Marcus smirked again—just a twitch of the lip, arrogant and playful. Then—whoosh—his body broke apart into swirling tendrils of shadow, vanishing in a dark puff that left only the faint scent of iron and smoke behind.
Serah staggered slightly, blinking. "What the hell—?"
But then—
"Miss me?"
His voice drifted from above.
She looked up sharply to see him crouched on a thick tree branch, one arm draped lazily over his knee, the other twirling his short sword like a toy. That same cocky grin was plastered across his face, almost daring her to try again.
Without a word, Serah flung herself at him—sword first.
But she struck nothing.
Poof. Gone again, a trail of black smoke left in his place.
She spun, eyes scanning.
"To think…" his voice echoed again, this time from another tree, just ten paces to the left. There he was—reclining like a smug cat. "This is how you treat the guy who saved your little fire squad from that barbaric ambush. Real warm, princess."
