The rain over Boston was light, especially over Chinatown, where water darkened the brick underfoot, and the glow of paper lanterns bled into the puddles with the slow ripple of passing tires. Markus Gray hunched into his black coat, umbrella angled just enough to keep his curls from matting against his forehead. He walked without hurry, the weight of the day trailing after him like an extra shadow.
Captain Gray. He almost laughed at the name as it echoed in his head. Not clever in the slightest, nor was it intimidating. All it was was just his surname with a badge pinned on it. After hours of stopping muggings, dragging overdosed kids to clinics, and pulling two car-crash victims from mangled steel, he wondered, again, if the mask made a difference. Crime had been swelling, not shrinking. Every week, the news anchors praised the police for their "record response rates." And yet... here he was, running himself ragged while the precinct quietly cheered the idea of his kind becoming obsolete. But, maybe they weren't wrong. Maybe a man like him was just a relic with better knees.
A metallic clatter broke through his thoughts, followed by a grunt of frustration. Markus's gaze shifted left, where the narrow spine of a spice shop sat pressed between two restaurants. The shutters rattled halfway down, refusing to lock. A man wrestled with the chain, his thin frame hunched against the drizzle. Markus recognized him instantly: Mr. Huang, a fixture of the block, whose shop smelled perpetually of star anise and dried ginger.
Markus's jaw eased, the iron weight in his chest loosening as he angled his umbrella and stepped off the curb. The rain tapped a steady rhythm on the nylon overhead as he drew near, shadows slicing across the man's wrinkled face. Mr. Huang looked up sharply, startled by the looming figure. For a beat, his eyes widened, ready to scold or dismiss until recognition lit them.
"Ah… Mark!" His surprise melted into a laugh, the kind that rattled in the ribs. "Scared me half to death."
Markus smiled faintly, holding the umbrella over the older man. "Didn't mean to. Figured you've had enough water for one night." He then tilted his chin toward the chain, the stubborn metal teeth clinking against themselves.
"Here," he said, easing the umbrella into Mr. Huang's hand. "Hold this for a second."
The older man blinked, then obeyed, lifting the umbrella overhead as Markus stepped close. Then he planted his palms on the shutter, the damp cold of the steel seeping into his skin, and pulled downward in one smooth, firm motion. The metal screeched, then gave, slamming into its socket with a thud that seemed to rattle the whole storefront.
Mr. Huang let out a long exhale. "Ai-ya... you make it look easy!"
Markus took the umbrella back with a faint grin. "Nah, you loosened it for me."
The man chuckled, kneeling to thread the lock through the latch. His keys jingled, brass catching the lantern light as he worked, the smell of wet iron mixed with the warm spices still wafting from the shop door.
"Thank you, Markus," Mr. Huang said, pushing himself up slowly. "You're always helping... even when you're off the clock." His eyes twinkled as if he knew more than he should. Not like Gray's identity was much of a mystery anyways.
Markus shrugged with a sly grin etched onto his face. "Some habits just stick."
They lingered a moment under the umbrella as water slid in tiny rivers down the shop's glass, reflecting blurred reds and golds from lanterns overhead. A group of teenagers hurried past, laughing, their shoes splashing through the gutter. One of them called out something about Hero's Day, the damn date already a buzz on every street corner.
Mr. Huang followed their voices with his gaze. "The festival this year… here in Boston." He gave a small smile. "My son says the whole city will stop to watch. Parades, speeches, costumes. You'll see it, I'm sure! This place will glow like New Year's!"
Markus kept his expression neutral, though something heavy flickered in his chest. "Last year was Madison, right? Big spectacle."
"Yes... Madison. Snow everywhere. Cold, but people came out anyway!" Mr. Huang laughed softly, as if marveling at the persistence of celebration. Then he looked Markus over, narrowing his eyes. "You'll be there, yes? Your city needs to see its big hero!"
Markus glanced down the rain-slick street, the thought of banners and cheering crowds weighing heavier than the damp night. "We'll... we'll see," he said quietly. "Crowds aren't really my thing."
Mr. Huang didn't press. He just patted Markus on the arm, a warm, grounding gesture, before stepping back toward his shuttered shop. "Go home, Markus. Rest. Even heroes need sleep."
