The inner sanctum of the Iron Consortium was sickeningly opulent.
It was a stark contrast to the dark, lethal trap of the penthouse outside. The room was bathed in warm, golden light. The walls were lined with shelves displaying priceless artifacts stolen from a hundred different dead multiverses. The floor was covered in a ridiculously thick, crimson carpet that completely swallowed the sound of their boots.
But Arthur didn't care about the decor. His eyes were locked dead center on the man sitting at the far end of the room.
Behind a massive, sprawling desk forged entirely from pure, polished gold sat Silas Vance.
The CEO of Sector 5 did not look like a man whose empire was currently burning to the ground. He was a tall, perfectly groomed human with greying hair at his temples. He wore a pristine, unblemished white suit. He looked like an aristocrat who had never worked a day of hard labor in his life.
He wasn't scrambling for a weapon. He wasn't hiding.
