Cassian's domain surged again, sending ripples of energy through the space, and his eyes locked onto the surface of the armor. The faint etchings on the stone-like exterior seemed to shift and glow under his gaze, but it wasn't the patterns that gripped him—it was the overwhelming sensation that poured into his mind.
His vision shifted, tinted with a scarlet hue so deep and endless it felt as though he were staring into a boundless void of blood. A chill ran down his spine as the oppressive feeling grew heavier, the weight of countless lives extinguished pressing against him. The armor radiated an aura of purpose, and though no voice spoke, a single name imprinted itself into his thoughts: Made to Kill.
The name was strange, almost too simple, yet Cassian instinctively knew it was the essence of the armor's existence. This wasn't a tool for protection or survival—it was a weapon of pure destruction, forged with one intent and nothing else.