Kaiden hated riding with others.
Not just because they stared — though they did. Not because they whispered — though he caught that too.
No, he hated it because every bounce of the transport cage made the loose parts in his left leg rattle. And every time it did, the youngest soldier glanced over like he expected Kaiden to explode.
Four others rode with him: Squad 7. His squad now, apparently.
The leader, Sergeant Varn, was broad, silent, and covered in old burn scars. His left eye had been replaced with a crystal node, glowing faint blue. He hadn't spoken to Kaiden once.
Beside him was a stealth-type named Liyah — lean, sharp-eyed, and constantly chewing a dried root that smelled like blood and mint. She didn't bother hiding her disgust.
The last two were fodder: a twitchy rookie named Krass and a flame-wielding spellcaster called Renn, who smirked too easily for someone with a target painted on his back.
Kaiden sat across from them, staring down at his hand.
It had been hours since he joined them. No one asked where he came from. They all knew. Or thought they did.
"Half-soul," Liyah muttered under her breath. "Doesn't blink, doesn't breathe, just hums like a furnace."
Kaiden didn't respond.
He wanted to. Every word dug under his skin. But the pain in his spine was louder.
The truth was that his systems had been failing ever since the test fight. Something in his left shoulder clicked too often, and his hip stuttered when he moved too fast. He was already degrading.
Or maybe he'd been meant to.
The cage stopped. The doors screeched open.
"Village perimeter," Varn grunted. "Quick recon. No glory. Get in, check, get out. Unless the humans get clever."
No one laughed.
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The village was already quiet.
Too quiet.
Wooden homes half-scorched. Livestock dead in their pens. No signs of civilians.
They spread out in pairs — Kaiden was put with Renn, of course. The guy who couldn't stop talking.
"You know," Renn said, conjuring a flickering flame between his fingers, "they say you're some prototype from the Forge Lords. But I think you're just one of those reanimated failures they use for tests."
Kaiden kept walking.
Renn leaned in closer. "What's it like? Knowing you were a corpse, then a tool, then maybe… whatever this is?"
Kaiden stopped.
"It's like walking next to a fire I want to throw someone into."
Renn snorted. "Nice. You do have a little soul left."
Before Kaiden could retort, a flare shot into the sky from the northern end of the village.
"Trap," Varn's voice crackled through the communicator. "Spies. Prepare for engage—"
Then the line went dead.
The wall of the nearby hut exploded.
Humans — cloaked, armored, fast — surged from the shadows.
Kaiden moved by instinct. His leg stuttered but caught traction. He grabbed Renn by the back of his cloak and shoved him down as a bolt of light magic cracked past his head.
Two more soldiers appeared — blades glowing.
Kaiden took the first hit. It should've gone through his chest, but the armor plating deflected the blade. He turned, grabbed the attacker's wrist, and crushed it with one twist.
The second came at him from behind — he spun to meet it, but his left arm locked mid-motion.
"Shit."
The sword caught him in the side — metal screeching on bone. Sparks. Blood.
Renn returned fire, his magic burning the enemy in a scream of smoke and flame.
But Kaiden staggered back.
His entire left mechanical arm was unresponsive. Dead.
One of the spies saw the opening.
And charged.
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He should have died right there.
Instead, Kaiden roared — not in fear, but rage. He ducked the strike, stepped in, and headbutted the man hard enough to knock them both down. Then, using his one good arm, he ripped the man's throat open with jagged metal from his own busted shoulder.
He stood over the body, panting, bleeding — one arm useless, one leg twitching.
Across the clearing, a figure in dark robes watched the scene.
Unarmed. Not fighting.
Kaiden locked eyes with him.
The mage.
He looked… surprised.
And not in fear. But in calculation.
"That one," the mage muttered, voice cold and curious. "He wasn't supposed to survive."
Then the mage vanished into the smoke — teleportation spell or artifact.
Kaiden didn't chase.
He couldn't.
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By the time Squad 7 regrouped, one of them was dead — Krass, throat pierced cleanly. Liyah was injured. Renn limped. Kaiden dragged his own arm behind him, the limb burned and sparking.
Varn didn't speak.
Back at the base, Kaiden was repaired.
Mostly.
His left arm wasn't replaced — just capped off with metal plating. A reminder.
The demon commander didn't praise him. Just stared.
"You lived. Acceptable."
Kaiden wanted to say something. Something clever. Something proud.
Instead, he sat in silence, fingers twitching.
Later, alone, he stared at the broken arm now sitting on a table beside him — a cracked, rusted claw of metal.
He whispered:
"I'm not broken."
His voice was hollow.
"I'm just… upgrading."