The impossible occurred before the mortal eye.
The titan’s fifteen-foot chassis torqued wildly against the jammed internal pivot pin. Then, the five-inch star-bronze chest plates twisted thirty degrees to the right in an abrupt, shuddering snap.
The huge crimson spiritual core inside—the Early Core Formation battery pulsing with the tightly packed power of a tiny sun—didn’t move with the bronze chest.
It lagged.
For three point one two split seconds, the physical crash mesh parted like water before a bow wave. The fist-sized crimson crystal drifted seventy-eight tiny fractions of an inch forward. He passed directly through the solid star-bronze cage bars as if the metal were nothing more than painted smoke.
It hung suspended in the empty air of the round hall.
Unarmored.
Unshielded.
