Chapter 455: Scourge Vs Pureblood (1)
The grand bar, once brimming with laughter, music, and drunken chatter, was reduced to utter bedlam. The shout of "Blood Demon!" had torn through the crowd like wildfire, and now the patrons scrambled in blind terror. Men shoved women without shame, throwing aside the old and the weak, clawing over one another like rats fleeing a sinking ship. The courtesy of "ladies first" evaporated instantly—survival was all that mattered. Tables toppled, glass shattered, and screams rose above the music that still played, absurdly unfitting against the chaos.
Then, the ground shook. A deep, guttural rumble, followed by a thunderous crack!
From the corridor leading to the bar owner’s office, the wall erupted outward in a storm of blood and stone. Thick, jagged spikes of crimson burst through the floor and ceiling, tearing the building apart as if it were made of parchment. Several unlucky patrons were skewered where they stood, their shrieks cut short in gory finality.
From the explosion of debris, a lone figure was hurled out first. Marcus. He twisted midair, flipping with acrobatic ease, and landed perfectly on the surface of a large table. Glasses, bottles, and a roasted pig spilled to the ground around him, but he paid it no mind. He dusted himself off casually, as if this was just another Tuesday.
A heartbeat later, the Pureblood emerged. Its massive frame ripped through the wreckage, claws flexing with a hungry, deliberate rhythm. Black markings glowed faintly against its crimson skin as its golden eyes locked on Marcus. Its presence alone made the air feel heavier, colder, and fouler.
Marcus, however, only let out an exaggerated sigh. He glanced around at the chaos of half-fleeing patrons, rolled his eyes, and shook his head.
"Really? Still people in here?" he muttered. "I literally had those idiots scream ’Blood Demon’ for a reason."
A woman tripped in front of him, scrambling to get past the wreckage. Marcus stepped aside with a theatrical bow, letting her scurry away before he straightened again. His onyx eyes twitched with annoyance.
"Unbelievable. Can’t even count on sheer terror to clear a room anymore. And now I’ve got to keep this bastard contained so these walking meat sacks don’t get skewered. Serah’s gonna have a fit if I rack up too many corpses..."
He rubbed his temple in irritation, then muttered under his breath. "And here I was, hoping for a nice, clean fight. Guess not."
The Pureblood let out a guttural laugh, flexing its claws. From its body, blood spikes jutted outward in preparation, each quivering like they could launch at any second.
Marcus smirked. "Alright, big guy. Let’s dance."
Snatching up the nearest chair, he spun once and hurled it straight at the demon’s head. The Pureblood snarled, swiping with one claw, shattering the chair into splinters mid-air. But the distraction was enough for Marcus to dive low and roll past, yanking a throwing knife from his belt and hurling it toward the creature’s ribs. The blade grazed its skin, tearing open a shallow gash before being knocked away by a sudden eruption of blood spikes.
The crimson tendrils shot toward Marcus, stabbing into the floor and walls around him, shattering tables and piercing barrels of ale. Marcus grabbed another chair, using it like a shield, twisting and pivoting as spikes rattled off the wood. The chair finally broke apart in his hands, but by then he had already ducked behind a toppled table, using the momentum to launch himself back toward the demon.
"You’ve got range, I’ll give you that," Marcus called out over the chaos, his grin wide, his eyes glowing faintly. "But you’re sloppy. All flash, no finesse. What’s the matter? Too used to killing drunks and peasants?"
The demon snarled, hurling another barrage of spikes at him, this time faster, more precise. Marcus vaulted off a table, kicking a barrel into the path of the attack. The spikes tore through it, spraying ale everywhere, but Marcus was already airborne again, flipping over the torrent and landing gracefully on the bar counter.
He crouched low, knives in both hands, grinning. "Aww, what’s wrong? Don’t like it when the prey talks back?"
The demon’s face twisted, fury rippling through its features. It let out a roar, shaking the walls of the bar as its aura pulsed outward.
Marcus only whistled, pretending to look unimpressed. "Temper, temper. Careful, or you’ll lose your cool. And trust me—" he flipped a knife casually, catching it again with a smirk "—when you lose your cool, I win."
The Pureblood lunged forward, claws tearing through the counter where Marcus had just been. Marcus spun away, using another chair as both a shield and a weapon, jamming it into the demon’s midsection before letting it shatter under the force of the impact.
Every move Marcus made was calculated—not to end the fight, not yet, but to keep the demon’s strikes contained in a smaller radius. Bottles exploded, tables splintered, chandeliers fell from the ceiling, but the majority of the fleeing crowd managed to slip through the doors amidst the chaos.
