Third Person POV
**Hotel BlackMoon - First Floor**
**11:58 PM**
The lobby of Hotel BlackMoon was a monument to tasteful excess—marble floors that gleamed like mirrors, crystal chandeliers that cast prismatic light across surfaces worth more than most people's homes, and the kind of hushed atmosphere that only truly expensive establishments could cultivate. Late-night guests moved through the space with the languid confidence of people who'd never worried about money, their conversations a soft murmur beneath classical music played at precisely calculated volume.
None of them noticed the three figures positioned strategically near the main entrance.
The hijackers wore black tactical gear designed to resist magical attacks—mana-woven fabric that could deflect minor spells and reduce the impact of more serious ones. Their faces were hidden behind featureless masks that distorted their features into smooth, inhuman blankness. To casual observation, they looked like high-end security personnel, the kind wealthy guests expected to see protecting such an establishment.
But their positioning told a different story to anyone with tactical training. They weren't guarding the entrance—they were preparing to lock it down. Once their operation began, nothing would get in or out of this building without their permission.
Behind one of the hijackers, unnoticed in the carefully managed lighting, his shadow lay innocuous against the polished floor. Just another patch of darkness in a space full of carefully calculated illumination.
Then the shadow moved.
It was subtle at first—a deepening of the darkness, a slight expansion that could have been dismissed as a trick of the light. But the movement continued, growing more pronounced, the shadow rising from the floor like smoke given substance.
The hijacker, focused on watching the entrance and monitoring his communication device, noticed nothing. His companions, equally distracted, remained oblivious.
The shadow coalesced behind him, darkness condensing into solid form. Within seconds, a figure stood where there had been only empty air—young, dressed in black tactical gear that matched the hijackers' own, but with one crucial difference.
His eyes, visible above a mask that covered the lower half of his face, burned scarlet in the dim light. And in his right hand, darkness itself seemed to have taken physical form, coiling and writhing before solidifying into a dagger whose blade absorbed light rather than reflecting it.
Riyan moved with practiced efficiency, the motion so smooth it seemed almost lazy. His darkness-forged blade flashed once, cutting through mana-resistant fabric and flesh beneath with equal ease.
The hijacker's scream shattered the lobby's careful quiet.
"AHHHHH!"
It was cut short as Riyan's free hand clamped over the man's mouth, but the damage was done. The other two hijackers spun toward the sound, their hands moving toward weapons—
And froze.
Their companion was on his knees, blood pooling beneath him from a wound that had severed something vital. Behind him stood a figure that shouldn't have existed—someone had materialized from nothing, bypassed all their security, and struck without warning.
And he was smiling.
Riyan's expression, visible above his mask, held something that made both trained killers hesitate. Not rage. Not the cold focus of a professional. Something worse—genuine enjoyment mixed with curiosity, like a child discovering a new toy and wondering how easily it would break.
"Who—" one hijacker started to say.
Riyan vanished.
Not through movement—through shadows that wrapped around him and pulled him into darkness like water accepting a stone. The hijacker's eyes widened, searching for a target that was no longer—
Pain exploded through his midsection.
Riyan had rematerialized directly in front of him, so close their masks almost touched. The darkness-forged dagger was already buried in the hijacker's stomach, and even as the man's mind struggled to process what was happening, Riyan pulled the blade free and struck again.
*Stab.*
The blade found a gap between ribs.
*Stab.*
Another vital organ compromised.
*Stab.*
The hijacker tried to fight back, to summon his own magic, but shock and blood loss were stealing his strength faster than he could react.
*Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.*
Seven strikes in less than three seconds, each one placed with surgical precision to maximize damage and pain. Riyan's movements were economical, almost beautiful in their efficiency—no wasted motion, no hesitation, just pure mechanical violence.
The hijacker collapsed, blood spreading across marble floors that had never been designed to absorb such quantities. His eyes were already glazing over, life leaving in stages too fast to track.
The last hijacker stumbled backward, his professional composure shattering into raw terror. His hand fumbled for the communication device that would alert the others, that would bring help—
A barrier snapped into place. Invisible but absolute, cutting off sound from the outside world. Whatever happened in this pocket of reality would remain unseen and unheard by the hotel's oblivious guests.
