The Last Bloodline; The Tale of the Master’s Revenge

Marcus’s eyes snapped open, and he felt something warm and strange pressed against his chest, pulsing with life. His despair mingled with the faintest glimmer of hope. He was at a loss as to what was going on and wondered if he was dead, but somehow, he had a feeling that his life was not over yet. He felt the necklace pulsating again, and a warm feeling flowed from the necklace inside his body as he continued walking down the streets. He realized that his injuries were slowly healing as he staggered onward, his body swaying like a twig in the wind. By the time he stumbled into a run-down motel, there was a hollow ache in his head, and every step sent a pulse of pain up his spine. He had walked a distance looking for an affordable motel. This one sat at the edge of the city like a forgotten building, its neon sign flickering in and out as though struggling to breathe. The paint on the walls had long surrendered to rust and dust, leaving behind stains of rain and time. A few cars, d

“There was no report of anyone else.” The doctor’s tone was gentle, but his eyes held that subtle wariness reserved for unstable patients. “Maybe you had a hallucination or are going through trauma because that can cause vivid episodes.” But Marcus knew what he saw. He could still hear her voice, feel the necklace surging through him and yet… if she had truly vanished without a trace, then what was the truth? That night, as the hospital settled into quiet hums and distant footsteps, the necklace pulsed faintly against his skin. He knew one thing and that was the fact that she was real! Marcus shut his eyes, clutching the sheets. “Why? Why me? Why did this necklace choose me?” The necklace didn’t say anything in reply just resting on his chest, inactive. But he needed to complete more missions. He loved the way his body felt and strength coursed through his body he didn’t feel as weak as before. He looked at the necklace and a shiver ran through him. Was this a turning point in h

After a while of silence, the car slowed to a stop in front of a towering boutique, its windows filled with displays of designer suits, polished shoes, and elegant mannequins. The clothes looked very expensive and were worlds apart from Marcus’s wrinkled shirt and scuffed shoes. He stared up at the building in front of him with awe in his eyes; he had never been in a place like this in his life. “Here,” she said simply, stepping out gracefully. Marcus hesitated, his chest tightening with unease, but when the chauffeur opened his door, he slowly followed behind her. Another thing he noticed was that the necklace was temporarily dormant and didn't make any sign of life for a while now, making him wonder what was happening next. The moment they entered, the air itself seemed different, cool, and had this quiet exclusivity to it. The marble floor reflected the soft glow of chandelier lights, and attendants in crisp black suits straightened the moment they saw her, bowing politely. “G

who could easily pass for nobility. When he stepped out of his room, the same car awaited. Evelyn sat in the back, poised, her gaze flickering to him briefly as he slid in beside her. The drive was quieter this time, neither speaking much, though the silence carried an odd weight, as though something important was waiting ahead. Finally, the car slowed and stopped. Marcus leaned toward the window, his eyes widening as the massive structure came into view. A hall, grander than any he had ever seen before, loomed before him. Its steps were lined with red carpet, golden lights cascading across polished marble, and luxury cars pulling in one after another. He turned to Evelyn, bewildered. “What… is this place?” Her lips curved into a faint smile. “This, Marcus, is a ball. My grandfather requested your presence. He wants you here, to meet and socialize with the elite, the true elite. Men and women who make decisions that shape cities.” Marcus was shocked, but the chauffeur opened the

The sound of the ballroom faded as Marcus followed Mr. Sterling up the stairs until they reached a tall wooden door that creaked softly when the old man pushed it open.The room was warm, filled with the faint scent of cedar and the quiet crackle of a fireplace. Shelves lined the walls, packed with old books, faded photos, and what looked like antique pieces from different times. A chessboard sat near the fire, half-played, as if waiting for him to reach out to it.“Sit,” Victor Sterling said, motioning to a velvet chair across from his. “You look uneasy, son.”Marcus obeyed, his heart still racing. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene downstairs. I didn’t even know—”Victor raised a hand. “You have nothing to apologize for. If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s Melissa. That girl talks too much for someone who knows so little.”Marcus almost smiled at that, memories of his wife kissing a stranger flooded his memory as he wondered how the old man knew her."You said downstairs that you wer