With two of his guards lying lifeless at the entrance of the once bustling plaza, Marcus wore a deep frown on his face. This place, overrun by rebels, should have been filled with chaos and commotion. But instead, an eerie silence hung in the air, making his instincts scream that something was amiss. He narrowed his eyes, scanning the area cautiously, before gesturing with a swift motion for his men to move in.
His well-trained soldiers responded swiftly, infiltrating the building with precise efficiency, while Marcus himself stayed outside, his palm firmly pressed against the cold, graffiti-covered wall. As his hand made contact, faint ripples of wind emanated from his touch, spreading across the plaza in a rapid, almost mesmerizing dance.