ShadowBound: The Need For Power

The hybrid's smile faltered—just for a breath. Something flickered behind those unnatural, luminous eyes: confusion, maybe disappointment… or possibly the faintest trace of respect.

"Well," the hybrid said slowly, "that's awfully cold of you."

Liam rolled his wrist, subtly shifting his grip on the sword hilt. "Better cold than dead."

A soft laugh bubbled from the hybrid's chest—low and velvety. "You've got spirit. Arrogance too. I admire that. But don't get any ideas… you're not walking out of here alive."

'Yeah, figured as much.' Liam's thoughts were calm, but razor-sharp. 'Shadow Passage is my best shot, but it works like a doorway. Wherever I enter, I need an exit. And judging by this guy's speed… he'd follow me through without hesitation. That'd make escaping a joke.'

His eyes remained locked on the hybrid, analyzing every twitch of muscle.

'So this is the brat Lord Sylvathar wants eliminated?' the hybrid mused privately. 'Doesn't seem like much. But his instincts… they're sharp. Already plotting an escape. How cute.'

"You do realize," the hybrid said aloud, voice smooth as ever, "no matter what trick you pull, you won't outrun me."

'Not surprised,' Liam thought with an inward sigh. 'If escape's off the table… guess I'm going with the suicidal option and hoping it pays off.'

He exhaled slowly, then dismissed his blade, letting his arms drop just slightly to his sides. He looked the hybrid straight in the eye.

"Since my life's basically in your hands," he said with eerie calm, "mind doing me the courtesy of telling me your name—and why you're so determined to kill me?"

The hybrid narrowed his eyes slightly at the sudden shift, clearly not expecting Liam to drop his guard. But the certainty of victory was so deeply rooted in him, it didn't seem to matter. And because of that, he allowed himself to indulge the moment.

'I'll humor him,' the Hybrid thought. 'Let the little rat believe there's a flicker of hope. Then, when his spirit reaches its peak… I'll shatter it. That's always the most satisfying way to crush the weak.'

"Of course," he said at last, smiling. "It's only fair to let prey know the name of their devourer—something to whisper in the afterlife." He gave a theatrical bow. "Blessed Mourne. That is what they call me."

'Blessed?' Liam blinked. 'Because he looks like a priest, or because of that ego? Either way, I doubt that's his real name. Not that it matters.'

"I see. Blessed Mourne." Liam kept his voice neutral. "Care to share why exactly you're here to kill me?"

"That's simple," Mourne replied with a smug grin. "The wise and mighty Lord Sylvathar has ordered your erasure. And as he blade on duty... I'm here to carry out your execution."

'Execution.' The word echoed in Liam's head, a funny reminder. 'I remember Sheila using these words some time ago. And now that i think about, it is kinda funny. But this guy isn't Sheila... the killing intent is as real as it gets.' He resisted the urge to scoff.

'Guess I was right about being targeted soon. Turns out 'soon' was tonight.'

Liam's eyes didn't flinch—not a blink, not even the twitch of a brow.

"Executioner, huh," he muttered under his breath. "Tell me, why would Sylvathar want me dead all of a sudden? Last I checked, I'm not the one running around with Light magic."

Mourne's grin held, only this time with a glint of amusement. "Kid, if you had Light magic, your death would've served to empower Lord Sylvathar… so he could challenge Lord San—"

He cut himself off, eyes narrowing slightly. A flash of irritation passed through him.

'Damn it. I wasn't supposed to say that much.' His thoughts churned as he reassessed the boy before him. 'This kid… he almost tricked me into revealing Lord Sylvathar's true motives, and without even trying that hard.'

'Is he playing me? Using my confidence against me?'

Mourne's mind snapped back to the earlier moment.

'He was speaking to someone through that bracelet before I struck. I didn't get a look at who it was, but if they're strong… then this whole conversation was just a stalling tactic.' His eyes flicked toward Liam with renewed caution. 'He's buying time. Probably waiting for that contact to finish off the decoy hybrid at the tower and head this way.'

'Dark mages… they really are as dangerous as the stories say. Even the young ones.'

"You almost had me there, kid," Mourne said, his voice darker, less amused. "But I'm done with your games. Let's end this before I lose more interest."

With a flick of his clawed finger, a root-like dart shot forth, striking Liam's communication bracelet and obliterating it in a flash of sparks.

