Fate of the Marked

Pride

Lucian's grin widened as he stalked closer, his golden hair shimmering faintly under the flickering streetlight. I clenched my staff tighter, but the alcohol muddled my senses, slowing my reaction. His presence felt suffocating, pressing against my skin like ice.

"Oh, don't look so tense, Thalia." His voice was silk and venom, warm yet lethal. "I'm not here to fight."

My breath hitched, fury and dread tangled into one volatile knot. "What... what do you want?" My words slurred just slightly, making me curse inwardly.

Lucian's smile didn't falter. "Just a friendly chat. It's been too long, hasn't it?" He circled slowly, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. "After all, you've been so busy—killing my brothers and sisters, wrecking all our plans." His eyes gleamed. "Quite impressive, really."

I glared at him, my knuckles white against my staff. "I'll kill you too."

He chuckled, low and mocking. "Oh, darling. Such fire." He paused, fingers lightly tracing the cleave mark on his shoulder—deep and jagged, as if made by something impossibly sharp. My stomach twisted in recognition. That wound was fresh.

Roderick.

He noticed my gaze and laughed again. "Ah... your dear brother." His voice dipped into mock affection. "He's stronger than I expected, really. Gave me this lovely souvenir." He tapped the wound lightly, wincing in mock pain. "I underestimated him... won't happen again."

Rage boiled in my chest, searing through the alcohol's haze. "If you've touched him—if you've done anything—"

Lucian raised a hand, silencing me with infuriating ease. "Relax, little mage. If I wanted him dead, he'd be gone already." His tone darkened, venom dripping from every syllable. "But what would be the fun in that?"

I took a shaky step forward, heat pulsing in my fingertips. "You're going to regret—"

"Regret?" Lucian interrupted smoothly, tilting his head. "Oh, Thalia... I think you're the one drowning in regret." His golden eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. "You let a demon into the King's palace. You trusted him. Fought beside him. Believed him."

My breath caught, memories of Sylvor's smirking face flashing behind my eyes.

"You're a fool, Thalia." His voice dropped into something colder, sharper. "Everyone sees it. You're reckless. Naive." He took another step closer, his breath cold against my face. "And worst of all... you're alone."

The weight of his words crushed down on me like stone. My chest burned, but not from fear—from sheer, unrelenting rage.

I lifted my chin, forcing steel into my voice. "And that's enough."

For the briefest moment, I saw it—offense flashing across his perfect, sneering face. A crack in his mask.

My mind snapped into sharp clarity, as if the drunken haze burned away in the heat of my anger. Lucian... the Demon of Pride. His entire existence was built on one thing—his towering, unshakable ego. His deepest wound wasn't one my staff or magic could deliver—it was the collapse of his pride.

I let out a slow, measured breath, feigning indifference. "Honestly... I've started to forget about you." My voice turned icy and dismissive. "You've become... irrelevant."

His eyes flickered, molten gold burning with sudden intensity. A slow rage coiled beneath his composed facade.

Good.

I twisted the blade deeper. "It's your big brother I think about these days. Astoroth." His expression tightened ever so slightly, like a bowstring being drawn to its limit. "He's just... stronger. More impactful. More... threatening."