"Found you."
The voice, laced with unfathomable malice, resonated solely in Lamar's mind.
With a simple gesture, the steel door barricading the entrance shattered like glass, fragments scattering as a man strode through the wreckage.
Energy radiated from his body—so intense it made even Lamar hesitate.
"How peculiar," Lamar mused aloud, his tone both curious and cautious as his gaze settled on the figure emerging from the secret entrance. "I don't recall offending anyone like you two."
His eyes narrowed, studying Sinn: black horns curving subtly from his head, blending seamlessly with slicked-back hair as dark as midnight.
'No unique signature… no energy radiating from him at all,' Lamar thought, scrutinizing Sinn's appearance.
"What's the purpose of wearing a mask?" he asked, genuine curiosity coloring his words.
The newcomer didn't exude the same aura of danger as the man who had just demolished the front entrance.
Sinn's gaze met Lamar's, who now stood tall among the others in the room, tension crackling in the air.
"To hide my appearance. Nothing more," Sinn replied, his voice flat and emotionless.
Lamar frowned, confusion flickering across his face.
'You bring someone radiating such killing intent, only to say you're hiding your face? Are you not confident in facing me two-on-one? Or do you plan to run if things get difficult?'
Despite his internal dilemma, Lamar found himself oddly satisfied. He wouldn't be intimidated so easily.
"That's a good answer," Lamar said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "But you'll still die today, no matter what."
He paused, his essence beginning to pulse—a dark red aura tinged with sickly green swirling around him.
He could feel the abnormality of the Vest of Obscure, a power he'd mastered for years.
How could he lose control now, after so long? The only explanation was that this was orchestrated.
Was it mere coincidence, after nearly a decade refining his essence, that he was forced into abandoning it just after?
He pondered, brow furrowing. How did they know he possessed the Vest of Obscure?
"Was it you…" Lamar's aura flared, its oppressive weight causing several companions to falter.
"The reason you came here no longer matters. Your lives belong to me the moment you stepped inside." His voice was cold, final. "But I'll let one of you live—if you tell me how you learned of my location and the Vest of Obscure."
As his words hung in the air, Max and Sinn exchanged glances, sharing the same unspoken thought:
'What the hell is he talking about?'
Sensing the shift, Sinn grew more cautious. With a faint smirk, he pointed at Max.
"Ask him. He led me here."
Before Max could protest or glare at Sinn, a wave of dizziness washed over them, emanating from Lamar's outstretched hand.
"No matter," Lamar sneered, his expression twisting into something sinister and deranged. "I'll take my time with questions later."
He flipped open a haze-stained stitched book, turning to a marked page.
As he chanted incoherent words, Sinn instinctively widened the distance between them.
Max's essence condensed, his body hardening in preparation.
His gaze dropped to the floor near Lamar's feet, where a black substance began to ooze and spread like living tar.
In a blur of motion, an attacker cloaked in shadows lunged.
Slashing his own palm, he let blood drip onto the growing abyss.
"Keep him busy," Lamar commanded, his voice barely above a whisper.
Confusion flickered between Sinn and Max, but before Max could clarify Sinn's involvement, a hand seized his face and hurled him through the building's wall.
In an instant, both Max and his assailant vanished.
Sinn, knowing his own limits, he didn't hesitate.
He dashed after Max, but with each step, tendrils of black mist coiled around the entrance, trapping him within the bar alongside Lamar.
In Lamar's hands, the glowing sun and the ancient book switched places—the sun hovering above his injured hand, the book gripped tightly in the other.
"There's no escape from this realm," Lamar intoned, his voice echoing with ancient power.
"This is a force from the old ages—not something mortals can contend with. But do not fear for yourself or your companion. I shall make him join you soon enough."
His tone softened, almost inhumanly gentle.
He believed the one radiating energy was the true threat—the one who had attacked him before. To Lamar, Sinn was nothing more than a bug, lost without his queen's command.
"How interesting," Sinn remarked, eyes narrowing. "Is this your power? No… it feels stranger than any vestige's abilities. Is the source of your strength that sun-like object?"
Lamar's eyes widened, surprised by Sinn's insight. For someone who appeared to be a mere mortal half-ling, his intelligence was anything but ordinary.
He's quite dangerous indeed…
Lamar's expression remained carved from stone, but his actions betrayed a simmering intensity beneath the surface.
In an instant, the ancient book in his hands fluttered open to a page marked by age and use.
He began to chant those same incoherent words, but this time, the air itself seemed to shudder in response.
From the empty space around him—and even from the surfaces of nearby tables and shattered glass—black tentacles erupted, at least thirty or more.
