Coming at the present, the Ether Clone sensed that all employees and workers had finally left the company. The building was now completely empty—no footsteps echoing in the corridors, no keyboards clacking, no low murmurs of conversation. Only silence remained, thick and absolute.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Then he extended his divine sense.
It swept through the entire headquarters like invisible wind—locking onto every machine, every server rack, every hard drive, every document folder, every cable bundle, every cooling unit, every desk drawer containing critical blueprints or contracts. Nothing escaped his perception.
How did he know which documents and items were important? Simple.
He had already read the memories of every single individual present in the hall earlier. Not just surface thoughts—deep, detailed knowledge. Technical schematics, server configurations, operational protocols, employee access codes, even the unspoken hierarchies of who handled what. The flood of information had been overwhelming, thousands of minds pouring into his consciousness at once, but he had endured it. He had absorbed it all.
And it wasn't just the people physically in the room. He had located every remote participant on the video call—pinpointing their exact locations across cities and countries—and taken their memories too. Nothing was left hidden.
Now he had perfect knowledge of the company's inner workings. He knew exactly what to take and what to leave behind as meaningless clutter.
With everything locked in his mind, he raised one hand.
Space began to compress.
The machines, servers, documents, cables—everything he had marked as necessary—shrank instantly. Desks folded in on themselves. Server racks collapsed to the size of grains of sand. Papers curled into microscopic dots. Wires coiled into invisible threads. The entire contents of the headquarters—tons of equipment—were reduced to a swarm of tiny, shimmering specks, each no larger than an ant.
They floated upward, drawn toward the Ether Clone's open palm like iron filings to a magnet.
All things moved safely, perfectly preserved. No damage. No loss.
The cables and wires had been severed cleanly in the compression process—Ether Clone would simply rejoin them later inside the fortress. It would take only a second of his time.
Umang watched in stunned silence.
He saw thousands of minuscule specks—smaller than ants—streaming toward Sir Heart's hand. When he focused his eyes, he realized what they were: entire server parts, monitors, keyboards, stacks of documents, even chairs—all shrunken to near-microscopic size, yet intact.
His eyes contracted in awe.
He finally understood what Sir Heart intended.
The Ether Clone closed his fingers around the tiny swarm.
The specks vanished into his palm, stored in a compressed spatial pocket.
He lowered his hand.
"The work is done. Let's return."
Umang nodded numbly.
In the next instant, space folded once more.
Umang found himself back in the familiar office of Prime Minister Mordan.
But the Ether Clone was not there.
Umang blinked, adjusting to the sudden change.
He spoke into the empty air, voice tentative.
"Sir Heart… do you need us to pick up the employees?"
No response.
Umang waited a few seconds, then exhaled slowly.
"It looks like Sir Heart will take care of it."
Umang glanced around the empty office. No Mordan. No General Amit. The room felt strangely quiet after the sudden return—only the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant sounds of maids and workers outside the windows.
He stepped out into the corridor and spotted a maid polishing a side table. She looked up, startled, eyes widening when she saw him.
"Hey," Umang asked, "where did Sir Mordan go?"
The maid bowed quickly, voice respectful but tinged with curiosity.
"Sir Mordan went into the secret chamber underground with General Amit. They called over many men and women too… I don't know what their intentions are."
Her last words carried a hint of suspicion, a subtle gossiping tone that made Umang's expression harden.
He stepped closer, voice low and firm.
"Don't say anything like that again. They are not doing anything suspicious. Shut your mouth."
The maid's face paled instantly. She realized her mistake—speaking carelessly about the Prime Minister and a general. She bowed deeper, stammering apologies.
"Y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
She hurried away, head lowered.
Umang watched her go, then let out a quiet laugh.
"If Sir Mordan and General Amit knew about this maid's thoughts… don't know their reactions. Hahaha."
Shaking his head, he turned and walked toward the hidden entrance to the underground chamber.
The guards outside recognized him immediately and stepped aside without a word.