The Guild Master, a tall and burly man with thick, curly brown hair, sat trembling inside his secure panic bunker, which was connected directly to the third sub-basement of the headquarters.
Every single member of his guild was dead. His most elite executioner team, a squad that had never once failed a lethal assignment had just been annihilated in a single strike. To make matters infinitely worse, one of his own assassins had completely sold him out, revealing his exact location to the silver-haired monster who was currently tearing through the building.
The bunker itself did not look like a traditional, sterile safe room. It was furnished exactly like the luxurious penthouse suite of a paranoid billionaire. He sat on a plush, L-shaped velvet couch facing a massive wall of digital monitors broadcasting the static-filled security feeds from the upper floors.