Each one was thick as a man's arm, their surfaces slick and glistening like oil under moonlight.
Strange, shifting symbols pulsed along their length, glowing faintly with a sickly green light that made the shadows writhe and twist across the walls.
The tentacles moved with unnatural grace, snaking through the air, coiling around chairs, and slithering across the floorboards.
Where they touched, the wood blackened and splintered, as if rotting away in seconds.
The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of burnt iron and something older, more primal.
Sinn's crimson eyes narrowed, reflecting the eerie glow of the symbols.
His gaze was sharp and unyielding, the red irises burning with both caution and curiosity. He watched as the tentacles reached for the others in the room—companions and bystanders alike.
One by one, as the tendrils brushed against them, they vanished without a sound, swallowed whole by the darkness of mist. No screams, no struggle—just a silent erasure, as if they had never existed.
To Sinn, the display was both mesmerizing and terrifying.
The power clearly emanated from the book clutched tightly in Lamar's grasp, its pages now flickering with unnatural energy.
A thought flashed through Sinn's mind: If he could disarm Lamar, would the black haze attacking Max vanish?
Would the others return from whatever void had claimed them?
But another question gnawed at him—why wasn't Lamar unleashing his immense essence in battle?
Sinn's own aura flared defensively, but he noticed Lamar's remained curiously restrained.
This was the main reason Sinn had hesitated to face him alone.
Could it be that Lamar was unable to use his full strength?
With this new suspicion, Sinn decided to probe further, his red eyes never leaving Lamar's face.
"Before we fight," Sinn called out, his voice steady but edged with challenge, "I have to ask—why can't you use your essence?"
For the first time, Lamar's expression shifted—surprise flickered across his features, quickly replaced by anger. The tentacles paused, their movements faltering for a heartbeat.
That single reaction told Sinn everything he needed to know.
And for Lamar, it confirmed that Sinn truly had no idea what had transpired; all blame must lie with that so-called Max.
The room, once filled with tension and bodies, now echoed with emptiness—save for the two figures locked in a silent battle of wits and will, shadows writhing around them like living nightmares.
With the sound of a single drop of water—its origin unknown—the tentacles vanished.
No, not vanished; they struck with a speed too swift for the naked eye to follow.
Sinn's crimson eyes widened in alarm, but before he could move, the tentacles pierced his body with perfect precision.
Thick streams of blood flowed along the writhing black limbs, staining the air with a metallic scent.
The room seemed to freeze, shadows stretching as if recoiling from the violence.
But before Lamar's shock could fully settle into disappointment, something strange happened. His eyes widened further as a swirl of white fog took Sinn's place.
In an instant, Sinn's body dissolved into the mist, and the blood faded away as if it had never existed.
The space where Sinn had stood was now empty, save for the lingering haze that curled and drifted like ghostly fingers.
For a moment, Lamar felt a chill crawl down his spine.
Sinn's presence, once so unique and bizarre, had vanished completely.
It was as if the very essence of Sinn had been erased from reality, leaving only silence and uncertainty behind.
Was it the tentacles?
The oppressive atmosphere shifted, and Lamar sensed a change—not just in the room, but in himself.
He realized, with growing unease and caution, that he was no longer the hunter.
Instead, he was being watched, stalked by something unseen.
Lamar's expression twisted in confusion. 'How is he using the Vest of Obscure?' he wondered.
But before he could think further, a chilling sense of danger prickled at his back—a feeling like icy breath against his skin.
He hesitated for a split second, then dodged—but not quickly enough. A deep cut opened across his back, hot blood seeping through his clothes.
The pain was sharp, but what unsettled him more was the certainty that Sinn was still there, hidden within the fog, moving with predatory intent.
'What the hell?' Lamar's body flickered away, only to find nothing behind him but dissipating white fog.
The mist seemed to whisper, swirling around him, making every shadow feel alive and threatening.
His face flushed red with realization.
"It was you!" he roared, voice echoing through the empty space.
The energy radiating from him surged wildly, but soon sputtered and faded.
His reserves were low, and he had no time to restart the painstaking process of refining his essence.
The sensation of being hunted grew stronger, pressing in on him from all sides.
But at least now he understood: the reason the Vest of Obscure had reacted so violently wasn't due to his own inability to control it.
It was because of this masked man—either by intention or through some mysterious means like his fog.
Sinn's disappearance was not an escape, but a transformation into something far more dangerous—a predator lurking in the mist.
Lamar's expression grew hungry, almost lustful, as he considered the possibility that this person might be the perfect ingredient for the Vest of Obscure.
That was why it had reacted so strongly—it sensed a perfect sacrifice.