We are the Nibelcole—the faceless instruments of Westcott's grand design. Bound by his will, we are fragments of one essence, the whispers in the void that command destruction. His ambition is our truth; his word, the pulse of our existence. As one, we hunt. As one, we conquer. As one, we extinguish those who dare oppose his dominion.”

From their ranks, one of them steps forward—a faint smile gracing her lips, devoid of warmth and laced with mocking certainty.

Resistance is futile, of course. But it does make for such lovely entertainment.