ShadowBound: The Need For Power

Liam rose slowly, wiping the blood from his blade against the dead hybrid's shirt. His movements were measured, but his mind was racing. A quiet unease crept in, subtle but persistent, like fog rolling in over still water. None of this fit together. Not cleanly. Not logically.

If these hybrids were already hiding in the city… then why now? Why tonight?

His eyes flicked to Nyxie, still perched on his shoulder, silent and still, her gaze sharper than ever—too knowing for comfort.

"They're being triggered," he said aloud, voice quiet but sure, like the idea had spoken itself into being.

Nyxie gave a subtle tilt of her head, as if confirming what they both already suspected.

That would explain it. Why they were suddenly emerging without disguises. Why they were unstable. Why they were dying so easily. Someone—or something—was turning them on like switches.

"But why now?" Liam muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Before the thought could settle, a mental ripple pulsed through him. His left eye flickered blue again—Smoke had found something.

His posture straightened. He closed his eyes, synced his vision to the shadow-wolf, and instantly saw what Smoke saw: the southeast part of the district. A half-abandoned guard tower. One of the guards… appeared normal but wasn't anything but.

Liam broke the link and tapped the crystal bracelet.

"I've got another one," he said. "Smoke found it. Inside an old watchtower, southeast side."

Galen's voice crackled through the link. "How strong?"

"Hard to say," Liam replied, his voice low. "Can't provoke it without tipping him off. But the myst levels are definitely higher than the last one. No shallow breathing either."

"Hm. Got it. I'm two blocks out," Galen replied. "Circle from the north alley. Let's see if this one gives more than a corpse with a limp neck."

"Co—"

Liam didn't finish.

His instincts screamed.

He spun, summoning his longsword just in time to block a savage strike from behind. The force of it sent him sliding across the butcher's floor, boots scraping, eyes locked forward.

"You good?" Galen's voice buzzed.

"Yeah," Liam said as he planted his feet and stood. "Another hybrid found me first. Looks like I won't be meeting you at the tower after all. You handle that one—I've got this."

"Fine. Don't die. If you do, I'll kill you myself." Click. The line went dead.

Liam looked up at his new opponent.

Standing at the end of the butcher shop was a man—no, not just a man.

He was beautiful. Unnervingly so. His hair was titanium-blonde, sleek and glowing faintly in the dark, and his bright blue eyes shimmered with something unholy. He stood tall, about the same height as Galen, dressed head-to-toe in flawless black priestly robes, the kind found in high chapels.

But it was his hand that drew Liam's gaze—the thing wasn't human. His right arm was grotesquely enlarged, fingers ending in root-like claws twisted and gnarled. A single swipe could split concrete. Liam was sure that hand was what nearly tore off his neck.

"Looking at you," Liam said calmly, sword low at his side, "you're definitely not the same breed as that mess on the floor."

The man smiled. Warm. Almost charming.

"Of course not," he said, his voice rich and easy on the ears—if that was even possible. "Unlike them, I've been a hybrid for quite some time. Losing control? How barbaric. I'd never allow myself to devolve into something so… animalistic."

Even his damn voice sounded like it belonged in a romantic drama.

Liam's grip on his sword remained firm, unmoved. His stance was poised, steady—eyes narrowed with calculation as he watched every subtle movement the hybrid made.

"Tell me something," Liam began, his tone cool and measured. "Isn't your kind supposed to stay in the shadows? Stay hidden? Why are you all suddenly showing yourselves?"

The man chuckled, gliding a clawed finger lazily across the blood-stained counter.

"Oh, that's simple," he said with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "The end is nearly here. Why hide when the curtain's already lifting? The grand plan's in motion… everything you know is about to fall into ruin." His glowing blue eyes shifted to Nyxie, who hissed, wings slightly spreading. "And your little cute pet… she'll be in ruins too."

"I see," Liam replied flatly. "But isn't that grand plan of yours worthless without Sheila in Sylvathar's hands? Last I checked, no one's more protected than she is right now. So tell me—what plan is actually in play?"

The priest hybrid paused, smile slowly widening.

"Safer than anyone, you say? What else would I expect from a child?" he said with mock pity. "Of course you know nothing. When building a new world on top of the ashes of another… what I needed most wasn't power—it was allies."

Without warning, the hybrid lunged.

His grotesque arm blurred forward, claws slicing toward Liam like a pendulum of bone and malice. Liam reacted instantly—sword raised, catching the strike in a clash of steel and inhuman strength. The impact sent a shockwave through the shop, cracking the tiles beneath them.

'Damn. He's strong,' Liam thought, boots grinding across shattered tile. 'Way stronger than the others. This guy's in a different tier.'

"I know what you're thinking," the man said, circling him with slow, almost elegant steps. "And yes, I'm nothing like the others. I am one of Sylvathar's generals. A more refined product of Lord Sylvathar's bloodline."

He struck again—faster, tighter, less showy. Liam barely slipped under the swing, retaliating with an upward slash aimed for the ribs. The hybrid pivoted back with unnatural grace, like he already knew the tempo of Liam's movements.

"Did Sylvathar make the other hybrids too?" Liam asked, darting in with a feint left, then slammed his knee hard into the hybrid's stomach.

This one landed.

There was a crack of bone, and the hybrid skidded backward across the floor, slamming into the wall. But he didn't fall. He stood straight, brushing dust from his robes like he was wiping off lint. He even laughed.

"Of course not," he said, voice like velvet over glass. "Why would he waste his divine blood to create weaklings?"

He glanced at the corpse lying still behind Liam. "Those ones were just… pitiful offerings. Necessary sacrifices to set the stage. Their lives were meaningless, but their deaths?" He smiled wider. "A mercy. They'll never witness the world crumble around them."

Liam stared at him in silence, eyes narrowing.

'So I was right. Sylvathar isn't making these weak hybrids—someone else is. But who? And what sacrifice is this guy even talking about?'

His gaze never wavered.

'More importantly, he said general. Mystica or Galen never said anything about there being any general under Sylvathar. But logically, a general wouldn't be weak. That means this guy's on a different level… probably stronger than both Gordon and Ember combined.'

'Yeah. Not fighting him. Screw that. And stalling for Galen to show up? That's not strategy—that's suicide. And I'm not suicidal.'

"Well… not entirely," Liam muttered under his breath.

The hybrid, misreading his silence as fear, smiled kindly—almost patronizing.

"No need for guilt. You did your part beautifully. The man you killed—poor soul—his death wasn't in vain. You've already helped further the plan. Rejoice in that."

Liam tilted his head slightly, his gaze flat.

"Guilt?" he echoed. "Sorry to disappoint, but my feelings are highly reserved for those I actually care about. And from what I can tell… none of the people I killed tonight made the list."