The transformation was instantaneous and terrifying. The moment Jax spoke, the entire facility seemed to hold its breath.
The humming of the machinery, the blare of the klaxons, the very air itself seemed to bend to his will.
He was no longer a man in a chair; he was the sentient consciousness of the Correction Center.
The automated defense turrets, once silent fixtures in the ceiling, now swiveled with menacing speed, their targeting lasers painting a dozen crimson dots on Silas's enhanced armor.
Silas, who seconds ago was the apex predator, was now the cornered rat, his eyes wide with a disbelief that curdled into raw terror.
"This is a trick," he hissed, but his voice lacked conviction.
He was a warrior of flesh and corrupted power, and he was facing an enemy that existed on a plane he couldn't comprehend.
He was facing a ghost. Jax's response was not a movement, but a system-wide decree.
"Correction protocol initiated. Subject: Silas. Diagnosis: Obsolete."
What followed was not a fight.
It was an exorcism.
The very room became Silas's enemy.
Electrical conduits snaked from the walls like metallic tendrils, arcing with raw power and forcing him back.
Automated surgical arms, designed for the forced-enhancement process, descended from the ceiling, their multi-jointed limbs moving with a cold, insect-like precision, not to attack, but to herd him, to restrict his movement, to box him in.
The floor panels beneath his feet lit up, superheating to a cherry-red glow that forced him to leap from spot to spot like a man dancing on hot coals.
Kiera, Ryu, and Joric could only watch, huddled behind the server racks, as the laboratory systematically and dispassionately dismantled its former champion.
Jax did not move from his spot, his body still physically connected to the main console, but his consciousness was everywhere, in every wire, every sensor, every automated system.
He was a digital god in his own machine, and he was passing a terrible, righteous judgment.
Silas roared in fury and desperation, lashing out with his obsidian claws, but he was swatting at an enemy he couldn't touch.
For every system he destroyed, two more would spring to life to torment him.
He was trapped in a symphony of technological malice, a conductor's baton being wielded by the ghost of the man they had tried to erase.
"Vex! Do you see this?" Silas screamed at the ceiling, at the hidden cameras he knew were watching.
"Your creation is flawed! It's all falling apart!" His pleas were met with silence.
In the control room, Vex was likely watching in horrified fascination, his greatest success and his greatest failure warring before his very eyes.
The audition for Charon had just become a catastrophic, public meltdown of his entire project.
Finally, cornered, his advanced armor scorched and dented, his energy reserves depleted from the constant evasion, Silas made a final, desperate gambit.
He ripped a panel from his gauntlet, revealing a small, pulsing device.
"If I am obsolete," he bellowed, his voice raw with hatred, "then I will take this entire facility with me!" He slammed his thumb down on the device.
A new alarm, higher and more frantic, began to shriek.
"Facility-wide data purge and reactor overload initiated," the calm, synthesized female voice announced.
"Detonation in three minutes."
Silas had triggered the ultimate failsafe, a protocol designed to wipe the entire facility, and everyone in it, from existence, leaving no trace of Vex's work.
A triumphant, insane grin spread across his face. He had lost the battle, but he would not allow them the victory.