Chapter 24

The mansion groaned around them as if mocking his struggle.

Fuck. He lashed out with a blade, forcing them back, but he was slower now his vision doubling. They attacked in pairs, quick jabs of half-formed spells, improvised weapons. Another blow found his ribs, forcing air from his lungs in a desperate wheeze. He swung wildly, caught someone’s shoulder, and heard a scream.

A gust of energy smashed into his barrier again, sending sparks skittering across the scorched floor. He staggered, barely upright, blinking sweat and blood from his eyes.

Elia watched it all, amused, circling like a vulture. More attackers poured into the room, encouraged by Mark’s unsteady stance. He barely managed to summon another barrier, this one smaller and weaker, to block a flurry of crystalline shards that burst from some lunatic’s fingertips. Tiny cuts peppered his face and neck, stinging like hornet stings.

He swallowed hard, ignoring the blood on his tongue. Another attacker came in hot—Mark sidestepped, parried, kicked the guy’s knee out, then slashed low. It felt like hacking through a tide that never receded.

“Holy hell, what’s with this guy?” one of the intruders hissed, voice cracking. “How the hell’s he snuffing our spells?”

“Why aren’t the runes working?”

“Yeah,” another muttered, “this doesn’t make any sense.”

Murmurs spread through their little pack.

Elia leaned casually against a busted pillar, arms crossed, one good eye gleaming. “Little sparky here’s got something special, that’s for sure,” he said, his tone smug as hell. “Guess not all bedtime stories are false.”

Lida’s going to kill me. Mark thought grimly. If I even survive this.

Elia pushed off the pillar. “Any last words, hero? Looks like the end of the line.”

Mark wiped blood from his lip and managed a shaky grin. “Yeah ... that eyepatch really suits you.”

“I’m gonna kill you slow, you piece of shit,” he snarled.

“Oh, shut up.” Mark coughed. “I’ve kicked your ass enough times. You’re just pissed I ruined your ugly face,” he said, voice dripping with mock sweetness.

Elia’s glare was pure poison.

Another attacker rushed in, fast and desperate. Mark sidestepped, felt his muscles scream, parried a shimmering blade with his void edge, kicked the guy’s knee out so it popped with a sick crack, then slashed low, warm blood splattering on his boots.

He took down a couple more, quick brutal hits, all instinct. Bone, flesh, magic crackling and dying. But someone else caught him off-guard—a heavy blow to his wounded arm—and he staggered back.

He stood there, cornered, practically pinned against some old broken dresser while those jerks crept closer. His head rang. Dust choked his lungs. He could barely see straight. His heart hammered so loud it drowned out the screaming, the crashing, the desperate scuffles of Crescent mages somewhere else in this godforsaken mansion. What to do? What to do?

They’d been chipping away at him for what felt like ages—he’d lost count of how many he’d taken down, how many times he’d dodged death by inches.

The intruders smelled his weakness—he could see it in their eyes, hear it in their jeers. Their smirks spoke volumes, closing in on him like a pack of hungry wolves on the prowl.

His blades felt heavier, flickering, threatening to wink out with every labored breath. He was done for. He could barely stand, let alone fight. Screw this. He clenched his jaw, ignoring the blood trickling into his eye. He had to hold out, just a little longer.

A hard blow caught him in the arm, and he grunted, stumbling. Another lunged from the side, blade catching his shirt, drawing a fresh line of red. He struck back blindly, blade scraping bone, hearing a shriek—didn’t matter whose.

Then ... something shifted. The air changed. For a split second, the static of panic in his brain cleared, and he sensed it. Ether. Flowing back. Just a faint hum at first, like a distant engine warming up. His eyes widened. Ria did it. Holy shit, she actually did it.

His opponents didn’t realize it yet—they were too busy savoring their almost-victory.

He inhaled, lungs scraping raw air, and reached deep inside his reservoir, where the power lay coiled, starving for release. Pain still screamed in his veins, but now it had company—something hot and electric. The ether filled him, fueled him, crackled through his nerves like fresh adrenaline.