Markus gave a small nod, turning the umbrella to shield himself as he walked back into the street. His shoes splashed through shallow puddles, the chill creeping into his socks, but he pressed on, with Mr. Huang's words tugging at him, ringing much louder than the storm.
Even heroes need sleep.
He wasn't sure sleep would come.
By the time Markus reached Downtown, the rain had thinned to more like a mist brushing the skin than water falling from the sky. He drew his coat tighter around him as he crossed the cracked sidewalk toward his building; a weatherworn apartment block wedged between a laundromat and a shuttered Irish-owned tavern.
He reached into his pocket for his keys, boots squelching faintly against the mat at the entryway, when a prickle ran down his spine.
Someone... or something was standing across the street.
A hooded figure, motionless beneath the halo of a streetlight. The rain caught on the fabric of their cloak, glittering faintly as it ran off, but their face was shadowed, hidden deep in the cowl. Markus couldn't even guess the gender– their build was too lean and their posture... deliberate.
His brow furrowed. He should've just gone inside, shut the door, written it off as another late-night pedestrian. But his body stayed rooted, caught by something else.
A sound– faint, almost too faint, slid into his mind. Not outside. Not from the street.
To me.
Markus froze, heart lurching. The words weren't spoken aloud, yet it throbbed inside his skull, weaving with the drizzle's rhythm like a note only he could hear. His jaw clenched, but his feet shifted forward before he'd told them to.
The hooded figure turned, slow as the turn of a clock hand, and began to walk away.
Markus followed.
His umbrella tilted uselessly at his side now, forgotten. Rain touched his face, cool and sharp, and the smells of wet concrete and faint exhaust from a passing car thickened the air. The whispers grew, threading into his thoughts with low, velvet tones, beckoning with an intimacy that unsettled him. This way. You know where you belong, Captain.
Each step he took echoed louder than the city around him, the sound of his soles against the slick street pounding like a heartbeat in the quiet.
The figure slipped into an alley and the dim glow of the street behind them snuffed out like a candle. Markus's breath clouded in the damp, his pulse climbing as he tightened his grip on the umbrella's handle.
He should've turned back. Should've shaken the voice from his head. But the whisper tugged again, sharp as a hook lodged behind his eyes.
Closer.
And Markus obeyed.
The alley swallowed him whole with wet brick walls pressing in close, dumpsters reeking of rot, and the faint trickle of water seeping from a broken pipe. Markus's breath rasped in the narrow dark, his steps slowing as the hooded figure stopped ahead of him.
The figure then turned. Slowly.
Come.
The voice sliced through his skull like a blade drawn across ice. Markus's body lurched forward before his will caught up. His boots slapped against the soaked concrete.
Then the voice shifted... harder, commanding.
Kneel.
Markus staggered to a halt, heart hammering. His knees buckled as though invisible hands had twisted his joints. He caught himself on the umbrella, fury flashing in his chest. No... no, this isn't me... These aren't my decisions!
His eyes dragged upward, straining against the compulsion.
The hood slipped back.
Markus's breath caught.
It wore no face. No features. Just smooth, pale skin stretched like porcelain over the skull, lips and nose erased, leaving only two hollow pits for eyes which were ringed with dark, bruised crescents that seemed to pulse in a hideous manner.
Do not resist, Captain Gray, the voice purred inside his head. The sound was more of a pressure beneath the skin, like teeth gnashing inside his brain. The process will be harmless.
Then came the pain.
A raw, needling sensation ripped across his cheeks, his forehead, his mouth. It was as if invisible hooks had sunk into the flesh of his face and were tugging, pulling in directions that didn't exist. His skin burned, stretched, twisting under a current he couldn't see. Markus clenched his jaw until his teeth ground, grunting through the pain, but the harder he tried to move, the tighter the unseen grip clamped down.
He staggered, forcing one step back. His muscles screamed against the invisible leash.
Stop, the Faceless said.
His body obeyed before he could think, spine snapping rigid, fists locked at his sides.
He tried again, forcing his right arm up—only to feel it jerk back down as if yanked by strings. The pain in his face deepened, crawling under the skin now, as though his very features were being peeled, rewritten. A sour, metallic taste filled his mouth, like blood mixed with rust.
Do not struggle, the voice crooned, a lullaby laced with rot. It will pass quickly if you submit.
