The dead body of the lead Director lay perfectly still on the thick, luxurious Old World carpet, his chest completely caved in by the localized atmospheric vacuum.
The remaining eleven members of the Citadel Council did not attempt to fight. They did not attempt to negotiate. The absolute, terrestrial physics of the Abyssal Sovereign had completely shattered their lifetime of insulated arrogance. They pressed themselves flat against the massive, shattered glass windows of the penthouse, their pristine tailored suits trembling violently as they stared at the dark, frictionless silhouette standing over their dead colleague.
Ren did not look at them.
His completely solid void eyes, ringed with a faint, pulsing white light, turned away from the localized biological failure on the floor. He looked toward the massive, curved mahogany desk at the far end of the sprawling chamber.
