Third Person POV
Hotel BlackMoon - First Floor
11:58 PM
The lobby was all marble and money. Crystal chandeliers. Floors polished to mirrors. Classical music at the exact volume rich people preferred—present but never intrusive.
Late-night guests drifted through in expensive clothes, talking in that soft murmur that signaled they'd never worried about rent, groceries, or anything that actually mattered.
None of them noticed the three figures near the main entrance.
Black tactical gear. Mana-resistant fabric that could deflect minor spells. Featureless masks smoothing their faces into blank nothing. They looked like high-end security—the kind guests expected to see.
But their positions were wrong. Not guarding. Preparing to lock down.
Once they moved, nothing would leave this building without permission.
Behind one of them, his shadow lay flat against the polished floor. Just another patch of darkness in a space full of carefully managed light.
The shadow deepened.
Subtle at first. A gradual darkening that could've been a trick of the chandelier light shifting. But it kept growing, spreading, rising from the floor in a way shadows shouldn't.
The hijacker didn't notice. Eyes on the entrance, one hand on his comm device, focused on the wrong threats.
The shadow solidified behind him. Condensed. Became a person standing where nothing had been seconds before.
Riyan straightened his mask, gave his neck a light stretch.
Then he manifested a dagger from pure darkness—blade black enough to swallow light—and drove it through the hijacker's kidney in one smooth motion.
The scream tore through the lobby's quiet.
"AHHH—"
Riyan's free hand clamped over the man's mouth, muffling it. But the other two hijackers had already spun around, hands reaching for weapons.
They froze.
Their companion was on his knees, blood spreading fast across expensive marble. Behind him stood someone who shouldn't exist—materializing from nothing, bypassing their security, killing before they'd even registered a threat.
And he looked bored.
Riyan's scarlet eyes—visible above his mask—held the kind of casual disinterest you'd give a particularly unimpressive street performer. He released the dying man, letting him collapse with a wet thud.
"Evening," Riyan said pleasantly. "Don't let me interrupt."
One hijacker found his voice. "Who the fuck—"
Riyan disappeared.
Not running. Not hiding. Just gone, pulled into shadow fast enough that the hijacker's eyes couldn't track the movement.
Pain exploded in his chest.
Riyan rematerialized directly in front of him, close enough to whisper. The darkness blade was already buried between his ribs, angled up toward the heart.
"You were saying?" Riyan asked politely.
The hijacker tried to respond. Choked on blood instead.
Riyan pulled the blade free with a soft squelch, then drove it in again—different angle, different vital organ. Clean. Efficient. No wasted movement.
The hijacker's legs buckled.
Riyan caught him by the collar, held him upright long enough to stab him three more times in rapid succession—liver, lung, throat—before letting the body drop.
Seven seconds. Two dead.
The last hijacker stumbled backward, professional training disintegrating into raw animal panic. His hand fumbled for the comm device.
A barrier snapped into place around them—invisible, absolute, cutting off all sound from the outside world.
The hijacker's scream died against it. "HELP! SOMEONE—"
"They can't hear you," Riyan said conversationally, inspecting blood on his glove with mild distaste. "I've made sure of that."
"What do you want?" The words came out strangled.
Riyan looked up, head tilted slightly. "Want? Nothing from you specifically. You're just in the way of what I'm here to do."
He took a step forward. The hijacker took three back, spine hitting the wall.
"See, you made a mistake tonight." Riyan's tone was light, almost friendly. "Thought betraying Sirus would be profitable. Selling weapons to Nexus, getting rich." Another step. "It was a bad plan."
"I wasn't—we didn't—"
Riyan vanished again.
When he reappeared, he was behind the man. The blade found the kidney first—deep, angled to cause maximum damage—then moved upward methodically. Liver. Diaphragm. Each strike placed with surgical precision.
The hijacker's screams echoed uselessly against the barrier.
Riyan worked with the calm focus of someone performing a familiar task. No frenzy. No rage. Just competent, terrifying efficiency.
The hijacker's struggles weakened. Slowed. Stopped.
Riyan let the body slide down the wall, leaving a red smear.
He stood there for a moment, breathing steady, expression neutral. Blood covered his tactical gear in arterial spray patterns. He looked down at his hands—soaked red to the wrist—and felt something old stir in his chest.
Muscle memory from another life. Another body. Another world where he'd done this before.
"Nemora..."
The word slipped out quiet. Foreign syllables his mouth shaped with terrible familiarity.
A curse. A name. A memory he couldn't fully access but could feel—heavy and dark and belonging to someone he'd been before transmigrating into Riyan Descartes.
The past that shaped him. Made him capable of this. Made him good at this.
He shoved the memories down hard.
Later. Process later. Move now.
The barrier dissolved. Lobby sounds rushed back in—music, conversations, elevator bells. None of the guests looked toward the entrance. Riyan had already wrapped shadows around the bodies, hiding them from casual observation.
Eight more traitors remained scattered throughout the hotel. And he'd just killed three of their team—someone would notice the missed check-in soon.
Time was now a factor.
Riyan melted back into shadow, moving toward the service corridors.
The hunt continued.
But in the back of his mind, that foreign word lingered.
Nemora.
And the weight of whoever he'd been before Riyan Descartes was born.
Author's Note:
This chapter shows Riyan's first real violence in the present timeline and hints at the darkness from his previous life that drives his lethal efficiency. The word "Nemora" will be explained in the upcoming flashback arc.
Content Warning: The next arc will explore Riyan's previous life and the trauma/experiences that shaped his current personality. This will include dark themes and psychological horror. Reader discretion advised.
Reader Discussion:
How do you feel about Riyan's calm approach to violence? Should he be trying to suppress these tendencies or accept them? What do you think "Nemora" means?
Engagement Goals:
140 Power Stones = Extra chapter continuing the hotel action 35 Golden Tickets = Bonus content on Riyan's psychology 45 Reviews = Detailed exploration of his previous world
Thanks for reading! Power stones and comments appreciated!
- Your Author