[Arshalak's POV]
One of the demons, Arshalak, didn't bother to maintain his disguise as human anymore as it was just wasting his mana for needless things — not when the enemy already recognised their true identity.
The illusion peeled away, revealing the being beneath. Two curved horns pushed out from his forehead, smooth and dark as polished obsidian.
His pupils thinned into vertical slits that glowed faintly with a sinister crimson light. The faint scent of scorched air followed him as dark mana leaked naturally from his body.
His gaze swept across the grand red amphitheater below, rows upon rows of elegant crimson seats arranged in perfect arcs.
The space was silent, already abandoned by its guests.
"Haa… so troublesome. Why the hell did he throw it through the window. Fuck! Should've killed him from the beginning," he clicked his tongue, irritation written plainly across his face.
Arshalak drifted lower, scanning the seat patiently and determinedly.
Then he saw it.
