The formation finished climbing Sagiri's body in layers, each one tuned to a different piece of him as if Sir Black had studied every battle record like a map of weak joints.
First went the legs, already stripped on the Safaya-border stone when the last outer mark closed across the floor.
Next came a band around his ribs that answered muscle rather than breath, locking the torso before panic could invent a useless thrash against rock.
A colder ring found Nokai's bond after that, pinning the blade's will short of a killing swing even when Sagiri threw trained hate into the spear.
Relic threads tightened last, isolating each memory-link so the Archive could not throw its full weight through any single channel toward freedom.
'Surgically built,' Sagiri thought, jaw locked against the climbing pressure, 'from every fight I survived loud for his labs to copy into straps.'
Sir Black stepped into view at the edge of the ring without offering a speech that might pretend to be mercy.
