Mana Theory
The room was dim, lit only by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering on and off like a dying heartbeat.
It was the kind of scene ripped straight out of a movie: an old wooden table stood in the center, worn and splintered with age.
Behind the table sat a man, head bowed, his face twisted in anguish as he clenched his fists.
Click—!
The door creaked open, and a man in a black coat and hat stepped inside, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He wore black gloves and boots, and his entire outfit was a deep, impenetrable black.
Step—!
His footsteps echoed through the room, each one a heavy, deliberate sound.
Step—!
With each step, the man at the table shuddered, his body betraying his fear.
Step—!
The man in black finally stopped in front of the table. With a swift motion—
Thwip—!
—he dropped a stack of papers onto the table.