The Last God

They dumped Marcus on Michigan Avenue at midnight.

No weapons. No armor. Just the torn clothes on his back and the mark burning beneath his skin. Bjorn had given him one piece of advice before shoving him out of Valhalla's Gate.

"Trust your instincts. The mark will try to protect you. Let it."

Then the door had vanished, leaving Marcus alone on empty Chicago streets.

The city felt wrong. Too quiet. Street lights flickered like dying stars. Cars sat abandoned at intersections, doors hanging open. Everyone had fled or hidden, sensing the danger that prowled tonight.

Marcus started moving. He had three hours until dawn. Three hours to stay alive.

His feet carried him south, away from the lake. The mark pulsed with each heartbeat, warm against his chest. It whispered to him in a language he did not know but somehow understood.

Danger. Close. Move.

He ducked into an alley as shadows rippled across the street behind him. Not natural shadows. These moved with purpose, flowing like oil, searching.

The Vesper's hunters.

Marcus pressed against a dumpster, holding his breath. The shadows passed within feet of him, tendrils reaching, testing. Then they moved on, flowing toward the next block.

Too close.

Marcus ran deeper into the alley, emerging onto a side street. A convenience store sat on the corner, windows dark. He tried the door. Locked. The mark flared hot, and strength surged through his arm. He pulled, and the lock snapped like a toy.

Inside, Marcus grabbed water and food, shoving energy bars into his pockets. His hands shook. Six months of captivity had left him weak, and even with the mark's power, his body was failing.

He needed to think. Needed a plan.

The Vesper would expect him to run. To hide. Every prey did the same thing. But Marcus had survived the Crimson Night not by running, but by doing something insane.

What if he did not run?

The thought was crazy. Suicidal. But something about it felt right.

Marcus left the store and headed north, back toward the lake. Toward where he had last seen the Vesper's shadows. His mark burned hotter with each step, warning him, screaming at him to turn back.

He ignored it.

Two blocks later, he found what he was looking for. A construction site, half finished tower reaching into the night sky. Scaffolding covered its face like a metal skeleton.

Marcus climbed.

His muscles screamed. His lungs burned. But the mark pushed him forward, lending him strength he should not have. He reached the tenth floor, then the fifteenth, then the twentieth.

At the twenty fifth floor, he stopped. The wind was fierce up here, cold enough to cut. Chicago spread below him, a maze of lights and shadows.

And in those shadows, he saw her.

The Vesper moved through the streets like a dark queen, her form shifting between woman and nightmare. Shadow creatures flanked her, dozens of them, spreading through the city in search patterns.

She was three blocks away and closing.

Marcus pulled out his phone. Viktor's guards had taken it months ago, but someone had returned it to his pocket in Valhalla's Gate. Bjorn, maybe. Or Sigrun, planting evidence of where he went.

It still worked.

Marcus dialed 911.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"There is a woman hunting people near the Willis Tower," Marcus said quickly. "She is not human. She is killing anyone she finds. You need to send everyone."

"Sir, please calm down. Can you describe-"

Marcus hung up and threw the phone off the building. Let them trace it. Let them come.

The Vesper wanted to hunt him in darkness and silence. Marcus would give her chaos instead.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Red and blue lights converged toward his location. The Vesper stopped, her head tilting as she listened. Then her golden eyes lifted, scanning the buildings around her.

She saw him.

Even from twenty five floors up, Marcus felt the weight of her gaze. Felt her fury, cold and vast.

She smiled.

Then she rose into the air, shadows lifting her like wings. Her hunters followed, climbing walls, defying gravity, surging toward Marcus with inhuman speed.

He had seconds.

Marcus ran across the construction floor, leaping over gaps, dodging equipment. Behind him, shadows poured through the scaffolding like flood water. The Vesper's laughter echoed in his mind.

"Clever boy. But cleverness will not save you."

Marcus reached the far edge and looked down. Twenty five stories of empty air. No escape.

The mark burned white hot.

Jump.

The command came from somewhere deep inside. From Ares's final gift. From the rage that had been sleeping, waiting for this moment.

Marcus jumped.

The world spun. Wind tore at him. Death rushed up from below.

Then the mark exploded with golden light.

Power wrapped around Marcus like armor, slowing his fall. He hit the ground hard enough to crack concrete, but he rolled, bones intact, alive.

Police cars screeched to a stop around him. Officers poured out, guns drawn.

"Freeze! Hands up!"

Marcus raised his hands, breathing hard. Above, the Vesper descended slowly, her shadows pulling back, hiding. She could not attack him here. Not in front of witnesses. Not without exposing the hidden war to mortal eyes.

She landed on a rooftop across the street, watching. Waiting.

"You are under arrest," an officer shouted, approaching with handcuffs.

Marcus did not resist. Let them take him. A holding cell was safer than the streets right now. Safer than facing the Vesper alone.

As they loaded him into the patrol car, Marcus caught the Vesper's gaze one final time.

She touched her throat in a slicing motion.

The message was clear.

This was not over.

The car pulled away, sirens wailing. Marcus leaned back against the seat, exhausted, aching, alive.

He had survived the first hour.

Two more until dawn.

And the Vesper always kept her promises.