The security guard, a behemoth built like a vending machine, clamped a meaty hand onto Aryan's shoulder.
"That's enough, kid," he grunted.
Terror surged through Aryan. The System window flashed crimson.
[Time until Demon Retaliation: 40 seconds]
[Crowd Belief: 80%]
His mind raced. If they dragged him out, he was dead. Anay would eat him in the parking lot, and no one would even file a missing persons report.
"He has the blueprints in his pocket!" Aryan screamed, thrashing against the iron grip.
"The architect warned him! He burned the Old City to claim the insurance! Check the date! November Twelfth!"
"Shut him up," Anay sneered, his voice still silken, but his grip on his champagne glass was so tight the stem began to bend. "He's wasting our time."
Whispers rippled through the crowd like venom.
"Acting like a Seer?" a woman in emerald silk scoffed, looking at Aryan as if he were a cockroach on a wedding cake. "That tiresome old scam? The Seers vanished ten years ago."
"Look at his shoes," a man in a velvet tuxedo laughed, pointing at Aryan's scuffed, worn-out soles. "He probably smells like desperation and old dishwater."
The laughter wasn't just dismissive; it was a physical weight, pressing Aryan down. They didn't just want him gone; they wanted him erased so their perfect evening could resume.
The guard raised a massive fist, poised to silence Aryan permanently.
Thwack.
Amara flicked her wrist. It was a movement so subtle it looked like she was brushing away a stray hair. In reality, a heavy silver coin sailed from her fingers, striking the guard precisely in the nerve cluster behind his knee.
The guard yelped, his leg buckling. His grip loosened just enough.
Run, you shouldn't be here, Amara thought, her amber eyes locked on Anay. She sipped her drink, perfectly composed. Or make him panic. Make him reveal himself.
Seizing the moment, Aryan wrenched free. He scrambled onto the small stage, putting the podium between himself and the security team. He looked out at the sea of wealthy, confused faces.
He needed to sow doubt. He needed to shatter the Anchor.
"Mister Anay," a commanding voice sliced through the tension.
Monarch Markus stepped forward. The man was a legend, celebrated for slaying the Rank Five Demon Dylan. Now, he looked annoyed that his dinner was being interrupted.
"Anay, this young man is plainly unhinged," Markus declared, gesturing dismissively.
"Simply reveal your jacket pocket so the authorities can remove him. Why allow a server to tarnish our gathering?"
Aryan glanced at the Monarch. Thank you, you pompous jerk.
[Crowd Belief: 50%... Wavering.]
"Monarch Markus," Anay responded, his voice tight. "You may have slain Dylan, but equating me with such evil is preposterous."
He turned abruptly toward the exit. "This accusation desecrates my reputation."
Aryan grabbed the microphone.
His lungs burned.
He wasn't just shouting words; he was vomiting up a lifetime of silence.
Every "Yes, sir," every "Right away, ma'am" he had ever forced past his lips was now fuel for this one, singular accusation. His hands gripped the microphone so hard the plastic creaked.
"Or is it because the ash from the fire still clings to those papers?" Aryan thundered, his voice echoing through the speakers.
"You preserved them as trophies of your cruelty, didn't you?"
[Strike Two: Critical Hit.]
Sam's voice chimed with glee inside Aryan's head. "He's cracking!"
Anay froze mid-stride. He pivoted with an unnatural fluidity that sent shivers down Aryan's spine.
Through his enhanced vision, Aryan saw it—the "Human Skin" stretching like wet latex over something ancient.
[WARNING: Mask Integrity at 30%]
[Demon Aggression: CRITICAL]
"You little rat," Anay hissed.
His pupils had elongated into horizontal slits.
A woman in the front row gasped. "Anay? Your eyes... they're changing!"
"It is an illusion!" Anay roared. But as the words erupted, black smoke curled from his lips instead of breath.
The stench of burning flesh filled the ballroom. Guests recoiled, covering their noses.
[Mask Integrity: UNSTABLE.]
"Show us!" someone shouted from the back.
"Show us the papers!" The chant grew, fueled by primal fear.
Anay hunched over. The control he wielded minutes ago vanished. He growled, a sound that rattled the wine glasses. His fingers, now elongated and pale, reached for his lapels.
He didn't remove the jacket. He ripped his chest open.
RIP.
It sounded like wet canvas tearing. Anay's skin split down the middle, peeling back to reveal glistening, slate-grey muscle and a maw of jagged, sulfur-yellow teeth.
The ballroom erupted in chaos.
People scrambled over tables, screaming, trampling one another to get to the exits. The pretense of civility evaporated instantly.
DING.
[Objective Complete: Lie Exposed.]
[Payment Processing...]
[+$5,000,000 Credited.]
Aryan stood paralyzed on the stage. He was rich. He was wealthier than he had ever dreamed.
The numbers on the blue screen ticked up furiously. Zero... One Million... Three Million... Five. It was enough to buy the entire hotel. Enough to buy a new life.
And yet, as he looked at the monster's drooling jaw, he realized the cruelest joke of all: The System had made him a King in the same second it decided to make him a corpse.
He was five feet away from an eight-foot-tall Gluttony Demon.
The creature unleashed a roar that shattered eardrums and swept a claw the size of a shovel across the stage.
CRACK.
The podium disintegrated. Aryan sailed backward, crashing violently against the wall. He slid down, gasping for air, ribs screaming in agony.
I'm going to die rich, Aryan thought, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat.
The Demon loomed over him, raising its claw to deliver the fatal strike.
SHING.
A blur of crimson silk dropped from the balcony.
Amara landed in a perfect crouch between Aryan and the monster. She didn't look at him. She held two obsidian daggers in a reverse grip, the blades humming with purple energy.
"Target Identified," she stated, her voice devoid of fear. "Shield down. Kill authorized."
The Demon lunged. Amara stepped into the attack, sliding beneath the claw like a dancer.
Slash.
Black blood sprayed across the stage.
Aryan wiped the grit from his eyes, transfixed. She moved like death incarnate. Sparks cascaded as she deflected a massive blow with her daggers.
"Stay down, Aryan!" she shouted without looking back. "Unless you want to die!"
Aryan blinked, his mind reeling. Aryan? How does she know me?
Before he could process it, a stray kick from the beast connected with his chest, sending him skidding across the floor into darkness.