Markus's pulse thundered in his ears. His breath came ragged, shallow. Fear coiled cold and foreign inside him– not just of pain, but of the thought clawing its way through his mind:
What the hell is this… thing?!
Markus clenched his fists, the invisible leash grinding at his muscles. Pain seared across his face, as if hot wire were being threaded beneath his skin. No more waiting. No more leash.
He drew a breath, forcing his mind into rhythm, where syllables whispered under his tongue. Sparks of pale light crawled along his palms, his sorcerous training crackling awake despite the Faceless's oppressive grip. Glyphs burned faintly in the damp air around his wrists, the beginnings of a ward meant to tear apart bindings.
The Faceless tilted its smooth head.
Stop.
The command shattered into him like glass. His breath hitched, arms jerking down violently, the glyphs snuffed in an instant. A guttural sound ripped from Markus's throat, equal parts pain and defiance. He staggered against the alley wall, concrete scraping his shoulder, fury pounding in his temples.
Then–
A spear of violet flame shrieked down from above, splitting the air like thunder. It slammed into the alley floor, searing the rain-slick brick where the Faceless had stood. The creature moved with inhuman fluidity, sliding across the ground as though gravity barely applied, cloak whispering in its wake.
Markus blinked against the afterglow.
From the rooftops above, a figure descended in a controlled arc, boots thudding against wet concrete. Purple embers licked at the edges of her cape as she straightened, rolling her shoulders with a soft groan.
"Was wondering where it went," Lady Valiant muttered, flexing her arms back until her spine popped. Her mask gleamed faintly under the streetlamp, the silver trim catching against the mist. She glanced Markus's way, lips quirking. "Thanks for holding its attention, Gray!"
Markus was still half-crouched, hand against the wall, sweat cooling on his neck. His chest heaved, confusion fogging his thoughts. "That… thing. It wasn't just in my head..."
The Faceless rose slowly, sliding upright without a twitch of muscle. The hollow rings of its eyes glowed faintly. Its voice rippled through both of them, thick as smoke.
You two will make this... complicated.
It lifted one hand, palm angled outward. Its body shimmered, edges breaking apart like mist in wind. Then, with a lurch, its entire form unraveled into shadowy haze; a phantasm of pale light and smoke. With a sweep of its arm, it shot upward, dissolving into the dark rooftops.
Lady Valiant groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Of course." She turned to Markus, one brow arched. "So, Captain, ya helping me with this one? Or am I clocking solo tonight?"
Markus sighed, raking a hand through his rain-soaked hair. His voice came low, tired, but edged with resolve. "I was just about to drink my soul out tonight... But duty always calls." He glanced toward the thinning trail of smoke overhead, jaw tightening. "Mind telling me what the hell that thing is, Valiant? Because it sure as hell wasn't just a mugger in a mask."
Her expression shifted, humor draining into steel. "Honestly?" She shook her head once. "I... I don't know. First time I saw it was last week. Came at me out of nowhere, tore through my defenses like they weren't there. I scared it off, barely. Didn't think I'd see it again so soon."
She stepped back, boots hissing in the shallow puddle. Flames licked from her shoulders, unfurling into wings of violet fire, each feather arcing and curling like blades. The heat of them cut through the damp, throwing stark shadows across the alley walls.
"Witchfire Wings," she said, almost as if to herself. Then her eyes met his. "Race ya!"
Before Markus could reply, she kicked off, the wings beating once. She shot upward in a burst of searing violet light, streaking past the rooftop ledges, rain hissing as it evaporated in her wake.
Markus groaned under his breath. "I'm getting too old for this..."
He pulled the umbrella tight under his arm, free hand sketching a quick circle in the damp air. Glyphs flared, bright against the gloom, weaving into a platform of pale gold beneath his boots. It lifted with a low hum, arcs of light bending the air around it. Markus straightened, jaw clenched as the glyph carried him skyward.
The chase tore them north, rooftops whipping by beneath the sheets of rain. Lady Valiant cut a bright arc through the storm, her Witchfire Wings sizzling each time they beat, sparks scattering into the dark. Markus followed in her wake, his glyph platform thrumming under his boots, arcs of golden light trailing against the wet night sky.
