The shimmer in the air finally solidified into a tangible form. A man stood before Ethan, tall and unnervingly slender, possessing a face so symmetrically handsome it felt artificial. He was dressed in a suit of charcoal silk, tailored with a precision that made Ethan's own high-end attire look like common rags. His presence was cold, and radiating a level of refined power that made the air feel thin.
"I am the Emissary of the Union," the man said, his voice like velvet over gravel.
Ethan's eyes narrowed, his body remaining in a combat-ready stance. The Union. He had heard the whispers—the nightmare reports filtering through the underground channels. Over the last few weeks, powerful organizations across the globe had simply ceased to exist overnight, leaving behind nothing but scorched earth and blood-soaked ruins.
