Blood always fell before sound.
It struck the forest floor in thick, dark drops, soaking into the roots of ancient trees as though the earth itself hungered for it. The night air was sharp with iron, the scent clinging to his lungs with every breath he dragged in.
Steel screamed.
The clash rang out violent and unforgiving, echoing through the forest like a warning cry meant for creatures that no longer feared warnings.
He moved on instinct alone.
Mark's blade swept toward his ribs, fast and merciless, close enough that the wind of it burned against his skin. He twisted just in time, metal slamming against metal, sparks bursting between them like dying stars. The impact jolted up his arm, rattling bone, numbing fingers.
Mark laughed.
It was a sound he knew too well—low, amused, cruel. The laugh of a man who enjoyed killing, not for necessity, but for pleasure.
"Still standing," Mark said, circling him slowly, boots crunching over fallen leaves and broken branches. "You always did have a problem with staying down."
Behind him, she staggered back, breath coming in uneven gasps. The mark on her wrist pulsed violently now, glowing brighter with every second Mark remained near. It burned like a living thing, reacting to him, calling to something unseen.
"Don't look at him," he shouted, not daring to turn his head. "Focus on me. Just breathe."
She tried.
He could hear it in her ragged inhale, in the soft whimper she fought to suppress. The pain was tearing through her, and he felt it too—an echo beneath his skin, a deep ache that had nothing to do with his wounds.
Mark's gaze flicked to her.
Something twisted inside his smile.
"Oh, she feels it," Mark said softly, almost reverently. "The pull. The hunger. Blood remembers blood."
He lunged.
The impact was brutal.
Their blades locked, steel grinding as they crashed together. Mark's face was inches from his now, eyes glowing faintly in the darkness, breath warm and familiar in the worst possible way.
"You should have stayed buried," Mark hissed.
He bared his teeth. "You should have died screaming."
He slammed his forehead forward.
Bone cracked.
Mark staggered back with a snarl, blood trickling from his brow. For a brief moment, something like genuine anger flashed across his features—then it vanished, replaced by exhilaration.
"Good," Mark said, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand. "I missed this."
The world dissolved into chaos.
Steel rang again and again, each strike heavier than the last. Pain bloomed across his shoulder as Mark's blade finally found flesh, slicing deep. He grunted, staggered—but didn't slow.
Pain was an old companion.
Pain meant he was still alive.
A scream tore through the night.
Her scream.
Darkness surged.
It spilled from the mark on her wrist like smoke given form, twisting and writhing, crawling across the ground with a mind of its own. It coiled around Mark's legs, clawing upward, biting into shadow and flesh alike.
Mark roared in surprise.
"Now!" she screamed, voice breaking.
He didn't hesitate.
He drove his blade forward with everything he had left—
And hit nothing.
The resistance vanished.
The shadows collapsed inward, dissipating like mist in the morning sun. The forest fell silent so suddenly it felt wrong, unnatural.
She swayed, nearly collapsing as the glow from the mark dimmed abruptly. Her knees buckled, breath shallow, body trembling as though something vital had been torn from her.
"No," he whispered hoarsely. "He's not gone."
Slow applause echoed through the trees.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Mark stepped out from behind a thick tree trunk, completely unharmed. His eyes burned brighter now, the faint glow no longer subtle, but unmistakable.
"You see?" Mark said calmly. "You can't kill me while she exists."
Cold flooded his chest.
"What did you do to her?" he demanded.
Mark tilted his head, studying her like an artist appraising a masterpiece. "I made her a key," he said simply. "A door. And you—" his gaze snapped back to him "—are standing in front of something that was never meant to be closed."
She clutched her wrist, pain tearing a sob from her throat. "Stop," she whispered. "Please… make it stop."
Mark's expression softened, sickeningly tender. "Come with me," he said gently. "And I end this. Fight me, and you both bleed until there's nothing left."
He stepped in front of her without thinking, blade rising.
"No."
Mark sighed, almost regretful. "Then you choose death."
He moved faster than before.
Too fast.
The world blurred.
The force of Mark's strike sent him flying backward, crashing into a tree with bone-rattling force. The air was ripped from his lungs. He tasted blood, sharp and metallic, as he struggled to pull himself upright.
His fingers barely closed around his blade in time to block the next blow.
Mark loomed over him, shadow stretching tall and terrible beneath the moonlight. "You're weaker when you care," he said quietly. "That's why I took your mother first."
The words detonated.
Rage exploded through him, white-hot and blinding. Something snapped loose inside his chest, something that had been chained down for years.
He roared.
Surging upward with strength he didn't know he still possessed, he drove Mark back, strike after strike, each blow fueled by grief, hatred, and a promise he had never been able to keep.
"For her," he snarled.
Mark laughed even as blood spilled from his side. "Yes," he said, eyes shining. "For her."
She screamed his name.
He turned.
And that was the mistake.
Pain tore through his body as Mark's blade buried deep into his side. He staggered, vision dimming, warmth flooding his clothes. His legs nearly gave out beneath him.
She ran to him.
"Don't," he tried to say. "Don't come closer—"
Too late.
Mark's hand closed around her wrist.
The mark flared violently, light erupting so bright it burned his eyes. The ground shook. The air screamed. Shadows howled as something ancient stirred beneath reality itself.
Mark's voice dropped, reverent. "At last."
She cried out as power tore through her, arching her body, ripping sobs from her chest. He dragged himself forward through blood and agony, heart pounding with terror.
"Let her go!" he shouted.
Mark turned slowly, eyes blazing like hellfire. "This is bigger than you now."
The world cracked.
A fissure split the earth between them, darkness pouring out like breath from a dying god. Trees bent and snapped, roots tearing free as the forest screamed in protest.
He grabbed her hand.
Ignoring the pain.
Ignoring the blood.
Ignoring everything except her.
"Look at me," he said desperately, voice breaking. "You're not his. You're not a weapon. You're you. And I'm here."
Her eyes met his through tears.
The mark flickered.
Mark screamed in fury.
The darkness recoiled violently, collapsing inward as the power snapped back into her, throwing all three of them apart.
Silence slammed down.
When he came to, he was lying beside her, fingers still locked around hers. The ground was shattered, the forest scarred, the night eerily still.
Mark was gone.
This time, he left blood behind.
She whispered shakily, "I thought I lost you."
He forced a smile through the pain. "Not yet."
But as darkness crept into his vision, one truth burned painfully clear—
The war had only just begun.
And next time, Mark wouldn't retreat.