Red leaned closer to his microphone, letting his unblinking gaze fixate on the glowing projections. He needed them to understand the sheer, terrifying scale of the industrial meat-grinder waiting for them.
"You look at a Rank Seven marker and assume you are invading a primitive, uncivilized, undefended expanse," Red continued, his tone dropping to a low, predatory register. "You fail to comprehend that the entire eastern hemisphere has been fundamentally optimized to break things down. Bring your heavy cavalry, your millions of refugees, and your ancient divine cores. I will efficiently feed them all into the grid. The Glitch offers a quick, painless deletion. Submitting yourselves to my processing cycle will be significantly less merciful."
Red let the sheer, soulless horror of the threat hang in the digital air, ensuring they understood they were walking into an absolute slaughterhouse without giving away a single detail of how it actually operated.
