Third-Person POV
Hotel BlackMoon, Third Floor
The third-floor corridor was a claustrophobic choke point. The walls were narrow, lined with peeling wallpaper and faded gold trim that looked sickly under the flickering emergency lights. The gray-blue illumination cast long, distorted shadows across the worn carpet, making the entire space look like an open tomb.
Five figures stood in a tight defensive grid. They didn't move. They barely breathed.
The squad leader stood dead center, his calloused fingers wrapped around the worn hilt of a notched, battle-scarred sword. A heavy, tactical rifle hung across his chest, the metal cool against his tactical vest. His eyes were entirely devoid of warmth—the cold, empty stare of a professional who traded in bodies.
To his left, the raven-haired woman kept her pistol leveled at eye level. Her ponytail was pinned back tightly, her frame perfectly still, and her finger rested light as a feather against the trigger guard. She had balanced her weight to absorb a sudden spike in recoil.
To his right stood the heavy. He was a mountain of a man, built out of dense muscle and old scar tissue, holding a sawed-off shotgun with an oversized bore. His expression was a cruel, twisted mask; he was the type of operator who liked to watch the physical ruin his weapon left behind.
Beneath them, a wiry mercenary crouched low to the floorboards. His face was a jagged map of white, raised scars, and his hands remained perfectly steady as he absently spun a pair of serrated daggers between his fingers. The rhythmic, metallic clink of the steel was the only sound in the hallway.
And at the far end, completely swallowed by the deep shadows of the stairwell, the sniper remained prone. His rifle barrel was anchored toward the elevator doors, cold and patient.
They had all heard the slaughter from the lower floors. The radio channel had caught the wet, choking sounds of Marcus and Jin going dark. Three elite, mana-reinforced operatives had been butchered in under ten minutes. The copper tang of adrenaline was thick in their mouths. They knew they weren't dealing with a normal infiltrator. They were waiting for a monster.
Then, the low, industrial groan of the elevator machinery vibrated through the concrete walls.
Rumble...
"Positions," the leader hissed, his voice a low, lethal rasp.
The four visible operatives locked into their stances, their muscles tensing like coiled steel springs. Their eyes glued themselves to the rusted iron elevator doors.
The cables strained. The mechanical floor indicator above the frame flickered sharply, casting a dull red glow over the entrance. Second floor... approaching third...
Ding.
The innocent electronic chime was instantly swallowed by the violent hiss of compressed air as the heavy metal doors slid back.
Riyan Descartes stepped out of the metal box.
He wasn't an imposing giant, standing at a lean, average height, but his presence completely suffocated the narrow corridor. He was eighteen years old, moving with the untouchable, effortless arrogance of a god looking down at insects [cite: ]. The Yunling Spear hung casually in his right grip, its dark ebony shaft absorbing the sickly blue light, while the raw ruby gemstone embedded in the blade throbbed with a slow, heavy pulse.
The cuffs of his sleeves were damp, stained dark with the fresh, thick blood of the men he had executed downstairs. A slow, rhythmic drip, drip hit the linoleum floor of the elevator car behind him.
His scarlet eyes swept across the five waiting mercenaries. He didn't evaluate their cover. He didn't calculate a defensive angle. He simply smiled—a cold, mocking expression of pure amusement [cite: ].
"Eight became five," Riyan said, his smooth voice cutting through the heavy silence like a razor blade [cite: ]. "Let's see how many seconds you last."
The woman's jaw clamped shut so hard her teeth ground together. The leader's knuckles turned bone-white against his sword hilt. The insult stripped away their composure, replacing it with raw, vicious anger.
But their training overrode the shock.
The rifleman snapped his stock into his shoulder. The woman adjusted her line of sight directly between Riyan's eyes. The brute with the shotgun planted his heels into the floorboards and squeezed.
CRACK!
The pistol spat a single high-velocity round—clean, precise, and laced with compressed violet energy meant to pierce through skull plating.
BOOM!
The sawed-off shotgun unleashed a deafening, thunderous roar that shook the plaster loose from the ceiling. A devastating, wide-cone volley of specialized, mana-charged buckshot tore through the air, ripping the crimson carpet to shreds and turning wood splinters into flying, lethal shrapnel.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The leader added three rifle rounds in a fraction of a second. Each projectile burned with a jagged, electric blue trail of destructive mana, designed to destabilize organic matter on impact.
The narrow corridor became an absolute meat grinder. The acrid, choking stench of scorched ozone and burnt gunpowder instantly flooded the space, the sheer atmospheric pressure of the mana discharge causing the overhead fluorescent lights to pop and shatter in a spray of sparks.
A solid wall of supersonic, mana-infused death was rushing down the hallway.
Every single projectile converged on Riyan's position in the span of a single heartbeat. There was no room to dodge. No space to duck. The volume of fire was designed to leave nothing but a fragmented, bloody paste against the back wall of the elevator.
Riyan's pupils dilated, his Gojo-like pride unshakeable as his enhanced perception broke the chaotic barrage down into individual, slow-motion trajectories [cite: ]. He didn't step back. He didn't cover his face.
The darkness around his frame began to boil—coiling, waiting, and reacting to his absolute will like a starved predator breaking its chains.
And then—
To Be Continued...
Q&A CORNER
Questions for Readers:
How will Riyan counter the Mana-infused weapons? Will he use his Darkness affinity defensively or offensively?
Do you think Riyan will use "Nemora" against these five hijackers, or save it for a more worthy opponent?
What role will the Yunling Spear play in this fight? Will we see Riyan's Spear Saint talent truly unleashed?
The two remaining hijackers are still unaccounted for—where do you think they are, and what threat might they pose?
Share your predictions and theories in the comments!
SUPPORT THE STORY
If you're enjoying this intense arc, please show your support!
⚡ Power Stones - Every stone helps push this novel higher in rankings! Your votes make a real difference!
💎 Golden Tickets - Premium support that shows you're invested in Riyan's journey!
🎁 Gifts - Send gifts to fuel more chapters and faster releases!
💬 Comments & Reviews - Your feedback and reactions keep me motivated! Let me know what you think of the action!
🔖 Add to Library - Don't miss the next chapter! Bookmark now!
Your support is what keeps this story alive and thriving. Every power stone, every comment, every gift tells me you want to see more of Riyan's dark conquest!
Thank you for reading!
— Lone Raut [cite: ]
The battle begins in earnest. Will the hijackers' Mana-infused weapons be enough to stop Riyan, or will they join their three fallen comrades? Find out next time!