Both he and Marcus were sculpted by Raven Island’s crucible. Memories of the experience evoked a hellish panorama.
๐€โถล๏ฝแปืฉ๏ผฅ๐๏ฝ.ฤ๐๐ช
Victor was ice and cruelty incarnate, his legacy offering no quarter simply due to their blood ties.
Rain poured relentlessly, cascading over tens of thousands of acres of dense woodland, where they grappled with ferocious beasts armed only with their bare hands and where bullets mimicking raindrops sought their flesh. A narrative of cruelty could alone capture life on Raven Island. There was no concept of mercy within the training crucible. The sole preoccupation was survival—a yearning to emerge from this infernal expanse and be liberated from its clutches.
Death equated to forfeiture.
๊งเผโฌ๐๐ฎ๐ช๐ป๐๐ธ๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ต๐ผ.๐๐ธ๐ถโฌเผ๊ง
Bruce possessed little doubt that, were he and Marcus to perish during training, not a tear would grace Victor’s eye. In his eyes, fledglings who couldn’t endure the crucible weren’t worthy of claiming the status of his grandsons.
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Yet even in this, Marcus excelled. His performance was extraordinary. Across myriad facets, he showcased prodigious prowess. Within the team, he unfailingly excelled. As a drillmaster, he exuded a chilling aloofness, instilling fear in all.
To confess, there were moments when jealousy stirred within Bruce toward Marcus. Both products of the Thomas lineage’s cultivation, they navigated a shared upbringing. However, Bruce’s stature seemed perennially overshadowed by Marcus’.
In Marcus’ presence, Bruce often felt invisible, relegated to the periphery.
A lavish private chamber hosted an ongoing dinner affair. It was Mr. Fairclough who extended an invitation to Marcus for this joint repast.
Beyond the chamber’s threshold, Kaya enacted a feigned casual stroll, yet her gaze inadvertently darted inside, causing her heart to flutter.
Marcus’ towering physique and resplendent countenance induced a_ rapid heartbeat. Hastily, she covered her chest, hastening her pace.
In Kaya’s eyes, Marcus epitomized perfection. He eclipsed even the most renowned of movie stars, captivating her heart at first glance.
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Three hours elapsed before Marcus and Mr. Fairclough finally emerged from the restaurant, exiting together.
The car, driven by Mr. Fairclough’s assistant, awaited at the entrance.
“Mr. Thomas, until next time.”
Marcus nodded in response. He surveyed the surroundings but couldn’t locate Derek.
This evening, he indulged in wine—an imprudent choice given his injury.
Imbibing alcohol was ill-advised during his convalescence.
Yet, swayed by Mr. Fairclough’s insistence and the allure of his vintage wine, Marcus found himself with little recourse but to yield, albeit in moderation.
As the fiery liquid traversed his throat, discomfort enveloped him.
Upon boarding the car, he massaged his temples, his eyes sealing shut for respite.
Soon after, an additional passenger boarded, commencing their drive.
Seated in the rear, Marcus initially assumed the newcomer to be Derek.
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