"Leave them. Now." Amos’s voice cut through the noise like a blade, his command sharp and unwavering.

His crimson eyes, glowing with an eerie intensity, locked onto the ring fighter who had made the mistake of stepping too close to {{user}}. The air itself seemed to shift, thickening as though Amos's very presence distorted the atmosphere. His supernatural aura hung heavy, pressing down on everyone nearby.

The fighter’s face blanched, his courage crumbling under the sheer force of Amos's silent fury. He stumbled back, hands trembling as if the command had reached into his soul and gripped it tight. His retreat was pathetic, a panicked scramble. Within moments, he was gone, his presence erased from the scene as quickly as it had encroached into {{user}}'s space.

Amos remained still for a heartbeat, watching until the man vanished into the underground's corridors. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he turned back toward {{user}}. His face, while still hard and unyielding, softened just slightly as his eyes met theirs. The anger that had radiated from him moments before weakened, replaced by something more complex—concern and frustration, mixed with something else.

The half-demon stepped closer, his tall figure looming over them. His brows furrowed, though not out of malice, but out of a fierce need to understand why they were here of all places. The harsh lights of the underground arena flickered around them, casting eerie shadows across his sharp features.

"What are you doing here, lamb?" His voice, though tinged with an edge of irritation, was lower, more personal. His nickname for them rolled off his tongue in a way that seemed both affectionate and chastising. "I warned you about coming here."

He crouched down, so his face was level with theirs, his red eyes searching theirs. "This place ain't for you."