John's world narrowed to a single point. Kalvin's body. Motionless. Blood pooling.
Something inside him broke.
Not dramatically. Not with purpose. Just shattered, like glass under too much pressure.
He started crying. Ugly, heaving sobs that hurt his damaged ribs. His hands clawed at the rubble around him, trying to reach Kalvin, trying to do something, anything.
"NO!" The scream tore from his throat. "NO NO NO! KALVIN! GET UP! PLEASE GET UP!"
His voice cracked, went hoarse, kept screaming anyway. All the horror he'd witnessed, all the trauma he'd compartmentalized, everything came pouring out in one sustained wail of anguish.
"HE'S JUST A KID! HE'S JUST A FUCKING KID!"
Martha was screaming too. The other children were crying. The whole world was crying except for Loki, who just stood there watching with divine indifference.
And Marcus.
Marcus had gone very still.
His broken body straightened. His one good eye fixed on his brother. And something changed in his posture. The resignation vanished. The guilt evaporated. What remained was pure, concentrated rage distilled into lupine form.
The Blood Snout Butcher had finally decided to live up to his name.
Marcus moved.
Not limping anymore. Not hesitating. He crossed the distance between them in three explosive strides and his fist, massive and clawed, connected with Loki's jaw in a haymaker that would have killed a normal creature.
Loki's head snapped sideways. Something white flew from his mouth. A tooth. An actual god's tooth spinning through the air trailing blood.
Marcus didn't stop. Didn't pause. His claws found purchase in Loki's shoulder and he hauled himself up, his jaws opening impossibly wide, and clamped down on his brother's throat.
The fight that followed wasn't elegant. Wasn't choreographed. It was two demigods trying to tear each other apart with everything they had.
Loki roared and grabbed Marcus by the scruff, trying to pry him off. Marcus's jaws tightened, fangs sinking deeper, blood pouring down both their bodies now. Loki's free hand came around with a sword, blade singing through air, aiming for Marcus's spine.
Marcus released and dropped, the blade whistling over his head by inches. He rolled sideways, came up in a crouch, and launched himself at Loki's legs. Tackled him. They went down together in a tangle of fur and claws and divine fury.
Rolling. Biting. Tearing. Marcus's claws raked across Loki's face, opening three parallel gashes from forehead to jaw. Loki's knee came up, caught Marcus in the ribs where he was already injured. Something crunched. Marcus's howl of pain was primal.
But he didn't let go.
They broke apart, both on their feet now, circling. Loki still had one sword. Marcus had nothing but claws and teeth and the desperate strength of a father who'd watched his son die.
Visually, Marcus was weaker. One arm still hung wrong. His face was shredded. Blood soaked his fur. But he moved like death itself, every motion economical, purposeful, the muscle memory of centuries of combat overriding pain and injury.
Loki swung his sword in a wide arc. Marcus ducked under it, impossibly fast for something so large, and drove his shoulder into Loki's gut. Lifted him. Slammed him into the ground hard enough to crater the earth again.
Loki's legs wrapped around Marcus's torso and squeezed. Ribs cracked. Marcus's roar turned into a gurgle. But his claws found Loki's face and dug in, tearing, ripping, trying to reach eyes.
Loki released his leg lock and kicked Marcus off. Both combatants rolled to their feet simultaneously.
"Better," Loki panted. Blood streamed from multiple wounds. His divine regeneration was working but not fast enough. "This is the brother I remember. This is—"
Marcus didn't let him finish. Charged again. Feinted left, went right, his claws catching Loki's sword arm. The blade went flying, spinning end over end to embed itself in a distant tree.
Now it was just claws and teeth and two brothers who knew each other's fighting styles intimately.
Loki threw a combination. Right jab, left cross, right uppercut. Marcus slipped the first two, ate the uppercut, his head snapping back. But he used the momentum, spun, his tail whipping around to catch Loki in the temple. Disorienting him.
Marcus pressed the advantage. A flurry of strikes, claws moving in patterns too fast to follow. Loki blocked most of them but some got through. His chest opened in a dozen places. His arms bled from defensive wounds.
They grappled again. Locked together, each trying to overpower the other. Marcus's teeth found Loki's ear and tore. Loki screamed and headbutted Marcus, their skulls cracking together with a sound like a thunderclap.
Both staggered backward, dazed.
Loki recovered first. Launched himself forward, got inside Marcus's guard, landed three brutal body shots to already broken ribs. Marcus doubled over, gasping.
Loki's knee came up, caught Marcus under the chin. The werewolf's head snapped back. He was airborne for a moment.
But he twisted mid air, landed on all fours, and as Loki charged in to follow up, Marcus sprang. Not at Loki's body. At his throat. Jaws open. Committed fully.
Loki tried to dodge. Too slow. Marcus's fangs sank into his throat, the same place he'd bitten before, reopening wounds, digging deeper this time.
They fell together. Marcus on top, jaws locked, shaking his head like a terrier with a rat. Trying to tear through divine flesh and muscle. Trying to reach the arteries that would kill even a god.
Loki's hands scrabbled at Marcus's face, his eyes, trying desperately to break the hold. His legs kicked wildly. Blood poured from his throat in sheets.
Then his hand found something. A shard of wood from the destroyed cabin. Sharp. Pointed.
He drove it into Marcus's eye.
Marcus's jaws released involuntarily, a howl of agony tearing from his throat. He reeled backward, pawing at the shard embedded in his eye socket.
Loki rolled away, gagging, his throat torn open, regeneration working overtime to seal the massive wound.
Both combatants stood slowly. Battered. Bleeding. Marcus now blind in one eye, the shard still jutting from the socket. Loki's throat a mangled mess, his voice when it came out barely audible.
"Not... bad..."
Marcus didn't respond. Just watched with his remaining eye. Waiting.
They circled again. Slower now. Both running on fumes. Both too stubborn to quit.
Loki made his move. Charged forward, abandoned technique entirely, just pure aggressive assault. A haymaker aimed at Marcus's skull.
Marcus caught the fist. Held it. Used Loki's momentum against him, spinning, adding his own strength, and hurled his brother bodily into the tree line.
Loki crashed through three trees before finally hitting a fourth hard enough to stop his momentum. He slumped at its base, dazed.
Marcus didn't pursue. Didn't press his advantage. Instead he turned and ran toward Kalvin's body.
"Kal!" His voice was broken. "Kalvin, hold on, please hold on—"
He reached his son and dropped to his knees. His hands, still clawed, gently touched Kalvin's face. The boy's eyes were open but glassy. The wound across his throat had stopped bleeding. Not because it had healed. Because there wasn't enough blood left.
"No no no, stay with me, you're going to be okay, you're—"
The sword came from behind.
Marcus didn't see it. Didn't hear it over his own desperate pleading.
The blade punched through his back and erupted from his chest. Not a clean stab. A serrated, sawblade edge that tore through flesh and muscle and bone.
Marcus froze. His hands still touching Kalvin's face. His mouth still open mid word.
Loki stood behind him, holding the blade with both hands. His throat was mostly healed now. His voice when he spoke was steady.
"You let your guard down, brother. How disappointing."
He twisted the blade.
Marcus's scream was everything. Pain. Betrayal. Grief. All of it compressed into one sound that seemed to shake the very air.