A secondary division of logic guardians descended from the geometric ceiling in a silent, flawless V-formation. Their polished golden faces turned completely away from Gwen's incandescent white fire, their blank orbits locking entirely onto the source of the iridescent, rainbow-colored barrier that was still refracting the main imperial assault.
The machine above had analyzed the layout; it had calculated the exact pressure points of the resistance and identified the critical structural supports.
One of them—a massive, eight-winged commander standing over fifteen feet tall, its white marble chest plate deeply laced with pulsing platinum wires—silently bypassed the chaotic main battle line. Its white stone frame glided smoothly through the dark, empty spaces between the floating geometric planes, completely weightless, utterly frictionless, until it hung directly over Luna's unprotected northern flank.
"Target identified," the commander droned.
