The room was cavernous, dimly lit by a pale, flickering light emanating from orbs of Void-tainted energy mounted on jagged stone walls. Shadows danced across the space like restless specters, mimicking the rising storm of fury that brewed within its lone occupant.

Obsidian stood at the head of a long obsidian table, his fingers pressed against the surface, his knuckles pale with barely restrained rage. The tendrils of his cloak swirled unnaturally around his feet, stirred not by wind but by the energy coursing through him.

A faint crackle from the far end of the chamber announced the arrival of Malik, the only individual bold—or perhaps reckless—enough to step into Obsidian's presence unbidden. Clad in a dark, high-collared uniform adorned with Hades' Wrath insignia, Malik bowed low, his head dipping in what was both respect and a calculated act of self-preservation.

"My lord," Malik began, his voice smooth but cautious, "you summoned me."

Obsidian didn't immediately respond. He straightened slowly, his piercing eyes locking onto Malik with an intensity that felt like a blade at the throat.

"They've done it again," Obsidian said, his voice a low, venomous growl.

Malik remained still, though his pulse quickened. He didn't need specifics to know what "they" referred to—Team Unknown.

Obsidian gestured sharply toward a large projection screen that crackled to life in the air behind him.

Images and footage from Hades' Wrath's latest operation played in an endless loop: warehouses destroyed, Void-tainted constructs obliterated, and agents cut down with precision and brutal efficiency. At the center of it all were the unmistakable-cloaked figures of Team Unknown.

"They dismantled our forward base," Obsidian continued, his tone growing sharper with every word. "Our supply lines are in ruins. Entire contingents of constructs annihilated. And that wretched ARM user…" He trailed off, his fists clenching.

Malik tilted his head slightly, a calculated gesture to mask the unease that prickled at the edges of his composure. "It seems their reputation is well-earned."

Obsidian's eyes flashed with dark energy, and Malik immediately regretted his choice of words.

"Well-earned?" Obsidian hissed, taking a deliberate step closer. "You call this—" he gestured to the footage where Val, shrouded in Void-like shadows, crushed the last of the constructs with Deleo's devastating force—"'well-earned?'"

"My lord," Malik said quickly, his tone contrite but measured, "what I meant to convey is that they are formidable, yes. But even the strongest have weaknesses. We need only find theirs and exploit it."

Obsidian's rage didn't abate, but his gaze narrowed in contemplation. He turned away, his cloak swirling like smoke as he paced the room. "Weaknesses," he muttered, the word hanging in the air like a curse. "Yes, every force has its cracks. But these... pests are proving far more resilient than anticipated."

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Malik straightened slightly, taking the opportunity to step closer to the table. "Their cohesion is their strength, my lord. Their ability to anticipate and counteract our moves with precision. That and their infernal leader."

"Exeo Bellator," Obsidian spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "The eldest Bellator and a thorn in our side for far too long. His strategies are meticulous, almost predictive. And yet..." He paused, turning back to Malik. "It is the youngest who poses the greatest threat."

"The ARM user," Malik said, his voice lowers now.

Obsidian's dark gaze sharpened. "Yes. That boy and the... entity he commands." His fists tightened at his sides. "It is not mere power that makes him dangerous—it is his ability to inspire. His presence on the battlefield cripples our constructs, sends fear rippling through even our most hardened operatives. If Clareo continues to see him as their savior, we will never regain control."

Malik remained silent for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "If I may, my lord," he said slowly, "we have always thrived in the shadows. This... hero of theirs casts a long light, but even the brightest flame can be extinguished with the right strategy."

Obsidian's lips curled into a mirthless smile. "Strategy," he repeated, his voice laced with dark amusement. "Yes, Malik. That is precisely what I require of you. I summoned you because you are resourceful, and I do not tolerate failure. You will present me with a plan to rid me of these irritants once and for all."

Malik bowed deeply. "Of course, my lord. But if I may suggest... Perhaps direct confrontation is not the answer."

Obsidian's gaze darkened, but Malik pressed on. "We have attempted to overpower them, and it has cost us dearly. Their strength lies not only in their abilities but in their unity. To destroy them, we must dismantle that unity."

"Go on," Obsidian said, though his tone was a warning.

"We target their cohesion," Malik said, straightening slightly. "Sow division, mistrust. If they no longer trust each other, their strategies will falter, and their effectiveness will crumble. And in the chaos, we strike."

"And how do you propose we achieve this?" Obsidian demanded, his voice cold.

Malik's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Their bonds are forged in trust and camaraderie. But no bond is unbreakable. We plant seeds of doubt—through carefully leaked information, forged evidence, even false witnesses. If we make them question each other, even for a moment, it will be enough."

Obsidian considered this, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded slowly. "An intriguing proposal. But it is not enough."

"My lord?" Malik asked, his smirk fading.

"We will target their unity, yes," Obsidian said, his voice low and venomous. "But we will also strike where they least expect it. Their civilian allies, their families, their symbols of hope. Nothing is off-limits." He turned to Malik, his gaze burning with dark intent. "We will remind Clareo—and Team Unknown—what it means to face true fear."

Malik bowed deeply again. "It will be done, my lord. I will begin preparations immediately."

Obsidian waved a hand dismissively. "Go. And remember, Malik—failure is not an option."

Malik straightened, his expression a mask of determination as he left the chamber, the heavy doors closing behind him with an ominous thud.

Obsidian remained alone, his gaze fixed on the screen that still displayed the image of Val standing amidst the ruins of Hades' Wrath's latest failure.

"You think yourself untouchable," Obsidian murmured, his voice low but filled with malice. "But even the strongest can fall. And when you do, Clareo will burn."

The flames along the walls flickered higher as if in response, casting Obsidian's shadow across the room—a looming figure that promised destruction.

For Hades' Wrath, failure was not an option. And for Team Unknown, the shadow of Obsidian's wrath would soon come crashing down.