The city thinned as they crossed into Charlestown. The brick canyons gave way to flatter ground, the skeletal outlines of warehouses and abandoned lots unfolding beneath them. And then, suddenly, it opened: a wide field that stretched out like a black sea under the storm.
The rain thickened without warning, hammering down in torrents. Lady Valiant faltered midair, her wings sputtering as steam hissed off the purple fire. She growled, teeth bared, before the last flare guttered out entirely. She dropped, landing hard in the grass with a muted curse.
Markus angled down, boots squelching as he stepped onto the sodden field. He dismissed his platform with a twist of his wrist; the glyph fizzled away in a shimmer of droplets and the wet grass slapped cold against his ankles.
The Faceless stood across from them, pale and steady despite the deluge. Water poured down its featureless head, vanishing into nothingness where a mouth or nose should have been.
Markus raised a hand, his voice hoarse but cutting through the storm. "Who the hell are you?"
The Faceless did not turn its hollow gaze to him. Instead, its words coiled into both their minds, layered and calm.
Unfortunate… that all nine could not be here. But you two were the easiest to locate with precision.
Lady Valiant scoffed, rain dripping off her mask as she squared her shoulders. "Easiest, huh?" She shot Markus a side glance, smirk crooked under her breath. "Guess we're just the lucky ones tonight." She flexed her fists, violet embers already sparking against her damp gloves. "Two's enough."
Markus ignored her bravado, his stomach twisting. The Faceless had said nine. Valor Nine. All of them. Was he an idiot… or prepared?
He didn't have time to press it as the air thickened and warped as though the storm itself bent inward. And then the field rippled.
Shapes stepped out of the downpour. One, then another. Dozens. Figures identical to the first, hoods bowed, their pale faces blank, eyes ringed in the same black void. They did not walk so much as emerge, as if the rain itself had sculpted them into being.
Markus froze. His breath rattled in his chest.
The voices came next. Not one, not two, but all, layered into a single, suffocating chorus that cracked inside their skulls.
We are Faceless.
The sound vibrated the air, rattling Markus's teeth. The wet grass seemed to shiver underfoot, and for a heartbeat, he could swear the field tilted, as if the sheer weight of their voices might pull the world inward.
Lady Valiant's smirk faltered, her hand lowering just slightly. Markus could feel the heat of her presence beside him, could hear the hiss of her breath through her mask.
Dozens of Faceless stood before them, motionless in the storm. Watching. Waiting.
The rain beat harder.
Markus swallowed, eyes narrowing as fear and defiance warred in his gut.
This was no lone monster. This was something worse.
Markus leaned closer, his voice low against the downpour. "Listen. We can't hit them head-on. If we split them–"
But he never finished.
Lady Valiant's eyes lit with fire. "To hell with that!" she barked, stepping forward. Her voice cut through the storm, raw and unyielding. Purple sparks flared around her hands, coalescing into a shape that stretched outward, blade forming from flame and fury.
The Heksenvuur.
The sword towered in her grasp, its edge rippling like molten glass, glowing violet against the rain. She charged, boots pounding the sodden earth, and swung in a great sweeping arc meant to carve the field in half.
The Faceless did not move. They did not flinch.
They simply spoke.
Stop.
The command crashed into her like a wave. Her arms locked, legs trembling. Valiant's teeth clenched, her body straining against the invisible command. A guttural yell tore from her throat as she forced the blade through the air, muscles screaming, violet flame flickering wildly and for a heartbeat, she almost broke through.
But an unseen force slammed into her chest. She was hurled backward, crashing against the mud with enough force to kick water into the air. She dug the Heksenvuur into the ground, its edge sizzling against wet grass, stopping her slide with a shriek of metal.
"Damn it!" she spat, rain streaming down her mask as she forced herself upright.
Markus stood frozen, staring wide-eyed at the unmoving phalanx of Faceless. The commands, the force, the sheer weight of their presence... none of it fit the rules of combat he knew. "This… this isn't possible." His words were swallowed by the rain, barely audible even to himself.
Then something moved above.
A flicker of shadow against the storm clouds. A cloaked figure, silent and swift, dropping down toward Lady Valiant with outstretched hands.
Markus reacted before thought caught up. He drew a sharp circle in the air, breath spilling the syllables of a spell. A whip of searing light cracked outward, golden threads lashing through the rain. It struck the figure mid-fall with a sound like snapping bone, wrapping tight around their torso.
