Marcus From Deadly Class Novels & Stories

A smirk crept onto Marcus's lips as he slowly rose from the couch. “You thought you were the only one who could play games, didn’t you? When I heard about your death, I was devastated. I almost welcomed the thought of joining you in the afterlife because you became a part of me that I couldn’t shake off, no matter how hard I tried. But then, you left behind a trail of evidence that can bring you back to me. You and Lauren.” Marcus paused, pointing at Lauren, who was visibly trembling. A sneer emerged on his lips as he fixed his gaze on her for a few moments before turning back to me, his expression shifting but still brimming with rage.

One month after… … Marcus died due to the Pandemic that swept the world. ♦ ♦ ♦ "Raise your head and look at me" Zark demanded, before him, was an illusory reflection of his old self. Marcel was reflecting the same ideals as his. Marcel's gaze lifted from his position on the ground and he looked directly at Zark, which he saw petrified. Pale skin like a corpse, empty eyes submerged in a perpetual darkness in which he had a single purple point, a black ring which radiated the purest of light was on his head.

Micardo was waiting for that precise reaction. I was too late. Micardo, agile despite his size, stopped his roll, turned, and fired from a sidearm concealed in his coat. Marcus went down. “Marcus!” I scrambled forward, dropping my own weapon for a second, hooking my hands under his collar and dragging his dead weight back toward the safety of the pillar. Blood immediately began to seep through the dark fabric of his trouser leg, staining the gravel. “I’m fine,” Marcus gritted out, his face pale with pain, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. “Just hurts like a bitch, Lorenzo.”

Renar looked at Dominic and said, "Vance is dead. His body was found this morning." "Kealen is covering his tracks," Dominic said. Marcus said, "Pls don't leave me here, he will kill me too." The heavy silence that followed Marcus’s desperate plea was suffocating. Dominic slowly straightened his massive frame back to its full height, his dark trench coat casting a massive shadow that swallowed the trembling boy completely. The silver fire beneath the king’s scarred skin pulsed in a quiet, deadly rhythm, reflecting the dark calculations occurring behind his eyes.

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.

Marcus asked, his voice dropping into a professional, icy clip. "Yes, sir. We got an information, Derek’s team is already moving. Marcus looked back at me, his eyes roaming over my messy hair and the small cut on my cheek. He didn't look like he wanted to kiss me anymore. "Prepare the cars," Marcus said, stepping out into the hall. He looked at the guard, then back at the dark room where I sat trembling on the bed. "This is good news. We have someone to kill now, don’t we? ....you know Rose I have always wanted to kill that bastard for all the pains he has caused you. I promise you, Rose. I will bring you Richard's head."

Marcus Hale was standing in Dominic Cross’s living room with a dead man’s switch in his hand and nothing left to lose.He looked wrong. Not the Marcus from the restaurant smooth, rehearsed, a man who wore charm like cologne. Not the Marcus from the underground club broken, desperate, watching his world rearrange. This Marcus was something else entirely. His suit was torn at the shoulder. His forehead was bleeding from a cut that had dried into a dark line down his temple. His eyes were too wide and too bright and moving too fast, jumping between Dominic and Sophia and the armed men behind him like a man counting the seconds until something exploded.Because something would explode. The device

Marco was crying, tightly embracing Marcus. "What's wrong? Why are you crying, my dear?" I asked, genuine concern in my voice. "Mommy!" Marco exclaimed, rushing towards me as soon as he saw me. "He had a nightmare," Marcus explained, standing at a distance near the sofa. "Mommy, I dreamt that you and daddy were dead. Someone had killed you. A dark, monstrous shadow!" Marco cried out. "Take a deep breath, my love. It was just a dream, alright?" I reassured him calmly.

As I stand up and walk to the fridge to get water, the door opens and Marcus appears in the doorway, stalking into the room. He was no longer in baggy pants and a shirt but now in a custom-tailored suit. "He has come to," I say when I see him pass by me. He stops and then looks at me. He did not need to say a word; I could see all he wanted to say, and I nodded with a smile at him. I bring the water and sit on the bed beside Drexon while Marcus stands by his side. "Arthur was found dead." Both our eyes widened at Marcus, who was calmly delivering the message. "I guess Maljore must be set to go to jail since she keeps on piling on the offences," he added.

“You didn’t trap me, Beth. I trapped _myself_. The second you spilled that champagne.” He took the hairpin from my hair. Bent. Silver. Held it up. “First choice,” he said. “Always.” [SFX: PHONE. MARCOS’S. BUZZING. THEN MARCOS. PALE.] “Sir. It’s Marcus Vane.” Adrian went still. “He’s dead. Fired him myself. Overdose, six months ago.” “Not dead,” Marcos said. Held up the phone. Video call. Man. Thirties. Face sharp. Eyes dead. _Hospital gown_. Same one Valeria wore.