A figure emerged from the shadows. It was covered all in black. Even the head. The figure stopped on the other side of the room just watching them.
More footsteps.
Like a regular beat of a ticking clock. Footsteps in perfect precision.
Three more figures, dressed exactly like the first, emerged and stood behind the first.
“Guards?” Zayn said.
She had a sinking feeling. “No. But I think I know what they are. I thought they were just a myth.” One whispered about in the halls of the Guild. “They’re syndroids. All programmed with the memories of past assassins. No emotions, no weaknesses, fast reflexes, and inexhaustible stamina.”
“Fuck,” he muttered.
Her chest locked. “The ultimate killers.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
They definitely hadn’t planned for syndroids. Zayn watched the eerie group. Then the lead syn stepped forward and lifted its hands.
There was a near-silent whirr. The lifelike hands twirled and changed. Morphing into long blades.
Oh, shit. There was more whirring now. The others were also changing. One had a large hook, another a curved blade, and the final one had what looked like a projectile weapon.
Two split off, veering left toward Ria. The other two started a steady march toward Zayn.
He bent his knees, preparing for the attack. When they did launch, they were damned fast. In a flash of black, two were on him. One powerful kick, and Zayn flew backward and slammed into the wall.
With the air knocked out of him, he rolled to his knees, trying to get to his feet. He caught the glint of metal and scuttled backward.
A long blade lodged into the wall in front of him. He turned and sprinted like a galactic Olympian. He dodged around pedestals and while he couldn’t hear a sound, he knew they were coming.
A quick glance back and he saw Ria fighting with her syndroids. Damn, she was good. She moved with a lethal grace he couldn’t help but admire. She leaped up, swinging her blades. She hit the closest syndroid with brutal force and its head rolled off, hitting the floor. Seconds later, the body dropped to the ground.
A weight slammed into Zayn from behind.
He skidded across the floor, rolling onto his back as he did. Before he could move, a syndroid lunged forward and pinned his legs with its torso. It was the one with the hook. It raised its arm, the hook arched above Zayn’s head. He jerked to the side just as the deadly metal hook slammed into the floor two centimeters from his face. There was so much force behind the blow, chips of tile splintered upward.
Zayn wished for a weapon. Then he remembered.
He shoved a hand into his robes. He ripped out the plasma stunner, aimed, and fired.
The syndroid’s blank face distorted where the plasma hit. Then the blue plasma was absorbed by the damn thing, disappearing like it had never existed. Its face rearranged back to a smooth blank surface, with just a red glow behind where the eyes should be.
Fuck. He fired again and again. All the plasma disappeared but the droid looked dazed, slowly shaking its head from side to side. The stunner clicked. Overheated.
With a vicious swing, Zayn threw the weapon at the droid. He turned, trying to pull out from under the syn. His hands groped across the floor. His fingertips brushed stone.
The base of a pedestal.
He gripped the stone column and gave a hard yank. When the heavy pedestal tilted to the side, he offered up a silent thanks to whatever gods were watching.
He yanked it again, with as much force as he could muster in his awkward position. He swung it at the syndroid.
The side of the syn’s head buckled in. It lifted its arm, the hook looking obscene in the light. Then it slowly slumped. The hook clunked on the floor.
Zayn released a long breath.
Then he looked up and the air rushed out of him.