His vision sharpened, and the world slowed just for half a second.

“FULMINIS,” he roared, voice echoing through broken halls.

A flash.

A crackle.

ZZZZZZZAAP!

Lightning exploded from his fingertips, a snarling, crackling beast of white-hot fury. Raw and hungry.

The air stank of ozone and scorched flesh in a heartbeat. The flash hurt his own eyes, but he didn’t care.

It tore through the space, a tangled web of current that burned skin, fused metal, and shattered glass.

They had no time to scream properly. The front line of attackers caught the full brunt, their bodies jerking violently, limbs spasming, eyes bulging as lightning tore through them.

It was brutal, ugly, and fast. Mark didn’t hold back—he couldn’t afford to. He poured everything he had into that surge, each tendon straining as if he could channel his rage and terror right into those killers.

Sparks danced off the floorboards, lighting them up in tiny embers. The stench of charred flesh slapped Mark’s nostrils, making his stomach churn. Those who tried to dodge weren’t lucky. The lightning arced unpredictably, hungry for anything in its path. One attacker tried to dive behind a broken dresser but got nailed mid-leap, his scream cut short. Another stumbled into a downed comrade and got roasted anyway, their melting gear dripping onto the floor.

When the flash faded, Mark stood panting, body shaking.

Some attacker who’d managed to hurl himself flat now twitched and whimpered, half-burned. Broken metal and fused plastic littered the scorched floor.

Holy hell, that was close. He sucked in air, lungs on fire, heart doing somersaults. He coughed the bitter taste of smoke and blood on his tongue, body on the verge of collapse.

Static still danced along his fingertips, the acrid smell of scorched everything raking the back of his throat. He scanned the hall—shattered furniture, bodies slumped over, chaos of broken tables and bloodstains. Stunned attackers stared back, a few twitching as they tried to gather themselves.

He blinked sweat from his eyes, noticing the absence of a certain one-eyed asshole. Elia had vanished. Of course, that bastard would run.

The remaining intruders lunged.

Mark barked out a laugh, grim and tired, and unleashed another burst of lightning. ZZZTT!

It seared across their faces, ripping screams from their throats, flesh charring, dropping them like sacks of meat.

The stench gagged him, but he swallowed it down. Still no sign of Elia.

Then, a sudden shout—too close. An attack from his flank.

Mark tried to bring up a barrier, but he was off-balance, too slow. Shit— But before the hit landed, a wall of ice slammed into place. Crackling frost spread out, blocking the attack. He stumbled back, panting, and turned to find Ria rushing toward him, eyes blazing. She threw shards of ice like knives, taking down anyone else stupid enough to move.

Mark managed a weak grin. Right on time.

He took a shaky step forward, lightning dancing weakly at his fingertips. Then that damned shimmer caught his eye.

That teleporting prick popped back into view, blade already descending. Mark jerked a shield up just in time, sparks flying, his arm going numb from the impact.

Elia snarled and kept swinging, teleporting around like some sadistic jack-in-the-box.

Mark could hardly stand, let alone fight. He dodged behind a crushed armchair, rolled over broken glass, used a toppled bookshelf to deflect another strike. Every muscle screamed. Blood trickled down his arm. He kicked debris into Elia’s path, trying to buy a fraction of a second. Didn’t matter—Elia just blinked through the chaos, pressing the attack.

Mark’s blade-hand trembled. He could barely stand, every step a stumble.

Elia saw it, grinning, circling like a shark that smelled blood.

Finally, Mark spotted an opening. He lunged forward, body screaming in protest, and jammed his void blade straight into Elia’s ribcage.

“AAAAAAARGH!”

Elia’s eyes went wide, his scream raw and high-pitched, making Mark’s ears ring all over again.

Mark didn’t stop. He twisted the blade cruelly, feeling wet muscle and bone grind.

“STOP! STOP!”

Mark answered by grabbing his neck with a trembling hand and letting lightning crawl down his arm, a controlled surge, lighting up Elia’s nerves like a Christmas tree from hell.