Marcus could feel the tension building, the demon growing more reckless the longer it was taunted. Perfect. Just the way he wanted it.
"Come on!" Marcus shouted over the sound of destruction, his grin wicked and eyes gleaming. "Show me why they call you a Pureblood! Or are you just another wannabe with a fancy makeover?"
The demon roared again, this time with true rage, and hurled itself forward, spikes and claws tearing through everything in its path—straight toward Marcus.
Marcus ducked low, rolling across the floorboards as the Pureblood’s claws ripped through the table where he had been a moment before. He came up on one knee, eyes sharp, smirking as he reached for another chair to fling—yet this time, he miscalculated. From his blind spot, a wet, sickening shhhk pierced the air, followed by a sharp sting. A blood spike shot clean through his right shoulder blade, the force of it slamming him into the wall hard enough to rattle the bar’s foundations.
His body hung against the wall for a breath, the blood spike lodged deep, pinning him like a hunted animal. His arm trembled as he tried to wrench free, but his muscles gave a sharp protest.
The Pureblood strode forward, claws flexing, its grin twisted with cruel amusement. Its voice came out like a guttural mockery, dripping with sadistic satisfaction.
"Pathetic. Another dark mage, another wasted life. You won’t be any different from the others I’ve slaughtered. And now—because my blood runs through you—your death is inevitable. That poison will hollow you out from the inside, rot you slow, while I watch."
It loomed closer, laughter bubbling from its chest. "Struggle all you like. It makes no difference."
Marcus’s head tilted back against the wall, a low groan escaping him—not of fear, but irritation. He glanced at the demon with a flat, almost bored expression.
"Gods, you talk too damn much..." His voice dripped with sarcasm as he shifted his weight, testing the wound. "Yes, yes, I know about your little parlor trick—the poison in your spikes, how ’deadly’ it is, how no dark mage has survived it before... blah blah blah. Spare me the lecture."
The demon’s grin widened, baring serrated teeth, but faltered slightly when Marcus’s lips curled into a smirk.
"I mean... you’re right," Marcus continued with mock seriousness. "If I didn’t know how to heal myself, I’d already be dead."
For the first time, a flicker of unease rippled across the Pureblood’s face. Its golden eyes narrowed, studying Marcus more intently.
Marcus leaned forward, forcing his body off the wall, and laughed low in his throat. "Thing is... you would’ve had a good chance at killing me if I’d fought you with no magic. But now—" he gestured loosely around the ruined bar, "—now that all those idiotic people are finally gone, I don’t have to hold back anymore. No use in restricting myself anymore."
The demon’s expression stiffened, suspicion flashing in its gaze as Marcus’s eyes darkened, a faint glow simmering in their depths.
"Which means," Marcus said, his tone dropping to a venomous whisper, "your precious poison? Isn’t worth a damn thing to me. Unlike the others, I’m not just some regular mage who controls darkness. You see, dark magic runs through my veins. It is my veins. Your poison dies the moment it touches me."
The Pureblood grimaced, as if recalling some memory it didn’t want to remember, but it shoved the thought away with a snarl. With a roar, it raised its clawed hand to strike Marcus down before he could act further.
But before its blow could land a streak of darkness carved down in a vicious arc. In an instant, the Pureblood’s entire arm was severed at the elbow, dropping to the floor with a sickening thud.
The demon staggered back, its eyes wide with shock. "W-what—?!"
It had no time to process before another blade of darkness hissed through the air, aimed directly at its head. Its instincts saved it; with a blur of incredible speed, it darted back, the shadowy arc grazing across its cheek instead of cleaving its skull in two.
When it gained distance, it froze. Its gaze locked onto the sight before it.
Marcus stood tall in the haze of debris and broken furniture, his ragged clothes shifting with the unnatural winds stirred by his magic. In his right hand, a blackened saber shimmered with condensed shadows, tendrils of darkness coiling around his arm like living serpents. His wound—the bloody hole that had moments ago crippled him—was gone, replaced by untouched flesh. Not even a scar remained.
Hovering in the air around him, shadowy tentacles writhed lazily, awaiting his command. His grin stretched wide, sharp and unbothered, as if the fight had only now become interesting.
"Well, well," Marcus drawled, twirling the saber with ease before resting it on his shoulder. His onyx eyes glinted dangerously. "You’re pretty damn fast. If you weren’t, I’d be mopping your head off the floor right about now."