The Pureblood hissed as its severed stump quivered, blood pulsing unnaturally from the wound. In seconds, that blood hardened, bone knitting back together, muscle weaving into existence, and pale flesh sealing over. Soon, a fresh arm stretched outward, clawed fingers flexing as though mocking Marcus for daring to cut it away.
Its golden gaze locked onto Marcus, no longer playful, no longer smug. The demon's voice came low, guttural, and vibrating with restrained fury.
"…Who are you?"
Marcus tilted his head, strands of his messy bun slipping loose, a smirk tugging at his lips. For a moment he chuckled under his breath, then louder, until it became a sharp laugh that filled the ruined bar. His crimson eyes gleamed with amusement, his saber spinning once in his hand.
"Why should I waste time talking…" He leaned forward, the shadows around him writhing like a storm ready to burst. "…when I can just show you?"
He launched forward in a blur.
