ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 387: Fall Of The Green Calamity (5)

Then it happened.

A violent eruption of Myst surged from Liam’s body, shattering the silence like thunder splitting the heavens. Bolts of dark, gold, and violet lightning rippled from him in brilliant, crackling arcs, and painting the air in radiant chaos.

Morenelle’s eyes went wide as her head snapped toward the explosion of energy. The detonation of magic itself meant nothing to her—it was the presence behind it that made her body vanish instinctively, reappearing a great distance away.

"...What... what is that?" she breathed, more to herself than anyone else.

Without her own will, Nyxie dissolved into countless threads of darkness, crawling low and fast across the ground like a living shadow, racing toward the origin of the eruption.

As she neared him—just moments before merging back into the sanctuary of Liam’s shadow—she felt it.

A new presence.

A pressure so dense and terrifying it made even her ethereal body feel heavy. Something vast, ancient, and very terrifying.

And Liam?

He was no longer broken.

Every wound—gone. The gaping root-hole in his stomach had vanished. His slashed arm, his countless cuts and bruises from the battle—erased without a trace. Only his torn tunic and pants bore witness to what he had endured. The large rip in his tunic exposed his sculpted abs, and the rents in his pants revealed unmarred skin beneath. Not a drop of blood remained.

Dark, gold, and violet sparks of lightning danced and shimmered around him like a living storm. And his eyes—his irises burned with violet fire, ghostly and mesmerizing, as if the flame of a star lived within them.

As Nyxie slipped back into his shadow, Liam simply stood there in silence. Motionless and unbothered.

From her distant perch, Morenelle watched in awe—rooted in place by something far beyond fear. This wasn’t the boy she had maimed moments ago. This... this was something else entirely. Something she couldn’t understand.

Then Liam began to walk.

Calm, purposeful, and eerily silent.

His steps carried him toward Mabel’s body.

To Morenelle, it looked like an opening—like the perfect time to strike. Her instincts screamed, and she obeyed, thrusting forth a spear of thick root aimed straight for his back.

But it never got close.

Halfway through the air, the root exploded—detonated mid-flight in a flash of violet and gold sparks that burned away the attack like dry paper in flame.

Morenelle’s eyes flared in disbelief.

"What... what was that?"

She didn’t know. She couldn’t begin to understand. But one thing was certain—whatever that was, it was Liam’s doing.

Or... whatever was wearing Liam’s body now.

Kneeling beside Mabel, Liam moved with unnerving grace. He reached forward and, with gentleness no one expected, pulled her limp body free from the thick root impaling her. Then, with care, he laid her down upon the grass.

He placed his hand over the gaping wound in her chest.

A golden sigil pulsed to life beneath his palm, and immediately, Mabel’s body began to mend. The torn flesh sealed. Her cracked ribs realigned. Dislocated limbs clicked back into place as the sigil glowed brighter. An ethereal radiance engulfed her body, healing her down to the last detail.

As the light faded, Mabel looked whole again. Beautiful again. Even in her tattered uniform, with holes and scorched edges, she radiated elegance.

Liam’s violet gaze lingered on her.

With one hand, he brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear with deliberate care. Then he rose, raising the same hand once more. Another golden sigil sparked to life, and this time, a brilliant light cocooned her body, forming a shield around her—like a divine barrier protecting her.

Then, without looking, Liam turned his attention to the distance—to the vine cocoon that held Sheila.

And without making any form of motion, the vines simply burst apart, and Sheila’s pale body was lifted into the air by an unseen, ethereal force. She floated toward him, cradled by invisible hands, until she too was laid beside Mabel. A second cocoon of shimmering light enveloped her, shielding her from harm.

And Morenelle?

She saw it all.

And she couldn’t move.

Not when Mabel was healed. Not when Sheila was pulled from the vines. Not when both were placed gently into radiant cocoons of protective light.

She couldn’t lift a finger.

All she could do... was whisper the question clawing at the inside of her skull:

How...?

Then Liam’s glowing violet gaze turned upon her.

Her entire body tensed. A sharp jolt rippled through her spine, and she flinched—but stood her ground. Barely.

"Who... who are you?" she asked, her voice cracking.

Liam tilted his head ever so slightly. The way a predator might when amused by prey.

"What makes you think," he said slowly, "that a worm like you deserves to know who I am?"

But it wasn’t just Liam’s voice.

Aesmirius’s tone echoed through his vocal cords—deep, ancient, and reverberating like thunder in a cavern.

And in that moment, Morenelle knew. She knew this was no longer the boy she had tormented moments ago. This... this wasn’t Liam.

Not entirely.

Still, pride and arrogance born of Sylvathar’s teachings surged in her veins. She clenched her fists and bared her teeth.

"Worm?" she spat. "How dare y—"

She never got the chance to finish her sentence.

Aesmirius flicked two fingers.

Just two.

And a storm of golden-violet lightning erupted like divine wrath. It struck Morenelle dead center, the force blasting her off her feet and hurling her like a ragdoll across the entire sanctuary. She crashed through her own concealment magic, the veil shattering like glass.

BOOM.

Dust and fire erupted. Then came silence, followed by Aesmirius’s cold voice.

"Know your place... worm."

