'I'm close…' Sylas' gaze flickered again.
His face had been pale and drained of blood for a long while now, beads of sweat rolling down his brows. But he was as calm as an immovable glacier, the sharpness in his intent forcing the Strokes hovering before him into absolute obedience. It was as though it was their pleasure to be observed and comprehended by Sylas.
They wouldn't rather have it any other way. This was what they wanted more than anything.
Not long ago, Sylas had already thought of a method of improving [Madness Control] that took advantage of the intervention of the system to help him make space in his body to absorb powerful Genes that he wouldn't otherwise be able to.
Essentially, when he formed his powerful Warlord Armor, the system started priming his body for the arrival of a new Gene. The moment an Armor took shape for the first time, the slot for the Gene was already there—it was just about timing the absorption for when the time was optimal.
