The silence that filled the Archon Board was thicker and heavier than any crushing weight field the Twelve Archons had ever woven.
On the grand dais, the immortal rulers of the cosmos looked at one another with expressions of sheer, blank horror. Their robes of dawn-light hung limply around their shoulders, their radiant halos put out. That left them looking like frail, aging scholars dressed in absurdly giant dramatic costumes. The majestic illusion of divine omnipotence had dissolved. That left behind twelve frightened, pampered old men standing upon a cold marble platform. Without their golden auras, their faces were pale, their hands trembled. The ancient dust of hundreds of years clung noticeably to their fine silk sleeves.
High Archon Tian Gang slowly lowered his Sovereign Scepter, his breathing shallow and ragged. His clean white tiara had slipped slightly to the left, revealing strands of thin, graying hair plastered against his sweating forehead.
“What sorcery is this?” Tian Gang whispered, his voice cracking like dry bamboo beneath an iron heel. “What dark art did you use to sever the sacred will of heaven?”
Lin Tao walked slowly up the center aisle of the chamber. His boots tapped out a steady, steady beat against the dark rock stone.
