Third Person's POV
Each motion was precise and silent as if he were a shadow drifting from beneath a sleeping forest.
Rising to his feet, he stood tall and composed, mind sharpened by resolve.
He cast one last glance at the slumbering forms on the bed.
With his decision made and his heart steady, he turned toward the door and exited without a sound.
His footsteps barely echoed as he ascended back to the ground floor. The mont he stepped into the main hall, a soft silver light shimred in his irises.
Nothing happened in the real world, but the receptionist didn't glance up and seed completely unaware of his presence.
The nearby guards, too, continued their slumber and remained utterly still with their breathing rhythmic and undisturbed.
To them, he was invisible.
Like a passing wind, Ethan walked out of the inn into the silence of the dark night, which embraced him without resistance.
Once outside, he slipped into a narrow alley where shadows deepened.
He pulled a dark cloak from his spatial ring and wrapped it tightly around himself, with the thick material concealing every inch of his form.
And just like that, the man known as Ethan disappeared once more into the stillness of the demon city night.
Unlike the rest of the city, where the stillness of night cloaked every street and shadowed every alley, the surroundings of the Crimson Kill Tower were a different world altogether.
Here, the market and its inhabitants thrived under the bloody hue of the ever-glaring Blood Moon.
Laughter, murmurs, and clinking of strange tools echoed through the night as if this place had never known silence.
A dark figure moved silently through the thick crowd in its calculated steps and a steady breath.
Ethan was in his cloaked and hooded state as he weaved between wandering rchants and cloaked strangers.
His gaze shifted cautiously, and to his quiet shock, he caught sight of an imp being impaled by three of its own kind right in the middle of the street.
The act was brutal and so sudden, but no one reacted in horror or even so degree of shock.
Not a single soul paused or gasped, and it was as if such things were simply routine here.
Though he was surprised by this act, he didn't stop either and continued on his way.
He mostly turned into narrow lanes and made sure to avoid the main road as his boots padded against damp stone, and the walls around him were dimly lit by low lanterns emitting a dim glow.
In the shadows, strange sights t his eyes—deals made with whispers, grotesque figures hunched together with hands that didn't quite match their bodies, and eyes glowing in places where no faces should be.
However, what surprised him most was the complete absence of any form of law or enforcent, and it seed to indicate that this entire city operated on so unspoken, primal code where power ruled, and consequence followed only weakness.
He kept walking and brushing off several failed attempts by pickpockets whose hands slipped when they tried to feel his body.
To them, it was as if they were passing through a dark smoke and not a tangible person.
Ignoring them, he finally reached one of the nurous tall, black gates of the Crimson Kill Tower that lood without any nace.
Unlike what he expected it to have, the gate had no grim devil heads, no grotesque carvings of torture or any sort of hellish tornt to inspire fear.
Instead, the gate was etched with elegant black vines and delicate leaf motifs that glistened subtly in the moonlight.
Looking at them, it strangely made him feel warm, and it felt as if the art on the gate resonated with sothing deep inside him.
He sighed quietly under his hood and, pushing through the gate, he entered a long corridor lit by faint red glows from gemstones embedded in the stone walls.
Each of his steps echoed in the dark while the air grew heavier with sound and anticipation.
When he finally reached the end of the corridor, the quiet broke apart violently.
A wave of cheering, shouting, and bloodlust roared in his ears as he erged into a massive colosseum.
The scale of it stunned him as it was twice the size of a football stadium from his past life.
Seats towered high on all sides and were filled with spectators, howling and pointing while enchantnts at the ceiling created a moving haze that shimred like heat over stone and made it difficult to make out a clear view of the ceiling.
In such a huge and populous crowd, no one noticed an indescript hidden figure like him, as similar to him, hooded figures were scattered all around, blending into the dark in the sa way as him.
As expected, his attention shifted to the center of the colosseum in the next mont, where a savage duel was underway at this mont.
In the stone arena, Ethan could see what he presud to be a lithe and desperate wood elf, fighting for his life.
His beautiful green hair clung to his once handso, sweat-soaked face, while his crystal-like green eyes flicked wildly with panic.
He looked to be in his twenties with a young and gaunt face that was clearly malnourished, evident by his trembling limbs, too thin for battle.
A heavy iron collar around his neck confird what Ethan had already guessed the mont he had laid his eyes on him, and it was the fact that he was a slave.
Opposite him stood a hulking demon, standing around the height of ten feet.
Its skin was dark as volcanic rock, while its muscles bulged with black veins that wrapped its arms like iron cords in which it held a brutal pike with a serrated tip that it swung with the ease of a stick.
The elf dodged with all he had as his thin, nearly transparent green blade clashed against the pike in flickering flashes.
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