Suddenly, something glints in the air, slicing through the wind itself and coming to a sudden stop not even three inches from Lord Vayan's high forehead. To the left of him, his most trusted aide stares into nothing, her clawed hand reaching up to the thin, pen-like stiletto embedded between her eyebrows. Time slows down. Her eyes go blank, and she falls to the ground in a heap as several cloaked figures burst from the uninvited limousine.

Not one second later, the concrete box echoes with the sound of primal screams.