Chapter 457: Out Of Ilis
The Pureblood’s chest heaved, its breath ragged as it unconsciously began retreating step by step, crimson claws twitching as if its instincts screamed at it to run. Its eyes, black sclera with golden pupils, darted between Marcus’s saber and the shadows coiling lazily around his frame like serpents waiting to strike. Marcus followed the retreat with unhurried steps, each one echoing across the shattered remnants of the bar, the calmness in his stride more terrifying than the rage of any beast.
He tilted his head, watching the demon with those onyx eyes that gleamed under the dim lantern light. Then, with a sigh that dripped with annoyance, he spoke, voice smooth but sharp enough to cut.
"Alright, I’ve had enough of this back-and-forth. You’re not even worth the trouble. Honestly..." —he twirled the saber with a flick, his grin twisting into something disappointed— "you’re so pathetically weak, I can’t even go all out. Can’t even beat the living shit out of you the way I wanted to."
The words struck like venom. Marcus chuckled low, shaking his head as if the whole thing was a joke.
"And to think I had planned to do some heavy damage, really let out some frustration since a bloodwretch bastard like you had the guts to rob me. And now? Look at you." His shoulders bounced with laughter, cruel and amused. "What a disappointment."
The Pureblood froze mid-step, its retreat halted by the sting of humiliation. Its chest rumbled with a guttural growl, black veins bulging under its crimson skin as rage overtook reason. With a blood-curdling roar, it lunged forward, claws outstretched, spikes erupting from its back and shooting wildly toward Marcus like jagged crimson lances. Its movements were vicious, feral, its speed a blur as it attempted to shred Marcus into nothing but ribbons of flesh.
But Marcus? He was gone.
In a blink, his form dissolved into a streak of shadow and reappeared at the Pureblood’s blind spot, close enough to whisper into its ear if he wanted. His voice was playful, taunting, like a cat praising a mouse for running.
"Nice effort. Really, I can see you’re trying." His grin widened, eyes glinting with mockery. "But I’m bored now. And tired. So..."
His saber twitched once in his grip, shadows condensing along the blade until it hissed with restrained malice.
"...this is where things must end."
The next moment was a blur.
Marcus vanished from sight, and in the same instant the sound of cutting air filled the ruined bar. His saber carved arcs of darkness faster than the eye could follow—slashes so quick they seemed like flashes of black lightning. Each strike landed with surgical precision, severing flesh, slicing through bone, tearing away limbs before the Pureblood could even register the pain.
A leg hit the ground with a wet thump. Then an arm. Another slash tore its other leg free, and the demon’s howl turned guttural, broken, more animal than humanoid. Marcus didn’t stop—his movements were relentless, the saber slicing through its body again and again until chunks of crimson flesh and blood splattered across broken tables and shattered glass. The shadows clung to every wound, suppressing the demon’s regenerative ability, binding its healing like shackles of black fire.
The fight ended in a heartbeat, though for the Pureblood it must have felt like an eternity of agony.
Now it lay sprawled on the ruined floor, reduced to little more than a torso, its limbs scattered like discarded toys. Its golden pupils flickered with disbelief as it realized... nothing was healing. The tendrils of darkness writhed around every wound, suppressing the regenerative surge it once prided itself on.
Marcus approached slowly, crouching down until he was at eye level. His onyx gaze locked onto the demon’s, cold and bored. He rested the saber casually across his shoulder, as though the entire battle hadn’t even been worth his effort.
For a moment, silence hung heavy, broken only by the crackle of overturned lanterns and the faint drip of blood pooling across the floor. Marcus’s expression shifted, not to sympathy, not to pity, but to thoughtfulness, as his mind wandered.
"It’s been a while since I stretched my magic," he murmured to himself, almost idly. His eyes flicked toward the smashed entryway, the open space beyond. "And considering the idiots who ran out screaming... I’d say the Solaran Knights are already on their way here. They’ll come for you... and for me as well. And if my math’s right..."
He smirked, tapping his temple as if to amuse himself.
"I’ve got, what—maybe a minute before I need to be out of Ilis? Give or take."
He shrugged, the decision simple. With one hand, he raised his palm over the Pureblood’s chest. Shadows coiled tightly around his arm, his aura flaring darker, heavier. The Pureblood thrashed weakly, its body jerking like a broken puppet as Marcus’s magic seeped into it.
Then, with a flex of his fingers, he yanked.
The demon screamed as a sphere of pulsating crimson light was torn from its chest—the core, its very essence, writhing in Marcus’s grip like a beating heart. The moment it left the body, the Pureblood collapsed, its head slamming lifelessly to the ground. Marcus studied the core for only a moment, his crimson eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. Then, with a flick of his hand, he crushed it. The core splintered, dissolving into black smoke before vanishing entirely.
The bar fell silent again, truly this time. Bodies littered the floor, blood pooled around overturned tables, and the once-grand establishment was nothing but wreckage.
