Albrecht stared through the shattered glass of the boardroom. The hot desert wind whipped his black hair across his face. He didn't flinch as the massive vortex of void energy blotted out the sun.
"You want the sword?" Albrecht asked, his voice cutting clearly through the roaring wind. He raised the Primordial Cleaver, the crimson veins on the black steel pulsing violently. "Come take it from my dead hands."
The Founder floating in the sky didn't smile. His pitch-black eyes remained completely hollow and emotionless.
"That can be arranged," the Founder said.
The silver-haired Director crawled out from under the ruined obsidian table. He looked up at the man in the gray cloak, his corporate composure entirely gone.
"Founder!" the Director shouted, waving his hands frantically. "We init
