Marcus paced in his room, with furled eyebrows and a discontented face.River's words still replayed in his head, and they seriously pissed him off.He'd gotten home not long after their spat, helped out with chores since his mother fell asleep watching 90 Days Fiancé, and prepared dinner for both of them.He feigned a carefree attitude so he didn't worry his mother, but now that she'd gone to bed, he was free to let out his lividity as much as he needed to.“I'll die before I—” he covered his mouth in disbelief before he finished that sentence. Marcus tried convincing himself that it wasn't ridiculous and outlandish but failed totally.Of all the things to say to him, it was how he lacked no talent and would die like all the others!?He grabbed his pillow and threw it across the wall as hard as he could. It puffed against the wall and fell down harmlessly.He would've thrown something more breakable, but he didn't want to wake his mother.River was pained from the constant death of h

It wasn't from the hunger (it couldn't be, he'd gotten his fill recently), which meant it was the recoil.It wasn't unbearable, but it was enough to take note of. He was used to pain, and this amount was manageable, especially given the damage it caused.Aside from that though, he took note of the speed of his attack.His own fist moved like a blur, faster than he could see. Before he knew it, his fist landed on the tree and pain followed.“I could do more…” he said, pondering on the sight in front of him. The tree continued to splinter, tearing under the weight of its displaced upper half.It fell over and tore in two, kicking up some dust and wind. He looked at his aching sides, “Maybe not.“Six threads were the safe limit for now. Anything more than eight would almost definitely do significant damage to his insides, but now he knew how much damage he could output before crippling himself—and it wasn't small.Zero for humans, two for OCs that looked weak, four for moderately strong

As he did, Marcus couldn't help but push his hands against the seats. Each time he pushed into it, they pushed back. They were both soft and springy; he couldn't even tell what material they were made of.He sank into the chair, enjoying the feeling of what he'd imagined lying on clouds would feel like. That, coupled with the cool inside of the car despite it being cramped… he was beginning to understand car guys.It smelled like strawberries, masculinity, and rich folk. How that combination worked together, he didn't know, but he knew that he wouldn't mind living in a car if it were this one.“That's enough kid,” River said, turning behind her chair. “Don't get your loser all over the seats.““Haha, very funny,” Marcus said sarcastically.He was still unsure of how he'd approach her after the whole spat they had yesterday.Sure, he was still mad at her for all that she said, and was he going to make her eat her words? Hell yeah he was.But she said those things because she was hurtin

An eerie presence flowed out from within the manor. It was like frost itself crept up along Marcus's skin. The hair on his arms stood on end ever since River opened the Manor's doors.He could sense it right from where he stood: whatever ghost was inside this building, did not want either of them there.Squeezing the handle of the SEJ that he'd been holding since Parks left, he steeled his resolve. He knew soul essence was cold, but the feeling that rubbed against his skin was different somehow.Parks said that if soul essence left the body, nothing could live, but weren't OCs beings of pure soul essence? He didn't describe humans or Witchcasters like that—according to him, Witchcasters were humans with an absurd amount of soul essence, letting them do the impossible.The only other thing he described as being totally made of soul essence was soul stones. And any information on what those were was something he wouldn't be told until he passed.But since OCs were made of soul essence a

Marcus and River exchanged looks. She screamed before the ghost could. “Cover your ears!“ He did. Another bloodcurdling screech shot out from the ghost, at an even higher pitch than before—much higher—all its heads screaming in a synchronised bloody wail.Both of them shot back like they'd been hit by a truck going a hundred miles. They flew across the hall to the other side, crashing through two walls unprepared before ricocheting off the floor, landing in awkward and painful positions, and skidding to a stop.Pain hugged Marcus like his mother did after his dad passed.He grunted, pushing himself off the floor slowly, joints aching and three rest of his body throbbing. He turned to River who'd gotten up to one knee. “We lost the—” He heard the floor beneath them crack.Looking down he saw floorboards that were at least a hundred years old. Termites crawled out from tiny holes that spilled sawdust.Not again.He braced himself.The floorboards caved in, plunging both Marcus and Riv