Marcus rose to his feet, sliding his saber back into the shadows that welcomed it like an old friend. His gaze drifted lazily across the devastation until it landed on the ruined corridor leading to the office. His grin spread, sharp and wolfish.
"I still need my money back," he muttered, amused. His mind replayed the glint of a vault he had glimpsed earlier, tucked behind that desk. His grin grew wider. "Who knows? Might be more than what that bastard stole."
His body unraveled into smoke, shadows swallowing him whole, and in an instant he was gone. The ruined bar lay in silence, save for the faint echo of his laughter lingering in the darkness.
***
Minutes later, just as Marcus had so coolly "calculated," the Solaran Knights stormed onto the scene. Their boots echoed heavily against the broken cobblestones as their eyes fell upon the wreckage before them. The once-bustling bar now lay in ruin, its walls cracked, its ceiling torn open like a wound, and its floor littered with corpses of the unfortunate souls who hadn’t made it out in time. Pools of blood painted the ground, mingling with the scattered remains of the demon—limbs hacked apart, severed chunks of flesh still twitching faintly as if reluctant to accept death. The stench of iron and smoke hung thick in the air, biting into their nostrils.
The knights paused, grim expressions beneath their helms, and shared quick glances of disbelief. A Blood Demon was dead—cut down right here—but what truly rattled them was the lack of sheer devastation that usually followed such battles. There were casualties, yes, but not the wholesale slaughter they’d come to expect. This was... contained.
Whispers rose among the ranks. What kind of force pulled this off? Surely, no single person could. It had to have been a well-trained strike team, maybe an elite Solaran detachment passing through. Yet the longer they stared at the carnage, the more the doubt grew. If not a group, then... a mage. But what kind? To down a Blood Demon of this caliber, one would need to be nothing less than a Mid-Tier Eight-Star mage at minimum—more likely a High-Tier Eight-Star or something beyond. Anything less would have been suicide.
And then there was the second problem. Their arrays hadn’t just screamed about a demon’s presence. They’d flared for a dark mage as well. And the readings were right, there had been one here.
The thought alone was a hammer in their skulls: a Blood Demon and a dark mage crossing paths in the very heart of Solara? That wasn’t coincidence—that was calamity. And yet... here they were, standing amidst ruin, shaken but alive, staring at a scene that should have spelled doom for half the district. By the mercy of the gods—or by some twisted stroke of fate—only a handful of lives were claimed.
Minutes passed again before another figure arrived. Serah Magna. Her footsteps were light, but her presence turned heads nonetheless. The knights parted instinctively, giving way as though she belonged at the center of this catastrophe. Unlike them, her expression wasn’t lost in confusion. No—her eyes sharpened as she surveyed the destruction. She already had an idea of what had transpired here, not the full picture, but enough. Marcus had told her—two nights ago. She had expected chaos. But this? This was something else.
Her gaze softened just slightly at the sight of the dead. She’d hoped Marcus would minimize the casualties. And to her relief—though "relief" felt bitter in the face of death—he had. Compared to past Blood Demon incidents, this body count was shockingly low.
Marcus had kept his word.
Then her eyes drifted to the real prize—the demon’s corpse. Or what remained of it. Severed into grotesque pieces, scattered across the ruined bar, the Pureblood lay in disarray. To the knights, it was just another abomination brought low, but Serah’s knowledge ran deeper. She knew the truth of what she was seeing. This wasn’t one of the Redbloods she had tangled with in the past. No—this was a Pureblood, a stronger and far more dangerous type of Blood Demon.
And the realization struck her like a blade. Marcus hadn’t just killed a demon. He had butchered a Pureblood.
Her lips parted slightly, her chest tightening as she processed it. How? Marcus was only a Low-Tier Eight-Star, at least by official standards. Even accounting for the strange elasticity of dark mages—how their true strength rarely matched their recorded tier—this was still unreasonable and impossible. Unless... unless Marcus was holding far more than he ever revealed.
Her eyes narrowed. ’What are you really hiding, Marcus?
The corpse began to disintegrate, crimson smoke rising as the Pureblood’s remains returned to the ether, leaving little more than a stain of corruption upon the floor. Serah watched it dissolve, her expression hardening. The Pureblood’s death wasn’t an end. It was a signal. Proof that darker, greater threats prowled the edges of their world. And Marcus—her new insufferable boyfriend—had carved one apart like it was nothing.
Questions surged within her, endless and unrelenting. How had he done this? What price did he pay to wield such vicious power? And if this was what he could do now, then how in the hells did he intend to catch another Pureblood alive?
Her fists clenched lightly at her sides. She wanted answers. Needed them. But she a clear idea of who Marcus was. He would reveal what he wanted, when he wanted. And no amount of prying would change that. Maybe...
"Forget it." She muttered under her breath.
She forced herself to be patient and wait until Marcus reached out again. Until then, all she could do was steel herself for what was coming.