The shattered boardroom doors hung like broken wings, letting in the faint, distant hum of the Novis Prime night. Zorion Kest, a stark, violent silhouette, stood framed against the opulent backdrop of the Coralis manor’s entrance hall. His Velocity-X uniform bore raw gashes from a recent brawl, with a crimson streak drying along his brow. His gaze, devoid of its usual casual charm, swept across the stunned faces of the assembled executives, lingering on Bramwell Tarsus’s now pallid features. He ignored the quartet of imposing security sentries, their chassis gleaming under the room’s grand chandeliers, as if they were mere statues. Their optical sensors, usually a cold, unblinking red, flickered with indecision, trained on the blood-flecked figure who had just demolished their entry point. Zorion’s eyes finally settled on Veda. She stood frozen beside the conference table, her emerald gown a vivid splash against the mahogany. Zorion’s usual easy smirk was gone, replaced by an expression of sharp, dangerous focus. He took a slow, deliberate step into the room, then another, the crunch of splinters beneath his boot startlingly loud in the sudden silence. The iron units shifted, their servo-motors whining softly, but Zorion didn’t spare them a glance. His path was a direct line to Veda. He stopped before her, the Coralis data drive still clutched in his hand, its polished casing reflecting the room’s lights like a dark mirror. He extended it toward her, cool metal catching the fixture light amidst the debris of splintered mahogany. “Your data, Ms. Coralis,” he stated, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, utterly devoid of its usual playful lilt. “As promised. Piping hot, straight from the digital oven.” Bramwell, recovering from his initial shock, let out a choked, disbelieving laugh. It started as a low gurgle, then escalated into a high-pitched, almost hysterical cackle that echoed off the high ceilings. “You… you absolute imbecile!” he shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Zorion. His eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and rage, darted between Zorion and the splintered doors. “Guards! What are you standing there for? Get this delusional peasant out of my sight! Throw him from the highest window! His kind belongs in the gutter, not interrupting a Coralis board meeting!” The mechanical guards, as if finally receiving their programming cue, moved in unison, their heavy frames thudding against the plush carpet. Their red optical sensors flared, and their metallic hands, designed for subduing, extended with unnerving slowness. Zorion didn’t flinch. He merely turned his head, a slight, almost imperceptible movement, and his icy gaze met Bramwell’s. The laughter died in Bramwell’s throat. “Not yet,” Zorion said, his voice quiet but carrying an undeniable authority that silenced the room. The machines paused, arrested by the sudden shift in the room's air. “The transaction is not complete. I still require my payment.” He turned back to Veda, his eyes holding hers in a fierce, unyielding grip. “The review, Ms. Coralis. The five stars I earned. It’s been… a rather long wait.” Veda stared at him, her mind a whirlwind of confusion, fear, and a strange, potent surge of attraction. The man before her was not the charming, slightly arrogant errand boy. He was something else entirely – a force of nature, primal and unyielding, who had literally torn his way into her life. He was still bleeding, still demanding a trivial app score, even as Bramwell’s coup hung in the balance. Bramwell, regaining a sliver of his bravado, scoffed. “A review? Are you insane? Your pathetic little score means nothing! You’re a trespasser, a vandal, a common criminal!” He gestured wildly at the shattered doors. “You’ll be lucky to get out of here with your life!” Zorion merely smiled, a slow, chilling curve of his lips that held no warmth. “A rating, Bramwell,” he corrected, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Everything always comes back to the rating, doesn’t it?” He glanced down at his wrist, where the sleek, minimalist face of his smartwatch glowed. A digital countdown, stark white against black, displayed a rapidly diminishing number. `00:00:03`. `00:00:02`. `00:00:01`. The seconds evaporated, each tick a hammer blow against the silent room. Veda watched, transfixed, as the final digit vanished. A soft, melodic chime, like a distant bell, echoed from Zorion’s wrist, signaling the precise stroke of midnight. A year. A full year, culminating in this bizarre, blood-splattered moment. Zorion’s smile widened, no longer chilling, but openly predatory, a flash of pure, unadulterated triumph. He lifted a hand, tapping his earpiece, his gaze locking onto Bramwell, then sweeping across the aghast faces of the other executives. His voice, now a low, confident growl, cut through the silence. “Ignis,” he said, his eyes burning with an infernal light. “Burn them.”

Midnight Ultimatum