Zyrus's gaze flickered toward Richard, the unnatural glow in his eyes dimming like a dying ember. His voice rasped, thinner now, every word pulled from a place of pain that had already consumed most of him.
"Because they want to make weapons, not soldiers. Perfect soldiers who can't disobey orders. Who can survive anything, even death." His breathing hitched. "The Tainted Bloods… they're the success stories."
The overhead lights buzzed. Lance stepped back, disbelief painting his features pale. "You're saying we're next?"
A hollow laugh escaped Zyrus, more a rattle than a sound.
"You already are. The air down here… the serum isn't just injected anymore." His fingers twitched, reaching for the wall. "It's airborne. You've been breathing it since you came in."
