Muichiro Marked Novels & Stories

It was a simple child's carving, rough around the edges, but made with care. Noah turned the wooden wolf over. Burned deep into the bottom of the wood was a single, clean symbol. A crescent moon with a jagged line through it. Cassian’s mark. A soft, sad smile spread across my face. Noah stared at the symbol for a long moment before slowly closing the lid of the box, his expression completely at peace. "He's fine," Noah said softly, his voice thick with a brother's relief. I reached over, wrapping my fingers tightly around Noah’s arm.

“These tomatoes are getting heavier by the season.” She cackled. “You’re too unserious.” The market pulsed with life pack members setting up vendor stands, children darting through the crowds, elders haggling over prices. Despite the noise, there was something comforting about it. Something familiar. It felt like home. We dropped off our delivery at the usual stand. The elderly market manager, Mrs. Harlan, gave us a grateful nod. “Bless you, girls. These tomatoes are the reddest I’ve seen in moons.”

Then my boot caught on something half-hidden under pallet shadow - a leather-bound ledger, its corners frayed, a list of shipments scrawled in a hand that didn’t fear ink. I pried it free. The pages were numbered, times and names recorded like a tax of sin. Pallet numbers. Courier names. Routes that slipped through the dockside like a vein. And on one of the shipment slips, tucked like a signature, was a mark - the kind of symbol you’d only use where you wanted a man to know the order came from a boss. My blood went cold and hot at the same time. The mark? A crudely drawn fox head with a vertical line through it. I had the sensation of hands closing where air had been.

For a moment, the light vanished completely. And the world seemed to whisper: The eclipse is coming. Back in the compound, Lyra looked up from the parapet. The wind carried the scent of snow and distant smoke — the smell of war. “She’s still alive,” she murmured. Kilian stood beside her, eyes fixed on the horizon. “For now.” “The prophecy said the Marked would be tested when the moon is devoured by shadow.” Lyra’s voice was quiet. “You think that’s what this is?”

“Just stood there for a while. Then she sat on the bed. Didn’t touch the food.” “Did she ask questions?” I asked. “She asked if the windows open.” Of course she did. “And?” I said. “They don’t.” Good. Marco leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You planning on telling me what the hell that symbol is?” “No.” He snorted. “Then at least tell me why it reacted to you.” I straightened, slowly. “It didn’t react to me. It recognized something.” “That’s worse.” “Yes,” I agreed. Silence stretched between us. Marco had been with me long enough to know when to stop pushing.

Mark answered, raising his hands and Joel could immediately see the mark on his left palm. The highest Mafia lord in Ely was standing before them like a normal dude accompanying his wife to do shopping. "Okay!" Joel said and returned his head downward. Mark searched his pocket and brought out his card and gave it Joel. "Call me if necessary!" He said and they both have each other the look.

Not from the hospital, but from countless evenings spent in Marco's apartment, playing video games and sharing beers. "Tony?" she breathed, disbelief coloring her voice. "What... how..." Tony was Marco's best friend, the one person who'd stuck by her brother through all his troubles. The one she'd always encouraged Marco to hang out with rather than the ones who tempted him onto the streets. What was he doing here, beaten and bound in Nikolai Zhukov's penthouse?

“Smart girl. But you still came running. Because deep down you know he is the only one strong enough to keep you alive when the real wolves come.” Milrac pulled me back against him, chest to my back, one hand splayed low on my stomach. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric. “Enough talk. The mark happens now. On my terms.” The rogue leader raised a hand. “Public. Teeth in flesh. We film it live. Or the old woman gets the needle.” Milrac turned me in his arms until we faced each other. The bridge lights cast shadows across his face, sharpening the scar through his eyebrow. His stormy eyes had gone full gold.

~MARIO~ "Guys, I think I found something," Marco said as he clicked on his keyboard. It turned out that we had found Elio Missoni with a man named Andrea Bianchi. Their names were written boldly on the screen. 'Andrea Bianchi... It can't be...' I thought as I looked at the screen. "Oh shit, is that?" "Andrea Bianchi. My right-hand man." I cut Marco short before he could finish saying his name.

However, only to find Tukijo talking with his grandmother. "Ah, maybe it's just my feelings," thought Markonah. "Who are you beautiful girl?" asked Muhiroh. "I'm Markonah, Grandma," said Markonah, shaking Muhiroh's hand with a slight bow. "My friend, Grandma," interrupted Tukijo. "O ... Tukijo's friend," said Muhiroh. "Yes," replied Markonah. "Mrs. Muhiroh was called by the doctor to take a prescription, okay," said a nurse who suddenly appeared behind Markonah.