The atmosphere shifted instantly the moment the faceless proctor stepped into the center of the Coliseum.
Every whisper died. Every breath held.
He moved with slow, deliberate steps, his white robe trailing behind him like a ripple through water.
Intricate golden swirls were etched into the fabric, glowing faintly as if alive, pulsing in rhythm with something ancient.
His hood hung low, casting a heavy shadow where a face should be.
But there was no face.
Beneath the hood was a swirling void—darkness that churned like living smoke. No eyes. No mouth. Just a pulsing, hypnotic blackness that radiated quiet, overwhelming power.
Like staring into the center of a black hole.
A cold chill swept through the Coliseum.
Thirty players stood around the arena's edge, caught in the gravity of his presence. Half of them were still tutorial players. The other half were new realm players—stronger, more experienced, more dangerous.
