"Follow me," he declared.
He walked ahead, motioning for Kremnaes to follow him. The Eyes were vital to the city; they allowed for all sorts of micromanagement and efficiency. Many viewed them as an invasion of privacy and the enforcement of vice grip control, but Zeto didn't understand this.
To his knowledge, there was no such vice grip upon the inhabitants of their city.
"He's injured, right? He can't have gotten too far."
"Keeeeeeeeep runnnnnniiiiiing!" Daniel Kerington cried as he turned the corner, flailing his arms in a frantic display of urgency all the while.
As Daniel passed them by, Presmodia passed an inquisitive glance to Christoph. It was a hesitation which almost ended badly for the both of them.
"You don't think he--" the Ersatzshad began.
But the question was never finished, though Christoph Zalien might have known and understood what Presmodia was talking about--perhaps enough to provide an affirmative answer. The interruption? It was the exact problem they'd been trying to avoid the whole time, of course.
The armored creatures turned the corner and quickly enveloped the north end of the street. There was a veritable sea of them, quickly lining the street from sidewalk to sidewalk, and hastily moving down its lengths, to where Christoph and Presmodia stood within the center of it--to where Daniel was fleeing like a bat out of hell. They were fiendish creatures, not quite Ersatzshad, but not quite shades: imp-like beings half the height of the average man, clad in conscript armor shined to a mirror finish. Each red eyed, pure obsidian fiend carried a likewise colored spear twice the size of each wielder and a small round shield on their other arm.
Without a word, Presmodia whipped around and followed Daniel's lead. Against these things, fighting wasn't an option--not in the least . . .