The room exploded into madness the instant Marcus vanished. One heartbeat—he was there, standing before a horde of snarling mercenaries. The next—he was gone, swallowed by shadows. Then, like a phantom tearing through flesh, he reappeared amidst the men, and blood painted the air.
His twin blades gleamed with dark myst, humming with life as they cut through the first wave. The steel kissed skin, tore through muscle, and shattered bone. The sound of it—wet and heavy—echoed beneath the wooden rafters.
A mercenary barely had time to raise his axe before Marcus appeared at his flank, moving like smoke given form. The curved blade sang as it sliced clean through his throat, and his body dropped before his brain could even register death.
"Too slow," Marcus muttered with a chuckle, already gone again.
