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The reaper was unconscious, however, so he couldn't even talk to her during this long, dark journey. That was another reason why he'd stopped struggling. He didn't want this blasted machine to accidentally kill her while trying to suppress him.

Maybe that was a needless concern, though. If one thing had become clear from his brief "fight" with Morgunov, it was that these mechanical abominations were damn well made.

That crazy bastard. How many of these giant, transforming drones did he have at his beck and call? And how long had he been keeping them secret?

At this point, there was no telling, but Parson had a genuine fear that the numbers might be truly staggering. This was the Mad Demon, after all. If he had managed to mass produce these things...

An army of soldiers that could take down even a captain general...

No. No, that was impossible, even for him. The metal--or whatever material these damn things were made from--had clearly been permanently soul-strengthened by Morgunov himself. And while Parson didn't personally know much about that process, he did know that it was very time-consuming. Surely, the madman didn't have the patience required to do that over and over again, thousands of times...

God, he hoped not.

He was suddenly reminded of a reoccurring topic that he'd heard various reapers discussing over the years.

The terrifying advancement of technology.

The vast majority of reapers he'd known over his life were either dismissive or frightened of technology, and the frightened ones often liked to debate whether it would be prudent for servants to directly intervene in such things and work to actively suppress innovation.

He'd even known a few reaper collectives who were dedicated to that very task. He'd never taken much of a personal interest in their objectives, but...

Maybe he should have.

Ugh, or maybe he should've done the exact opposite.

Dammit.