***

Under the burning sky of the desecrated realm, ash falling like snow and the land scarred in black, Eliv staggered back. Each retreating step dug into the cracked earth, his breath shallow and ragged.

He had just watched three generals die.

They were erased, as if their lives were afterthoughts—pawns fed to a furnace. Damian had been reduced to molecular vapor, nothing more than a shadow scorched into the ground. Morbuan’s death was even worse—his own myst combusting inside him like oil fed to an inferno, his screams cut off mid-burst. And Lamit... Lamit had dared to transform. Had taken on his Gaia Demon form, only to be reduced to smoldering legs and broken stone. His upper body? Gone. His ambition? Pulverized.

The entire realm bore witness.

Half of it didn’t even exist anymore.

The once-vibrant grasslands were nothing but fields of obsidian. Rivers boiled, steaming off into the air. Distant mountain ranges had been leveled to stumps. The sky itself had been cleaved—an open scar in the clouds where Galen’s last attack had passed, the heavens themselves seemingly split in awe.

And amid all of this, the lake. The lake still stood—serene, untouched, a mirror in a world of flame. It was the only thing that hadn’t been ruined, though Eliv now realized that even that was likely by Galen’s design.

Because nothing escaped this man’s intention.

The old mage’s legs trembled. His fingers twitched. Sweat poured down his neck, but it didn’t matter. He was the last one. The last.

And he couldn’t stop staring at Galen—who stood with his coat gently fluttering, hands still tucked in his pockets like none of this was even worth exertion.

’Did I bring him here to kill him?’ Eliv thought, a bitter pit forming in his gut. ’Or did I invite our executioner and lay our tomb with my own hands?’

He was panicking now.

’I need to run... I need to leave—Portal. Yes. Portal.’

With a desperate flick of his wrist, a shimmering circular gate of golden myst spiraled open in front of him.

He barely managed to take a step toward it—

WHOOSH!

A torrent of flame exploded from Galen’s direction. The portal evaporated in an instant, consumed by a surge of intense heat. The shockwave hit Eliv like a physical slap. He screamed and reeled backward, clutching his face as the flames licked his robes and seared skin.

He hit the dirt, writhing, smoke curling off his sleeves. But his Gaia-enhanced physiology began to heal him, restoring the burns—but not the dignity.

He gasped for air—just in time for Galen’s voice to float toward him like a verdict.

"Who said you could leave?"

Eliv froze.

"I told you I’d leave you breathing just long enough to open a portal for me... not for yourself. And judging by the way you’re gasping like a broken engine, I’d say you’re breathing a little too freely."

His boots crunched softly as he walked forward—casually, with no urgency at all.

Eliv turned, trembling as he rose to his knees.

"Sir Magna... please," he stammered, holding up a shaky hand. "Spare me. I—I was foolish. I thought I could... I thought they could stop you. I see now... I was wrong. But I can help you. I can take you to Princess Sheila—I know where she is. I know everything. Please. Spare me."

He grovelled, face lowered, desperate not to meet those fire-colored eyes again.

"And besides," Eliv added, grasping for a thread of reason, "You need me to get back to Amthar. Right? You can’t kill me and still go home."

Galen stopped a few paces away, tilting his head slightly.

"I must say," Galen muttered, "your old-man squad was really disappointing. And I agree—you’re absolutely a fool. Looking at you makes me wonder if that saying about ’with age comes wisdom’ was always just propaganda for old idiots."

Eliv flinched at each word.

"But hey," Galen added, eyes narrowing, "not my problem. And also—you’re wrong. I don’t need you to get back to Amthar. I can do that myself. Yeah, it’ll cost me a little myst, but you were the one who brought me here, so I figured... why not use you instead? Save me the effort."

The last ember of hope in Eliv’s eyes died.

’Teleportation magic? From a fire mage?’ Eliv blinked, eyes wide. ’Impossible.’

But when he looked deeper—into Galen’s stare—he saw it.

There was no bluff or lie. Only an unshakable truth and inevitability.

"See," Galen continued, "originally, I planned to beat the living hell out of you until you opened a portal. But now? Nah. You might just send me into a void realm or something just to annoy me. So, here’s what we’re gonna do..."

He raised four fingers.

"You’re the last, right? So I’ll only attack four times. Do whatever the hell you want. And if you’re still breathing after my fourth hit, I swear on my own damn life—I’ll let you go. You can hop to whatever realm you want. I won’t chase you. I won’t force you to open a portal. I’ll handle it myself."

Eliv stared up at him. The humiliation burned. It wasn’t just the threat. It was the tone. The casual disrespect. The implication that he didn’t even matter.

He was a Grand Primordial. A master of every element save for darkness. A warrior of age, power, and ancient reputation. How dare this child—barely past forty summers—speak to him like a judge sentencing a rat to death?

Like a joke.

Something inside Eliv snapped.

A violent burst of myst erupted from his body in every direction. Winds howled. The dirt peeled back. Even the lake’s still surface trembled. His eyes blazed with energy as the air shimmered with pure elemental power—threads of lightning, water, wind, and more swirling around him like storm serpents.

But Galen... didn’t even flinch.

He stood there, hands still in his pockets, staring with with an unimpressed look.

Eliv’s green eyes burned. "Your arrogance will be the death of you today... Galen."

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