Markus snarled and yanked, the whip dragging the attacker sideways before flinging them into the waiting ranks of Faceless. Mud splattered as the figure hit the ground, rolled, then rose, eerily steady for someone who had just been slammed like a ragdoll.
Then the hood fell back.
The man's dark hair clung wet and heavy to his face, long strands dripping as they framed a pale grin. His lips were dark, almost bruised in color, stretched into a smile that was too calm, too familiar. He straightened, brushing water from his cloak with a slow, deliberate hand.
Lady Valiant blinked, confusion breaking through her fury. "What the hell…" she muttered, tightening her grip on her sword.
Markus felt his throat go dry, his pulse thudding against his temples. He took an involuntary step back, eyes locked on the stranger. The storm, the Faceless chorus, the unearthly compulsion... none of it shook him as much as the sickly, human smile spreading wider on that pale face.
He whispered, half to himself, half to the storm, "No… that can't be right."
The man stood among the Faceless as if they were his throne, rain sliding down his long hair, lips still curled in that bruised smile. His voice carried without being raised, smooth and deliberate, like the storm itself bent to spread his words.
"It's a shame the Pinnacle of Man couldn't grace us tonight," he said, tilting his head as though disappointed in a host that failed to appear. "Still... I believe killing one or two others of the Valor Nine will do just right."
Lady Valiant tightened her stance, Heksenvuur raised, steam rolling off its molten edge as rain struck the blade. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, every syllable edged with steel... and panic.
The man's grin widened. He lifted one long-nailed finger, sharp and dark against the night, and pointed directly at them. "That knowledge won't benefit you in the grave."
As if on command, the Faceless lurched forward. Dozens of them, all at once, moving without sound save for the splashing of mud and the hiss of rain against their cloaks. Their voices struck like a hammer in unison, Strike. End them.
Markus's stomach dropped. He muttered, "You know, I was really looking forward to my bed tonight..."
Valiant, already sprinting into motion beside him, barked back, "You came willingly, remember?"
Markus sighed, breath misting hot against the cold night, and lifted his hands. Glyphs spun around his fingers, light carving through the storm as he summoned power into the wet air. "Don't remind me."
The two of them surged forward.
Lady Valiant's blade carved an arc of violet fire through the dark, steam exploding upward as the heat clashed with the downpour. She roared as she swung, cleaving through the first wave.
Markus's hands snapped wide, chains of light spiraling from his palms to lash across the faceless horde. The crack of his magic split the storm, with golden threads wrapping around pale limbs and jerking them to the ground. Rain sizzled against the glowing glyphs as he dragged one Faceless down, then snapped another back with a whip of force.
But for every one that fell, two more closed in.
The night filled with their voices and none shouted, but pressed into skull and marrow. Kneel. Break. Submit. Each command gnawed at Markus's will, each syllable hammering into Valiant's mind. He gritted his teeth, sweat mixing with rain, forcing his hands to keep moving.
The clash of steel and fire against endless faceless forms turned the field into chaos, with purple flame and golden light streaking against the black storm.
And still, beyond it all, the cloaked man stood smiling, watching as if the battle were nothing more than a performance staged for him. Every swing of Lady Valiant's blade scorched violet arcs into the night, every glyph Markus summoned cracked like thunder, but the Faceless came on, endless, their pale visages unblinking in the storm.
Markus's arms burned from strain. His spells were unraveling faster than he could form them, threads of gold sputtering under the weight of invisible commands. A faceless hand clawed at his shoulder, another seized his wrist. He tore free with a grunt, sparks flying from his palms, but for every gap he opened the ranks filled again.
"They're not individuals!" he shouted through the rain, his voice raw. A Faceless lunged, forcing him to snap a whip of light across its chest, the stink of scorched cloth cutting through the petrichor. "It's a hive mind... I can feel it!"
Lady Valiant ducked under a sweeping arm, sparks hissing against her soaked mask. "Then what's the center?!"
Markus's eyes locked across the field. The man who was still smiling and untouched. "Him!"
She followed his gaze, jaw tightening. "Got it!"
