Marcus! Ghost! [Part 2]

MARCUS! GHOST!

Aziz froze, his foot hovering mid-step above the stone tile. For a moment, he thought he had misheard. His ears were sharp—he had just descended into the third level of the pits. Hissing softly, Mal peeked over his shoulder.

"You heard that too, Mal?" Aziz asked, his voice tense. The cry had been bloodcurdling, echoing off the tunnel walls.

AZIZ!

In an instant, Aziz was on the move. He recognized the voice—it was Delilah. Mal hissed again, coiling tightly around Aziz's neck. "Master, the Divine One was right. There is trouble ahead."

Within moments, Aziz had traversed the entire third level, his heart pounding. As he approached the ominous structure Delilah referred to as the Gates of Hell, Aziz quickened his pace.

Shadow-stepping, he darted through the passage, halting at the mound where Little Marcus and Delilah had been camping.

***

His feet pounded the earth. Before Marcus fully realized it, he was already running toward Delilah. He knew he shouldn't.

He knew it would put the mission in jeopardy, but he couldn't stand by any longer.

As he sprinted forward, he saw that the big one, Do-Jo, had spotted him just as the other two dragged the screaming Delilah toward the fire.

Half of her face was too close, the flames licking at her skin, and her screams twisted into pure anguish and pain.

Marcus's heart dropped, the sound of her agony freezing him for a split second. 

If only I had been faster. If only I hadn't hesitated. 

The lanky one and the grimacing Prick held her by the arms, the lanky one grinning as the fire singed her face.

"By order of the new Star King, all nomads will be put to death!" the lanky one shouted, a twisted laugh escaping his lips. 

Delilah struggled fiercely, breaking their grip and collapsing to the ground, clutching her face in a desperate attempt to smother the flames.

"Leave her! We'll finish her later. It seems the rat has finally come out to play."

The trio turned to face Marcus, fury boiling beneath his skin as he charged toward them.

Marcus narrowed his eyes, slipping into the fluid stance of the Verdant Heart Sect. His movements were grounded yet graceful, a balance of agility and power.

His internal energy flowed through him like the currents of a river—calm on the surface, but with the potential for explosive force.

As he closed in on them, his keen eyes flickered over their bodies, assessing. He could see their internal energy, the faint glow of life force that pulsed inside them.

The lanky one had a small, flickering blue flame—a sign of minimal cultivation, likely someone from the King's Fist, the special unit Roof created, but not particularly skilled. The other two were even weaker, their internal energy barely a spark compared to his.

Marcus struck first. In a blur, he aimed a precise palm strike to Do-Jo's chest, sending him stumbling backward, winded from the impact. Without pausing, Marcus spun and lashed out with a sweeping kick, knocking Prick off his feet.

The lanky one snarled and thrust his spear forward. Marcus dodged effortlessly, his body bending like a reed in the wind. He shifted his weight and delivered a powerful elbow strike to the lanky one's ribs, hearing a satisfying crack as the boy gasped in pain.

For a moment, the fight was entirely in Marcus's control. He moved with the fluidity and precision of a trained martial artist, each step deliberate, each strike efficient.

The Verdant Heart Sect's techniques focused on disrupting the opponent's energy flow, using the enemy's strength against them. Marcus manipulated their movements, redirecting attacks and countering with devastating force.

He parried another spear thrust, twisting the weapon out of Prick's hands and tossing it aside. Then, with a swift step, he planted a palm into Do-Jo's abdomen, sending him crashing into the dirt.

But then, a voice broke through his focus—Delilah.

"Marcus!" she cried out, her voice raw with pain.

Instinctively, Marcus turned toward her, just for a split second. But it was enough.

The lanky one seized the opportunity, swinging his spear low. The blow caught Marcus off guard, sweeping his legs out from under him. Before he could recover, pain shot through his leg as Prick drove a spear into his thigh, the sharp point cutting deep into muscle.

Marcus gritted his teeth, trying to push through the pain, but the lanky one was already on him, pressing the tip of his spear against Marcus's throat.

"Look at you now," the lanky one sneered, his voice oozing with malice. "The rat comes out of hiding, and this is what happens."

Marcus lay on the ground, blood seeping from the wound in his leg, fury and frustration roiling inside him. He had underestimated them. He had hesitated. And now, he was at their mercy.

"It was quite a surprise. I had a few questions to ask you, didn't expect the mute boy to know martial arts, guess you were hiding your skills. But tell me, what will you do now, little rat?" the lanky one taunted, pressing the tip of the spear deeper into Marcus's thigh, making him wince in pain as the sharp sting radiated through his leg.

Marcus glared back at him with defiant eyes, refusing to give the satisfaction of a groan. Then, slowly, his gaze shifted—past the lanky one, past the fire, toward Delilah. His eyes widened.

A soft, almost incredulous chuckle escaped his lips.

The lanky one's grin faltered.

"What? What's so funny?" he snapped, turning to follow Marcus's line of sight.

Do-Jo and Prick followed suit, their smug expressions fading into confusion.

The forest, once alive with the crackle of fire and the whispers of wind, had fallen deathly silent.

Delilah lay trembling, her face buried in her hands, too weak to stand. But next to her, a figure stood—no, not human, something far more terrifying. 

Long obsidian hair cascaded down to his waist, his skin pale as bone, with fingers tipped in sharp, claw-like nails. One hand was missing a finger, the other hung loosely at his side, yet poised, lethal.

Slowly, the figure turned his head, meeting Marcus's gaze for a brief second before locking onto the trio.

The firelight caught in his eyes—blazing, unearthly purple, burning like two smoldering coals.

"B-boss..." Do-Jo stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "H-his eyes."

Aziz took a slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze never leaving them. The shadows seemed to bend around him, clinging to his form like living darkness, swallowing the space between them.

The lanky one stumbled back, suddenly unsure of himself, his grip tightening on the spear as if that would protect him from what was coming.

Marcus, a faint smirk still lingering on his lips, barely whispered, "Took your bloody time," before his vision blurred, and the world went black.