The Wardens didn't stop them. They stepped aside without a word, their gazes fixed on the figure they dared not name.
Nameless walked forward without hesitation. Ryne followed, her eyes darting nervously between shadows, her chest tight with unease.
The street beneath their feet was black stone, cracked and veined with dried blood. It gleamed faintly, like veins carrying a dead city's pulse. The air reeked of iron and rot. Above them, crimson banners swayed from pillars carved of polished bone. Their rhythm was too measured, like the city itself was breathing.
Ryne's voice was low. "This place was built on human suffering. It's not a city anymore—it's a nest. The demons remade it for themselves."
Nameless gave no reply. His eyes moved once across the swaying banners, then forward again.
Then came the cages.
Humans lined the walls, embedded into the architecture like grotesque decorations. Their bodies were thin, skin pale and stretched across ribs. Their limbs were bound by tendon cords that twitched faintly, as though alive.
Ryne's steps faltered. "They're prisoners. The demons keep them here… starve them, display them. Like trophies."
Nameless's gaze lingered, unreadable. The prisoners stared back at him, every pair of hollow eyes fixed, ignoring everything else.
Ryne whispered, shaken. "They're all looking at you."
Nameless's voice was calm, almost distant. "Strange."
The sound of chants grew louder ahead. The Arena rose before them, its gate a grotesque arch of ribs joined by a skull that dripped black ichor.
Ryne stopped short at the threshold, pressing a hand over her nose. "This is where it happens."
Nameless glanced at her. "Explain."
She swallowed. "The fights. Not real fights—executions. The demon lords bet on who survives longer. It's entertainment for them."
Nameless's gaze lingered on the gate, then shifted to the darkness beyond."…Pathetic."
They entered.
The Arena swallowed them whole. A vast bowl carved from jagged black stone, its walls split with glowing red cracks that pulsed in rhythm with the crowd's roar. The tiers rose high, filled with demons of every shape. Some wore stolen human faces, stretched thin. Others had none at all, only voids where features should be.
In the center pit, two humans stumbled across the sand. Thin. Bloodied. Fighting not with skill, but desperation—each swing a plea for one more breath.
The crowd howled, the sound a storm of claws, wings, and teeth. They weren't cheering victory. They were savoring despair.
Ryne's voice was tight. "They've been doing this for decades. Turning humans into sport."
Nameless stood still, watching in silence. His face gave nothing away.
Finally, his words cut through the noise, low and calm. "So this is their truth."
Ryne turned toward him, anger and disbelief in her eyes. "You say that like it doesn't matter."
Nameless didn't look at her. His gaze stayed fixed on the arena floor. "Because it doesn't."
His tone carried no cruelty, no jest—only a weight that made Ryne's chest tighten.
And in that moment, she wasn't sure if she feared the demons around her more… or the man beside her who spoke as if he'd already judged them all.
The audience—demon lords in robes woven from human hair, witches with knives for teeth, eyeless children gnawing bones—laughed and screamed. One man fell. Another leapt atop him, fists hammering until blood sprayed the sand.
The crowd howled as one:
"FEED! FEED! FEED! FEED!…"
Ryne leaned back against the jagged wall, posture loose but deliberate, and slipped a long, slender pipe from her sleeve. Polished wood with a silver mouthpiece — an artifact of another age, surviving here like a ghost. She packed it with a flick of her fingers, struck flint, and coaxed a flame to life.
The ember glowed. Smoke curled upward in pale ribbons, mocking the stench of rot and iron. She drew slowly, savoring.
Nameless didn't move. But his pupils widened, gaze fixed on her. When he spoke, it was quiet, flat — yet sharp enough to cut the din.
"Is that necessary now?"
Ryne exhaled, lips curving faintly as the smoke drifted past.
"Necessary? No. But down here… I'd rather choose what I breathe."
His head tilted, eyes tracking the smoke before returning to her. He said nothing.
She tapped the pipe against the wall, knocking away the ash. Her smile sharpened, though her tone softened.
"Don't mistake it for indulgence. It's comfort. A steady thing, when nothing else is."
The smoke rose higher, curling like restless spirits before vanishing into the black ceiling.
Nameless's eyes lingered on it, unreadable. Then, softly:
"…Comfort."
A low chuckle slipped from her, threaded with fatigue and defiance.
"Exactly. Efficient, isn't it? A single flame, and the world tastes different for a while."
