Marcous lay crumpled in the dirt, barely recognizable. His once-perfect face was a ruin—swollen purple eyes, broken nose bent sideways, split lips leaking blood, teeth missing or shattered. One cheekbone looked caved in, the other puffed grotesquely. He wheezed wetly, chest rising in shallow, panicked bursts.
Seraphina stepped forward, sword drawn, tip hovering near Marcous's throat.
Marcous's good eye widened in terror. He scrambled backward on his elbows, then grabbed Seraphina's armored leg with trembling, blood-slick hands.
"P-please..." he rasped, voice broken and slurred. "P-please... keep him away from me... I'll do anything... mercy... mercy..."
Seraphina's lip curled in disgust. She kicked his hand away hard enough to make him yelp.
"You don't get to beg," she snapped, voice like steel. "Not after what you've done. Where are the girls?"
Marcous whimpered, curling into himself. "W-what girls...?"