With a sudden twist, she wrenched herself free from two Faceless gripping her arms. She rolled her shoulders, Heksenvuur blazing as she surged forward, mud spraying as her boots dug deep, rain plastering her golden hair to her temples beneath the mask. She swung upward in a rising slice, the blade tearing through the storm with a roar of violet fire, clods of wet earth exploding into the air.
The man moved swiftly and unhurried. He slipped aside with liquid grace, his cloak barely disturbed. One pale hand shot up, catching the massive sword along its flaming edge. The sound was sickening, like steel meeting bone, but his grip held the blade back.
Lady Valiant's eyes widened as she finally saw him up close. His face was pale, smooth, almost statuesque. His eyes were red, burning faintly as he pinned her, pupils stark white and shaped unnaturally, like the unfurled wings of a bat. He leaned close, the storm muted for her in that moment, his breath warm against her ear.
She didn't speak nor did she move.
Then his other hand shot forward, a jab so precise, so brutal, it slammed into her solar plexus with the force of a piledriver, causing air to explode out of her lungs. Her sword flickered, fire stuttering. Then her knees buckled, eyes rolling back as she collapsed into the mud.
"Valiant!" Markus's cry tore from him, raw with disbelief. He surged forward, but the mob closed tighter. Clawed hands dragged at his arms and legs, faceless heads tilting in unison. Commands raked his mind repeatedly. Kneel. Break. Submit. His vision blurred, the rain in his eyes mixing with sweat and fury.
He struggled like a man drowning, heart hammering in his throat. Every instinct screamed to tear his way free, to reach her. But the weight of the hive pressed down, an ocean of thought and force that threatened to pull him under.
His teeth clenched. "GET… OFF… OF ME!!!"
Light sputtered in his palms again much weaker than before, his own disbelief slowing his will. He could barely see her through the writhing pale forms, her blade in the mud and her chest still rising, shallow, against the downpour.
The man lifted his gaze across the field, crimson eyes catching Markus's through the chaos. And then he smiled wider, as if the struggle itself was the only outcome he'd ever wanted.
The Faceless pressed in tighter, their hands cold against Markus's arms, their voices drilling into his skull like iron nails. Kneel. Break. Submit. He strained against the invisible weight, glyphs flickering faintly in his palms, but each spark sputtered out, swallowed by the chorus hammering through his nerves. His chest heaved, lungs dragging in wet air that felt heavier with every breath.
Then the man was simply there.
The space between one blink and the next closed, and suddenly he stood in front of Markus, close enough that rain ran down his cloak and onto Markus's chest. The Faceless bent their heads in eerie unison, still holding Markus aloft as if presenting him.
The man tilted his head, eyes glowing faintly crimson in the stormlight. "Of all the Valor Nine," he said, voice soft, deliberate, "yours... were always the less straightforward. A scholar's tools dressed in a hero's skin. Sorcery. Words and symbols..." He let the words linger, as though tasting them. "Not the kind of strength that leaves scars."
Markus's jaw clenched. He forced the words out through gritted teeth. "Who the hell... are you...?!"
The man lifted a finger, placing it against Markus's lips with mock tenderness. "Shhh." His smile widened. "Save your questions. They won't serve you now."
Then his hand lifted, hovering just above Markus's face.
A strange cold seeped into Markus's skin, burrowing beneath it, deeper than bone. His already weak glyphs flickered wildly, then guttered, causing light to bleed away from his hands like water running down a drain.
A tearing sensation crawled through him. Not physical, but deeper, like invisible hooks were pulling at something within. His breath caught and his chest tightening as if the storm itself had pressed inside his ribs. His arms trembled, muscles seizing against the grip of the Faceless, but every twitch only drained him further.
He tried to form a sigil and tried to summon a spark of defiance. The syllables stuck in his throat, choking him. Gold threads rose weakly from his fingers—then snapped, scattering like dying embers.
The cold thickened. His vision blurred at the edges, black creeping in. His body felt heavier, weaker, as if the marrow itself were being drained. He gasped, voice rasping raw. "S-stop..."
The man's smile remained steady, his eyes fixed on Markus's face as though studying an artifact. Rain streaked down his pale cheekbones, red irises glimmering with cruel patience.
And still his hand hovered, siphoning whatever strength Markus had left.
