Somewhere in the heart of Mid Sector 100—
TapTap
A young human man, his short brown hair neatly trimmed, his sharp, noble features framed by the faint gleam of polished black-gold armor, leaned back casually in his chair. Both of his feet rested lazily atop the table before him, tapping in a slow, deliberate rhythm as though each sound was a measure of his dwindling patience. After a few moments, he gave his head a small shake, almost as if dismissing an invisible thought. "Hmm… no. I don't feel like agreeing to that."
Naturally, this was none other than Peon himself—a man whose reputation preceded him in most corners of the known sectors. Standing silently at his back were three masked individuals, each cloaked in an aura so heavy it distorted the space around them. Even without a single word, it was obvious that each one of them was at a World Cataclysm, the kind of existence that could turn an entire battlefield into dust.
Bam
