The air in the warehouse tasted like grit and regret. Every breath Cain took carried the faint scent of rust, a metallic tang that clung to the back of his throat.
The Large space felt less like a meeting place and more like the inside of a forgotten tomb. Cain smirked inwardly. It was a fitting place to discuss the rebirth of the underworld.
Before him, a crowd of masked individuals shifted nervously, their eyes darting between Cain and the heavily armed figures that lined the perimeter. Whispers rippled through the crowd, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.
They had all heard the rumors, the stories of the man called Vincent who had dared to challenge the established order.
They had come seeking power, opportunity, a chance to be a part of something bigger than themselves.
