durability. There were some weapons that couldn't even fit inside a single Mk. I or II. The Mk. IIIs were where things started to get really intense, and anything higher than Mk. V was still experimental.

A Mk. IV would be a good way to start things off, he decided. He waved four of the Mk. Is over and motioned to them. All he had to do was think about what he wanted, but he liked waving his hands. It made him feel like the conductor of an orchestra.

The four smacked together, unfolded themselves, and combined into the Mk. IV--a hulking beast of a machine, as big as a bus.