Marcus From Deadly Class 소설 & 이야기

“Sir, you don’t know Damian as much as I do. I know that he has cornered you guys, and now you can’t even leave the country. If you could just listen to me, then we know exactly how to help you deal with Damian.” Marcus gave it a thought. He was honestly at his wits' end, and he did not know how to deal with Damian anymore. It won’t cost him anything to hear out Mark. If he happened to be a fraud, then he would just shoot him dead. After thinking about it for a while, he opened the door, but his gun was pointed at the two men. “I am giving you only one chance. If you appear to be of no use to me, then I won’t hesitate to kill you both.”

"This works. You get Damon. I distract Silas. The strike team takes out their leadership before the army can mobilize. It's clean." "Nothing about this is clean." "No. But it's necessary." A knock at the door interrupted us. Darius entered without waiting for permission, his expression urgent. "We have a problem," he said. Of course we did. Because nothing could ever be simple. "What kind of problem?" Caelan asked. "Marcus is dead." The words hit like a physical blow. "What?" "Found in his cell an hour ago. Throat slit. Clean kill." Darius's voice was tight. "Someone got to him before he could tell us anything else about Damon or Silas's plans."

“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

Black liquid, blood, soaked the dirty carpet; some of them had splashed onto her face and her khaki coat. “He’s so hot, even in death,” Marc said from her side. His name was Marcus, but everyone called him Marc. “It’s an incubus. Of course, it’s good-looking. Stop talking like that about a dead body. Disgusting.” Danica shut him up. Her coat stripped off, she wiped the smelly blood off of her face with it.

"Teams of two. Clear each building systematically. If you find anything Class C or above, signal immediately and retreat. We're not equipped for threats above your pay grade." He paired me with a Hunter named Marcus. I almost laughed at the cosmic joke of it. Marcus. My dead fiancé's name. The man whose face I couldn't remember anymore. This Marcus was nothing like him. He was older, maybe forty, with scars across his forearms and the dead-eyed look of someone who'd been hunting for years. He didn't introduce himself. Just nodded and headed into the fog. I followed. We cleared three buildings without incident. Empty rooms, collapsed floors, the occasional rat scurrying through debris. My war

"Someone must remove the device or take him where the explosion won't kill anyone." Marcus grabbed Adrian's frozen body and ran toward the forest again, but the device detonated forty yards from the headquarters, killing Marcus and Adrian instantly. The explosion shattered complex windows and injured dozens of wolves with debris and shockwaves. "Marcus is dead," Dante said over the emergency channel from Blackwood territory, where he was remotely monitoring the situation. "He died saving the headquarters from an explosion that killed Adrian." Marcus was Elena's first real pack ally and a true friend through everything they'd survived. Losing him felt like losing family.

Marcus exhaled. “I wasn’t at the safe house when they attacked.” Dante frowned. “You weren’t there?” “No. I left to get supplies.” The words hung in the air. “When I came back…” Marcus shook his head once. “Everyone was dead.” Dante’s chest tightened. “Everyone?” Marcus nodded. “Clean work. Professional. No survivors.” Silence filled the room. Dante dragged a hand through his hair. “They told me everyone died.” “They were wrong,” Marcus said.

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.”

Past everything Catherine claimed to want. The music led to ballroom. Massive. Empty except for single figure. Damien. Standing. Not dying. Not wounded. Perfectly healthy. "Hello, Flora." Wrong voice. Wrong cadence. Wrong—everything. He smiled. Pulled off face. Prosthetic mask. Beneath— Marcus. Alive. Impossibly alive. "Surprised?" He was older. Scarred. But unmistakably Marcus. "You should be. I have been dead eight years. Quite convincing death too. You watched me burn. Remember?"

“Hello, son.” Marcus’s face lost all color. “No.” Richard tilted his head. “You seem disappointed.” “You died.” “That was the plan.” Marcus raised his gun. Richard’s men immediately aimed theirs at him. Adrian moved in front of Elena. “Lower your weapon, Marcus.” Marcus did not seem to hear him. “You let me bury you.” Richard’s smile faded slightly. “You were never supposed to know the truth.” “You made me believe you were dead.” “I had to disappear.” “You left me alone.”