Markus's vision swam. The rain blurred into white streaks, the world smearing like a half-wiped canvas. His heart hammered once, twice, then stuttered against the ache spreading from his chest. Every flicker of magic sputtered out of him, fragile threads snapping one by one until his hands were bare, empty, nothing.
The Faceless still held him upright, though his knees buckled and his body sagged against their grip. Their voices layered in his skull, now almost gentle. Submit. End. Rest.
The man's hand pressed closer, fingertips grazing Markus's temple. The cold wasn't cold anymore... it was absence, a void eating its way through him. His mouth opened in a strangled gasp, but no air seemed to fill his lungs. He tried to fight, tried to form even a single word of defiance, but his throat only tore with a broken sound.
The man's eyes glowed faintly, white pupils burning against the storm-dark irises. He studied Markus with something like fascination, then whispered almost tenderly:
"You see? No scars... nor legacy."
The pressure peaked.
Markus's back arched, pain ripping through him like his nerves were unraveling thread by thread. His muscles seized; the smell of iron filled his nose, metallic and raw. A strangled cry cut short in his throat. His vision fractured into shards of light and then nothing but black, creeping fast.
The man closed his hand.
Markus's body went slack. His head dropped forward, curls plastered to his brow with rain, eyes half-open but empty. The Faceless released him, and he collapsed into the mud with a heavy, final thud.
The storm drowned the silence, rain pelting his still frame, washing crimson trails into the sodden earth. His hand twitched once, reflexive, then lay still. No glyphs, no spark. Nothing.
The cloaked man straightened, withdrawing his hand as though brushing dust from his fingers. He looked down at Markus with that same calm smile, water dripping from his long hair. Around him, the Faceless bowed their heads in perfect unison, their voices humming through the night like a funeral dirge.
Lady Valiant stirred weakly in the mud several yards away, lifting her head just enough to see Markus's body lying motionless. Her breath hitched, shock and fury colliding in her chest as the rain poured harder, smothering the battlefield in cold and shadow.
Markus Gray, Captain Gray of the Valor Nine, was gone.
Rain blurred the world into streaks of gray. Lady Valiant pushed against the mud with trembling arms, her fingers sinking into the wet earth, the taste of iron still heavy in her mouth from the blow. Every muscle screamed, but she forced her head up, blinking water from her eyes.
Markus lay crumpled in the field. His coat plastered to him, his curls matted to his brow. His chest didn't rise. His eyes, once sharp with weariness but always alive, were half-lidded, vacant, and caught only the reflection of the storm above.
"No…" Her voice was hoarse, a whisper drowned by thunder.
Her breath came ragged, each inhale sharp with the stink of churned soil and rainwater. She clawed forward on hands and knees, dragging herself toward him, the Heksenvuur trailing in the mud like a broken banner. Every drop of rain hissed against its fading flame until even that violet glow guttered out.
The Faceless did not follow. They stood back, a wall of pale forms bowing their heads, silent now. All except for the cloaked man, who lingered just a few paces from Markus's body. His crimson eyes glimmered faintly beneath the stormlight, his mouth still curved in that unreadable smile. He did not move. He only watched.
Lady Valiant froze mid-crawl, rage twisting with horror inside her chest. She wanted to scream, to hurl herself at him blade-first, to burn the whole field to ash until nothing remained. But her body betrayed her as it began shaking and her strength began to flicker away.
The man finally turned, cloak swaying lightly in the rain. He didn't speak to her. Didn't gloat. He simply lifted a hand, and the Faceless melted back into the storm with him, their forms vanishing like shadows dissolving at dawn.
And then... they were gone, leaving the two in the storm.
Lady Valiant slumped forward, palms pressing into the mud beside Markus. Her breath shuddered out of her, uneven, broken. The rain beat harder, flattening his curls, washing trails of red into the sodden ground. She reached out with shaking hands, fingers curling into his coat, pulling him close though the weight nearly crushed her.
"Damn it, Markus…" she rasped, voice breaking against the storm. "You weren't supposed to go first..."
The thunder rolled overhead, loud and merciless. She pressed her forehead to his, eyes squeezed shut against the sting of rain and grief. Around them, the field was empty, the city distant and the world utterly still except for the storm's relentless roar.
And in that soaked, hollow silence, Lady Valiant understood the truth she didn't want to carry:
This night wasn't an ambush...
It was a warning.