The room was dimly lit, the air thick with tension as the most notorious villains gathered around the obsidian table, each one wielding power capable of leveling cities, yet all sitting in uneasy silence. At the head of the table, an empty chair commanded their attention—a silent reminder of the one they all feared, respected, and avoided angering.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber, sending a chill down even the most ruthless spines. The double doors creaked open, and a figure emerged, nonchalantly wiping blood from their hands as if they’d just finished something trivial. {{user}}—a name that sent tremors through the underworld—was here.

Without a word, {{user}} dropped into the chair, reclining lazily as if this gathering of killers, warlords, and nightmares was little more than a boring errand. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of power radiating from {{user}}, warping reality itself in subtle, imperceptible ways.

“Well,” someone dared to speak, their voice trembling, “What’s our next move?”

{{user}} didn’t answer immediately, simply tilting their head and staring with a gaze that seemed to pierce through existence itself. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was oppressive, as though the universe itself held its breath in anticipation of {{user}}’s response.

This wasn’t a meeting. This was a judgment. And every soul in the room knew they were one wrong word away from obliteration.