Unthinkable

Cain's eyes widened in shock, his body stumbling backward as Mark turned him over, the rock raised for another strike.

The sound of cracking bones echoed through the air as Mark smashed the rock into Cain's skull, again and again, until his vision blurred and his strength failed.

Mark stood up, his chest heaving with exhaustion, his eyes fixed on Cain's lifeless form. The cursed mark on his hand pulsed with a malevolent energy as its intense power could be felt by Mark.

He knew he had to end this, to finish Cain once and for all, but the cursed mark stayed his hand, its influence too great to resist.

With a snarl of frustration, Mark turned away from Cain's body, his eyes scanning the riverbank for Lucia.

He spotted her, her eyes wide with fear, her body trembling with terror. As Mark approached Lucia, his movements were swift and graceful, his eyes fixed on her with a deep concern. He reached out a hand, his fingers wrapping around hers as he pulled her up from the ground.

Lucia's eyes were wide with wonder, her gaze fixed on Mark's face as she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, "How are you still alive? I saw Cain's car hit you, saw you crumple to the ground..."

Mark's smile was grim, his eyes glinting with a dark humor. "No one can kill Death, Lucia," he said, his voice low and husky. "I'm the Marksman, the bringer of death. I can't be killed."

As he spoke, Mark's hand instinctively went to Lucia's side, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his Soul Blade which was still lying beside her. He held the blade as it shimmered with a faint blue light as if it knew that it had returned it to its master.

Just as they were about to turn away from the river, Cain's body suddenly jerked to life, his movements swift and unnatural. He pulled out a pocket knife, its blade glinting in the sunlight, and lunged at Lucia with a feral snarl.

Mark stood between them, his body a shield, as he took the stab to the heart. The pain was a burning fire, a searing agony that left him gasping for breath.

Mark fell to his knees, his vision blurring, as Cain pulled out the knife and lunged at Lucia once more. But Mark refused to yield, his hand grasping for his dagger, his movements swift and deadly.

He stabbed Cain from behind, the blade sinking deep into his back, and then lifted him up, his hands wrapping around his head as he smashed him headfirst onto the rocky ground.

Lucia's eyes were wide with horror, her gaze fixed on Mark as he fell to the ground, his breathing deep and labored.

Cain's body was still, his eyes glassy and lifeless, as Mark stared at him, his vision blurring. The cursed mark on his hand pulsed with a malevolent energy, its power coursing through his veins like a dark elixir.

Mark's expression was grim, his eyes narrowed in a mixture of anger and regret. He knew he had messed up, had crossed a line by killing Cain, but he had done it to save Lucia.

He wasn't afraid, but he knew the weight of his actions, the consequences of taking the life of Cain. The curse of the mark seemed to pulse with a newfound power, as if sensing Mark's vulnerability.

And then, in a moment of stark realization, Mark saw the mark on Cain's hand disappear, its dark energy transferring to his own hand, the curse now sevenfold.

The mark of the curse was a dark, twisted sigil that seemed to shift and writhe like a living thing. It was emblazoned on Mark's hand, its black lines and curves stark against his skin. The mark pulsed with a malevolent energy, its power coursing through Mark's veins.

At its center, the mark bore a stylized image of a skull, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly red light. The skull was surrounded by a tangle of thorns and vines, their barbs and tendrils snaking outward like grasping fingers. The entire design seemed to be in constant motion, as if it were alive and seeking to escape Mark's skin.

As the curse grew stronger, the mark seemed to spread, its dark tendrils creeping up Mark's arm like a stain.

The skin around it grew pale and cold, as if the mark itself was seeping into Mark's flesh. The mark's power pulsed with an ominous energy, a constant reminder of the terrible burden Mark now carried.

Mark and Lucia drove away from the riverbank,as an awkward silence stayed between them.

They didn't speak much, both lost in their own thoughts. Mark's mind was reeling from the events that had transpired, the weight of the curse settling in like a shroud.

They arrived at a motel on the outskirts of town, renting a room for the night. Mark's eyes felt heavy, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. The curse was already manifesting its effects, and he could feel the insomnia taking hold.

As they settled into the room, Mark's gaze fell on his hand, the mark seeming to pulse with a malevolent energy. It was growing, spreading its influence, and he could feel its power coursing through his veins.

Lucia noticed his gaze and followed it to his hand. "Mark, what's going on?" she asked, concern etched on her face.

Mark hesitated, unsure how to reveal the truth. He knew he had to keep the curse a secret, at least for now. "It's nothing, Lucia," he said finally, forcing a smile. "Just a scratch."

But Lucia's eyes lingered on his hand, her expression skeptical. Mark knew she didn't believe him, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth. Not yet.

As the night wore on, Mark's restlessness grew. He paced the room, feeling like a caged animal. The curse was taking hold, and he could feel its effects manifesting in ways he couldn't control.

He knew he had to find a way to break the curse, but where could he even start? The thought sent a wave of desperation washing over him, and he felt the weight of his situation crushing him.

In the end, it was Lucia who fell asleep, exhausted from the day's events. Mark sat in the darkness, his eyes fixed on his hand, the mark seeming to mock him with its presence. He knew he had to keep moving, to find a way to lift the curse and restore his life to some semblance of normalcy.

But for now, he was trapped, a prisoner of his own fate. And as the night wore on, Mark couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, that the forces of darkness were closing in, waiting for their chance to strike.