"HELP!" The hijacker screamed, but the sound died against the barrier, going nowhere. "SOMEONE—ANYONE—"
"They can't hear you," Riyan said, his voice carrying an almost conversational tone despite the bodies at his feet. "I've made sure of that. It's just you and me now."
"Wh-who are you?" The hijacker's voice cracked. "What do you want?"
Riyan tilted his head, studying the man with the detached interest of a scientist observing an interesting specimen. Blood covered his tactical gear in arterial spray patterns, but he seemed unbothered by it. If anything, the crimson stains made his scarlet eyes seem to glow brighter.
"I am Riyan Descartes," he said, emphasizing his own name with dark satisfaction. "And what I want is for you to understand something important."
He took a step forward. The hijacker took two steps back, his spine hitting the wall.
"You made a mistake tonight. You thought betraying Sirus would be profitable. You thought selling weapons to Nexus would make you rich." Another step. "You thought wrong."
"I don't—I wasn't—" The hijacker's protests died as Riyan vanished again.
This time, when he rematerialized, he was directly behind the man. His blade found the kidney with practiced ease, then the liver, then began working upward through organs with methodical precision.
The hijacker's screams echoed against the barrier, trapped in this bubble of violence, going nowhere. Riyan's expression had shifted into something genuinely disturbing—not just satisfaction at a job done well, but actual pleasure in the act itself.
*Stab. Stab. Stab.*
Each strike was accompanied by a soft laugh that grew in volume and intensity. The sound wasn't quite sane—it carried notes of genuine amusement mixed with something darker, something that suggested Riyan had disconnected from the humanity of what he was doing.
"Hahahaha... Hahahaha..."
The laughter continued even as the hijacker's struggles weakened, even as life left his eyes and his body went limp. Riyan kept laughing, kept stabbing, lost in something that was part memory and part present reality.
Finally, he stopped. The body slumped to the floor, joining its companions in the growing pool of blood. The barrier remained in place, hiding the carnage from the peaceful lobby beyond.
Riyan stood there, breathing heavily not from exertion but from emotional intensity. His hands were steady despite being covered in blood. His eyes held a distant quality, as if he were seeing through this moment into something else entirely.
"Nemora..."
The word slipped from his lips unbidden—foreign syllables that carried weight beyond their sound. It wasn't a name he'd ever spoken in this life, but his mouth shaped it with terrible familiarity. A curse from another existence, a word that had once meant something specific and dreadful.
Memories crashed over him like a wave he couldn't resist. Not memories from Riyan Descartes's childhood, but from before. From the life he'd lived before transmigrating into this world. The life that had shaped what he'd become, that had planted seeds of darkness that were only now bearing fruit.
*The past that made me what I am today,* he thought distantly, watching blood drip from his dagger onto pristine marble. *The reason I can do this without hesitation. The reason I enjoy it.*
The barrier dissolved as his concentration wavered. The lobby's sounds rushed back in—classical music, quiet conversations, the soft ding of elevator bells. None of the guests had noticed the brief silence. None of them looked toward the entrance where three bodies lay in spreading pools of crimson.
Because Riyan had already pulled shadows around the scene, hiding it from casual observation. The bodies would remain invisible until he chose otherwise or until his concentration finally broke.
He needed to move. Eight more traitors remained throughout the hotel, and he'd just announced his presence to anyone monitoring the first team's communications. Time was now a factor.
But for this moment, he stood frozen, caught between present violence and past memories that threatened to drag him under.
Memories of another life. Another world. And another name that had once been his.
*Later,* he told himself, forcing the memories back down. *Process later. Survive now.*
He melted into shadows once more, leaving the bodies behind as he moved deeper into the hotel.
The hunt had only just begun.
---
**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 sadistic tendencies. 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 enjoyment of violence?
- Should he be trying to suppress these tendencies or accept them?
- What do you think "Nemora" means?
**Next Chapter Preview:** "Riyan's Past Life [Part 1]" - We go back to before the transmigration, to the life that created the darkness inside him.
**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*