The Chrono-Golems, the ancient, bronze-colored guardians of the Reality Loom, were very polite. They didn't shout any warnings. They didn't fire any warning shots. They just silently and efficiently began their work, which was to turn any and all visitors into scrap metal.
They moved with a silent, graceful, and deeply unnerving speed. One moment they were standing in perfect, still rows on the surface of the Loom. The next, they were swarming toward the "Odyssey," gliding through space as if it were water.
Ilsa Varkov, from her command center on the "Odyssey," was not impressed. She had fought pirates, cultists, and reality-bending AIs. A few shiny, oversized robots were not going to intimidate her.
"All hands, to battle stations!" her voice, a calm and steady growl, boomed over the ship's comms. "Target the constructs. Fire at will. Show them what the Iron Wolves are made of."
