The heavy thud of the blast doors settling back into their frames after Hellino's exit left a ringing silence in the Grand Boardroom. The air was still thick with the residue of his fury, a heat that seemed to clash with the sterile, air-conditioned chill of the New Gen Headquarters. For several minutes, no one spoke; they simply watched the holographic maps of the world pulse in a rhythmic, sickly violet, tracing the slow spread of the demonic empire.
Finally, Muron Hoiyer leaned forward, his hands clasped so tightly. He looked toward the head of the table, his eyes darting with a frantic sort of hope.
