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."
