In the dimly lit corridor of the Syndicate's main base, Adam stood over the spot where he had just hurled the attacking Roland's First Prince, given the circumstances—out of sight with a powerful blast of energy from his sword. Dust and debris still hung in the air. Immediately, a translucent blue panel materialized before his eyes.
[SYSTEM ALERT: Host body control unsustainable. 10 seconds remaining.]
The words glowed with stark finality. Ten seconds. That was all the time Adam had left in Eric's body.
A tremor of controlled chaos was beginning to ripple through the deeper sections of the base. Alarms, though perhaps not blaring overtly in this command section yet, were undoubtedly sounding elsewhere.
The twenty-five Masters who served as the Syndicate's regional leadership and central command were in motion, not to fight, but to flee.
