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

CHAPTER 002

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, dented and weary, were parked in the lot under a dim streetlight.

Marcus dragged his tired body inside, the lobby nothing more than a narrow space that smelled of stale cigarettes. The receptionist barely looked up, her expression dulled by routine. He signed in, then shuffled down a corridor lined with peeling wallpaper and doors that groaned when the wind passed.

His room was small, and the carpet was a patchwork of stains, the kind that told stories best left unremembered. A single bulb buzzed overhead, flickering every so often like it too might give up. The curtains were thin and torn at the edges, unable to keep out the yellow glow of the streetlamp outside.

Then there was the bed, which was the worst of all. The mattress sagged in the middle. The sheets were rough, faded, but at least it looked clean.

But he had no choice, and he was just too tired to care. Slowly, Marcus laid back, the mattress swallowing him unevenly as he hit the bed in the room. Then he heard the voice return like a hum in his ear, but he knew that it was not a dream.

Now he laid on the bed, he concentrated on the voice, and he felt he was sucked into a world that swarmed around him, which was dark and shifting, a void without form, yet he knew he was not alone.

The voice filled it, ancient and steady, as if it had waited centuries just for this moment.

“You are the last of your bloodline.”

Marcus jerked, his throat dry. “What bloodline?” he asked, confused, wondering what the voice was talking about. Although one thing made sense, he was an orphan and never knew any of his other relatives. He was just standing alone in the world, and the only woman he thought had his back had just betrayed him.

“The blood of the guardians flows in you, and I chose you because there’s no one else.”

“Chosen?” His laugh cracked into bitterness. “You picked a failure.” He chuckled as he listened to the voice, wondering if he was just dreaming or if he was just going crazy talking to himself, but the voice sounded so real, like it was coming from his head.

So he laid there, sprawled on the bed as he felt the room fill with silence, and the only thing he felt was the necklace’s weight, which was pressed heavily against his chest, even here.

The voice sounded again with a hum. “You have already been chosen for this. You can resist, but the necklace and the heirloom have been bonded to your body.”

The voice was soothing and coaxing, and slowly, Marcus drifted to sleep, feeling a warm sensation all over his body pulling him into the abyss.

When he finally woke up, the motel room swam around him, and for a long time, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling reality wash over him. Right now, he barely owned anything, and he had done everything he could to make something out of life, but the reality was simpler, he was nothing. No job and a failed marriage. Even his future looked bleak. His body was weak, and he felt drained.

He forced himself up and just wandered into a corner store, exchanged his last crumpled bills for a bottle of cheap whiskey, and walked out into the night. He drank on the steps of a boarded-up shop, each burn of liquor chasing the cold out of his veins.

The more he drank, the clearer his despair became, and ending it seemed like mercy. Why cling to a life that had already withered? He tilted the bottle and then downed it.

Marcus lost track of time and didn’t even realize when he had gone to sleep, but he woke up drenched in sweat, his breaths ragged. Sitting up from the bed and seeing his clothes soaked with sweat.

He heard a low hum in his head, and that sound seemed to make his heart race faster, and his chest heaved, rage burning hotter than the liquor. Then the voice returned, calm and merciless.

Marcus pressed his hands against his face, choking on the tears he hadn’t meant to shed. He wanted to believe it was madness or some funny hallucination.

That liquor was not enough to get him drunk to this point that he started hearing strange voices in his head. He grabbed his head in his hands again and shook his head.

But the voice returned.

“Marcus…”

His eyes twitched open, but the room was empty, and the voice just came from his head, and it just filled his mind, sounding clear as thunder.

“Your blood carries my seal. Your pain is my call. Will you accept what was left for you?”

Marcus groaned, clutching his chest. “I’m losing it,” he rasped. “This is not real… I’m hallucinating.”

But then the pendant against his chest pulsed. A searing warmth spread from it, flooding his veins. His vision sharpened, and his eyes widened as he felt his whole body heat up, and he felt a splitting headache before him.