The ember flared again as she drew from the pipe. For a heartbeat, its glow lit her face — and in that brief light, the weight in her eyes was clearer than her words ever allowed.
Silence pressed in. Only the hiss of the ember, the chants echoing, and smoke that refused to linger.
Nameless finally spoke, gaze shifting toward the cages.
"Why does a place like this exist?"
Ryne exhaled smoke, watching it spiral.
"Why is the First Realm so broken, you mean? I'd rather answer it later."
"Then at least tell me why no one helped them?" he asked, nodding to the prisoners clawing at iron bars.
She let out a sigh...
"Are you being serious? Do you not see the damned creatures around you?. You learn which battles keep you sane."
The chanting shifted. Another fight was beginning.
Nameless stepped forward. Frustration tightened his stride. No one called his name. No one invited him. He just walked into the arena.
The sand shifted under his boots.
The crowd noticed.
Chanting slowed. Then stopped.
Every eye turned to him.
From the stands, Ryne murmured through smoke,
"Here we go… can't control him after all, show me what you can do."
From above, something descended.
A bloated demon lord, swaddled in chains of gold. Its eyes bulged too large for its face. It floated on a black mist, smiling with teeth dripping red.
Its voice echoed unnaturally:
"You are not of this city. You look human. And you dare step on my stage? It's even amusing how a human like you wandering around freely in this city"
Nameless looked up, lips curling.
"Are you stupid?. I belong in every hell like this."
The beast chuckled, chains rattling.
"Then perhaps the crowd will feed on something new."
Its eyes narrowed. Recognition flickered.
"Wait… it feels like I know you from somewhere."
Nameless tilted his head.
"Oh? And here I thought I had one of those forgettable faces."
The grin returned, but its claws twitched.
"You shouldn't be here."
Nameless's smile widened.
"You think I give a damn?."
Chains erupted from the sand as nameless said those words, wrapping his arms and legs. They bit into flesh, sizzling as though trying to brand him.
The demon lord raised its hand.
"Let's see if you can save yourself then."
Nameless lowered his head, breath slow.
The second crystal in his spine pulsed — not glowing, but awake.
The demon's eyes widened.
"Those crystals… You—"
Nameless cut in, voice sharp.
"It feels like you really know me. Which is nice, because I sure as hell don't."
The chains turned to dust as the second crystal flickered on his spine.
And then he moved.
One heartbeat. His hand was inside the beast's chest — not killing, only gripping. His fingers closed around a sphere of swirling light and shadow: a memory orb.
The orbs weren't hearts.
They were worse.
Every demon carried one—an "essence core orb." It wasn't just their life: it was their mind, their memories, every identity they'd ever stolen.
When a demon devours a soul, the memories don't fade. They sink into the orb, swirling like trapped fireflies, each one a fragment of someone else's life.
Pulling one free was more than a death sentence—it rips open their whole history. And if you were foolish enough to touch it with bare skin, you don't just see their memories.
You risk keeping them, It's up to the consumer to let go or suffer those memories.
As he held the orb – The visions ripped through him. Centuries of cruelty. Thousands of stolen lives. Screams devoured, memories drunk like wine.
He shoved it back before it consumed him.
The demon screamed, convulsed, and imploded — collapsing into a heap of smoke and chains.
The crowd broke. Demons scattered into shadow, vanishing into their pocket realms. The arena emptied.
Nameless exhaled, muttering:
"…Does everyone know me except myself?"
He turned, tearing cages open one by one. Tendon cords writhed and shrieked before dissolving into dust. The freed did not cheer. They only stared, hollow-eyed, unsure if salvation was real.
Ryne stepped forward, pipe glowing faintly.
"He's not from here," she told them. "But he broke the rules for you. That means you have a chance to escape this place."
Nameless glanced her way.
"What do we do now? Where do we go?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"At least clear this place with me first. Then I'll answer."
The arena echoed with locks breaking, stone shattering, and silence thickening.
When the last cage opened, Ryne finally said:
"With this, It's up to them now, they must choose their way to get out of this place, though I doubt anyone would survive long. Let's head towards the South. Past the Grave Bloom Valley. I've heard that we might find some clue to the next realm's gate"
Nameless frowned.
"Who told you that? And what waits there?"
Her smile was faint, cryptic.
"Stop asking me too many questions, You will find out as we keep going."