Marcus Deadly Class Novels & Stories

He dragged me past the ruined piano, weaving through the fallen debris toward the main doors. Across the room, Marcus scrambled out from behind the catering bar. He staggered toward the grand exterior exit, his suit torn, blood dripping down his face, and his eyes wide with desperate rage. In his right hand, he clutched a heavy, black secondary detonator, his fingers trembling over the controls. "If I can't have the empire, no one will!" Marcus screamed, his voice cracking with madness as he slammed his thumb down on the red switch.

Ariana's blood turned to ice. The Rogue King was Marcus - Nicolas's father, who everyone thought was dead. "You're supposed to be dead," Ariana whispered. "I've been dead to the werewolf world for many years," Marcus said. "But I've been very much alive and building my army of rogues. And now, thanks to you, I finally have a reason to destroy the Vinci pack." "I don't understand," Ariana said, confused and scared. Marcus stood up from his chair, and Ariana could see that he was even more intimidating than she had imagined.

“I have no reason to do such a thing. You have hundreds of allies, but they are incredibly unloyal and will defect to me when they learn that their leader has been killed. Your time is up, Amadeus. I don’t want to do this, but you have forced my hand. Any last words before I send you on a long journey?” “No,” Amadeus defiantly replied. He then closed his eyes tightly and awaited his fate. “Well, then, vfalon zenipithernomos! Goodbye forever!” Marcus yelled before stabbing his enemy’s chest and penetrating his most vital organ. Amadeus stopped breathing and fell into an eternal sleep. The man with the crimson cloak reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote-like object. He pulled a pin o

Like he punched a hole in a roll of paper. “They’re down there,” he hisses. I crouch and peek through the window to where he’s pointing. Three Silver Hunters walk through the courtyard. The Hunters are clad in black armor, their heads covered with hoods. Their mouths are hidden behind masks, and their eyes are hidden behind dark visors. Their boots crunch on the grass, and their voices are low but contain a sense of urgency. “Can you hear what they’re saying?” I whisper. Alec growls low in his throat. “They’re talking about how well this has worked out. That the… invitation was a great idea.”

"What a coincidence. We meet again." I stared at her, and something clicked. The car crash. Their car. My "death." It was all too perfect. "Hey, newbies. Need a rundown?" A guy with a seasoned look walked over. "Name's Marcus. A-class player." "Wait." I held up a hand. "Let me get this straight. Are we dead?" Marcus nodded. "Technically, you're in a near-death state. You only get your life back if you clear the game."

Lucien went still. “You release that,” Lucien said, “and you destroy yourself.” Marcus smiled sadly. “I already have.” Sirens wailed in the distance. Marcus glanced toward the sound. “Tell Seraphina,” he said softly, “that memory is never as clean as she believes.” Then he crushed the drive under his heel. Lucien shouted. “Stop him—” Marcus bolted. The feed fractured. Gunshots echoed—sharp, final. Then silence. — By morning, Marcus Hale was dead.

I murmured, my thumb grazing her knuckle once before I forced myself to step back. Raine’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile as she turned back to the engine. “Pass me the rag. This carburetor is giving me trouble.” We worked side by side for nearly an hour, our occasional banter lighting the garage. She was still telling me something when the garage door banged open. Isla stormed in, her face growing paler as she advanced. “Marcus is dead,” Isla announced, wiping sweat from her brow even though the morning air was cool. “The second lieutenant who was considering flipping on Dad. He was gunned down execution-style outside his haunt. One of our guys found him.

He turned his gaze towards Max, and it was as if he carried the secrets of the world within his eyes, a knowledge that transcended their shared past. ** In the shadowy underworld of the city, Francisco was a name that sent shivers down spines. As the leader of the gangsters, he ruled with an iron fist, his reputation preceding him wherever he went. He was ruthless, callous, and unapologetic in his pursuit of power and control. Killing, drug dealing, property jacking, money heists, and drug supply were all part of his dark repertoire. Francisco's reach extended even to the corridors of power, where he subtly manipulated the government to serve his interests.

The Sweeper’s head snapped back, its visor shattering. Marcus dropped to the ground, landing heavily. He looked at his hands. They were silver, gleaming in the dim light. He felt heavy, anchored to the earth, indestructible. "Threat reassessed," the lead Sweeper beeped, stepping back. "Omega-level anomaly detected. Engage with maximum force." The other four Sweepers turned. One of them raised a grenade launcher attached to its arm. Thump. The grenade sailed across the room. Marcus didn't dodge. He couldn't. He was too heavy now. Instead, he stepped forward, placing himself directly between the explosion and the hidden tunnel entrance. He crossed his arms in front of his face.

“I did.” “You don’t know what you’re tampering with,” he said, leaning back. “The people I’ve worked with, they’ll bury you alive without a trace” he said threatening. “We’re not afraid of your shadows anymore,” Marco said, stepping forward, eyes sharp. “You built your empire on lies. And now it’s crumbling.” Victor’s wild gaze locked onto him. “You! You’re supposed to be dead.” Marco mocked a laugh. “I get that a lot,” he replied with a bitter smirk. “Guess the afterlife has a return policy.”