The morning sun dragged itself over the jagged skyline of Nuln and illuminated the Sump Plaza in a harsh, grey light.
It should have been a quiet morning.
The Sump-Pit flophouse was a smoking ruin of charcoal and wet ash, and the smell of ozone from the Lux-Tech blast still lingered in the air.
But it wasn't quiet. It was deafening.
Zane sat on a makeshift throne constructed from the scorched remains of the flophouse's front desk and a few sandbags.
He wore his new, heavy black coat, and his hood was pulled up to obscure his face.
He looked terrifying. He looked like a judge of the damned sitting in the centre of hell.
He looked exactly how he wanted to look.
He looked exactly how he wanted to look.
The problem was the crowd.
Over a hundred people had gathered in the plaza, bu
