STRANGULATE | Markicest

24 | HARMONY

Mark swallowed as he and Dark stood at the edge of his old neighborhood, the sight of his house not far off. Already, Mark felt more alive—standing among his own people, humans—and even though it was evening, and night was threatening to fall, he felt at home.

"How can you trust me?" breathed Mark as they stood at the street corner, glancing over at Dark, who was no longer clad in his robes but clothes that made him look more human. "I ran away four days ago. What says I won't do it again?"

Dark lazily eyed the people walking up and down the sidewalk, filtering in and out of buildings.

Mark was right. Cibil hadn't shown him anything about Mark running away, nor how many times he might do so, but what he did know was how he and Mark ended up. A warmth spread in his chest as he mulled over the visions, pushing them aside.

"I trust you, Mark," he said as he glanced down at him, red eyes gleaming. He gave a smile and returned his gaze to the crowd. "Have you seen anyone you want, yet?"

Mark hummed, fingers twitching, not used to killing with anyone other than Ethan.

"I usually plan these things out," muttered Mark. "And I target celebrities." He gave a playful smile, laughing and glancing up at Dark. "Maybe I want to kill you."

Dark rose a brow at that, but before he could say anything, Mark pointed to a burly man heading towards his motorcycle—tan and built, with eyes hidden behind dark shades—his gait swaying.

"Him."

Dark followed Mark's gaze, brow arching higher. "He's ten times bigger than you."

"What, are you scared?" laughed Mark. Dark smiled with pride at Mark's lighter attitude, satisfied with the human's humor.

Mark leaned back against the cold brick wall, eyes hungrily following the burly man like a wolf mapping out its prey. Dark examined Mark's mannerisms with interest.

"Plus, he's fit," muttered Mark, licking his lips. "He'll taste good."

Dark couldn't help but do a double-take at that. He blinked, red eyes widened in the slightest as he looked at Mark.

"You eat your victims?" he breathed.

Mark blinked, and his brows furrowed in the slightest. "I thought you knew."

Dark said nothing, and Mark suddenly perked up. A few drunken men walked out of the bar and tapped the man's shoulder, bidding their goodbyes, their bodies staggering and swaying in the slightest. Leaving the equally-drunk man alone.

"Perfect," sang Mark. "Alcohol does wonders to a person's flesh." He smiled, eyes lighting up. He turned to Dark, the joy evident in his eyes. It made Dark wonder if Mark really was human—how could someone enjoy killing their own kind so much?

"Tonight, you listen to me," said Mark, going serious. "Once I go in for the kill, don't interfere." His eyes glimmered under the city lamps. "I enjoy a challenge."

With that, Mark walked across the street, and Dark hastily followed, growing more and more interested in Mark by the second.

Mark sidled up to the swaying man, his simpering attitude now one of false concern.

"Sir, you're drunk," said Mark, casually leading the man away from his motorcycle. "I need to drive you home."

The man grimaced, squinting at Mark through his shades.

"What's your name?" Mark pressed on.

"Griffin," he slurred. "Do I know you?"

"We're gonna go to my car, alright, Griffin?" said Mark, wrapping an arm around Griffin's shoulder and steering him into a dark alleyway. "Just come with me."