Destroying Seraphene's Data hub I

Michael, puppeteering Eldoran's body, practically sprinted down the grand staircase. Each footfall was a calculated risk in this increasingly precarious game. The lobby pulsed with its usual nighttime energy, the throngs of elves a chaotic camouflage. He navigated the crowd, a wolf in elven robes, his focus laser-sharp on the bench near the kebab stall.

His borrowed eyes locked onto his own, his real body still slumped on the bench, feigning sleep. The halfling, ever the shrewd businessman, launched into his spiel.

"Juicy kebab, sir? Best in Luxor! Only two gold pieces!" his voice chirped, sickeningly eager.

Michael, through Eldoran, ignored the vendor's entreaty. His attention was solely on his physical form.

"Arrogant prick," the halfling muttered, his cheerful façade momentarily slipping as he returned to tending his sizzling skewers.

Michael seized the opportunity. He willed the Transference of Consciousness to break.