Zyon rests in his personal chamber. Only when he is alone does he remove his blindfold, revealing the swirling insanity of a broken mind reflected in his eyes.

In his privacy he counts the golden rings adorning his fingers, an unnatural, toothy smile plastered on his lips.

"Pathetic ants."

He murmurs to himself in amusement, thinking of the naive crowds that revere and worship him.