The grand obsidian throne room beneath the concrete foundations of Sector 3 had ceased to be a mere subterranean hideout; it had officially evolved into the absolute sovereign heart of the world. The vast, cavernous space was illuminated by a low, dramatic amber luminescence cast from the industrial-grade plasma torchères lining the perimeter walls. The air inside was cold, thin, and heavy, carrying the crystalline, clinical notes of frozen nightshade and the unmistakable, suffocatingly sweet undertone of pure primordial mint. It was an atmospheric filter so dense with sovereign energy that any uninvited supernatural entity would have collapsed onto the floorboards in immediate paralysis upon entering.
Tonight, for the first time in five centuries, the supreme rulers of the three dominant