'Damn it,' Liam cursed internally. 'Galen… how long does it take to kill one damn hybrid?' But then the realization hit. 'No—he doesn't even know my exact location. All he knows is I'm somewhere in a butcher shop. That's it.'

'Dammit.'

His gaze locked on Mourne once more.

'I should escape. But this bastard… he's a goldmine of information. If I could trap him in my Void Storage, the kingdom would probably owe me more favors than I know what to do with.'

He clenched his jaw.

'But is it worth gambling my life over favors I might not even cash in?'

He hesitated. A beat passed.

"Screw it," Liam muttered, more to himself than anything.

He dismissed Nyxie into his shadow, then brought his hands together. As he spread them apart, it looked like he was drawing an invisible sword—until a dark javelin formed between them, pulsing with a tightly compressed flame coiled inside its obsidian body.

"If I'm dying tonight," Liam said evenly, "then I'm not going down without a fight."

Mourne watched with casual interest, making no move to interfere as the javelin came into shape. Despite having ample chance to strike, he held back, genuinely curious.

When he saw the finished weapon, he scoffed, his unnerving smile still etched across his face. "What's this? A dramatic last stand? How utterly precious."

He chuckled. "Kid, what makes you think you can—"

He never finished the sentence.

A shimmer of light reflected off the javelin's tip—now just inches from Mourne's eye.

Mourne's instincts kicked in. He moved at a speed that bent the air, tilting his head just enough to avoid the deadly projectile. It grazed past him—and struck the wall behind.

The explosion was immediate. Fire and force roared outward, obliterating the stone and sending a plume of smoke and dust through the shop like a sandstorm unleashed. Mourne's silhouette vanished in the chaos.

But before even a second could pass, Mourne's mutated hand swept through the haze with a single motion, cutting the dust clean from the air.

He wasn't about to let Liam escape.

"Quite the way to buy time for an escape… but like I told you, you can't outpa—"

Before Mourne could finish his taunt, Liam vanished in a blink. In the very next heartbeat, he reappeared above him, descending swiftly from mid-air. The javelin, recalled to Liam's grasp with a flare of dark energy, came down like a guillotine aimed straight for Mourne's skull.

The hybrid barely managed to block it in time, raising his mutated arm to intercept the blow. The impact reverberated through the butcher shop, a shrill screech of metal meeting flesh.

Looking up, Mourne locked eyes with Liam—those glowing red irises staring down with an unsettling coldness.

Before Mourne could even register his irritation, Liam twisted in the air with the fluidity of a flame. Channeling a heavy surge of fire myst into his leg, he brought his boot crashing into Mourne's face. Another explosion rocked the room—not as large as the last, but potent enough to send Mourne skidding violently across the shop floor.

He slammed into a meat rack, toppling it, before finally grinding to a halt against the back wall. With a groan, Mourne raised a hand to his face. A strange warmth met his fingertips. He pulled his hand away—and froze.

Dark green blood smeared his palm.

"This... this is my blood," he said quietly, his voice shaken and disbelieving. "You little—"

He never finished.

Liam was already on him again.

As Mourne raised his head, he was greeted with the sight of Liam's outstretched hand—an orb glowing like a miniature sun embedded in the center of his palm. Every nerve in Mourne's body screamed in warning. His instincts bellowed at him to move.

But it was too late.

The orb struck his face with explosive force, erupting into a massive detonation. The shockwave shattered the reinforced wall behind him, hurling Mourne like a broken doll through the air. He crashed through the butcher shop's rear wall, blasted into the adjacent building with enough force to bring the ceiling down around him.

When the smoke finally began to clear, Mourne lay twitching in the rubble, half-buried in shattered wood and stone. Groaning, he tried to push himself upright, but the world around him spun wildly. Blood poured from him in waves.

He managed to get to his knees, holding his head with one trembling hand. Pain unlike anything he'd ever known seared across his face.

Then he felt it.

Skin—gone. Flesh, ripped open. His fingers brushed raw, exposed muscle and jagged fragments of bone. One eye socket was empty, the eyeball dangling loosely by a nerve.

His beautiful, flawless face—his pride, his image—was ruined.

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

His scream echoed like a siren through the broken street. Rage surged like wildfire through his veins, overtaking the pain.

"You barbaric animal!" he roared, clutching the remnants of his face. "How dare you do this to me? I'm going to tear you apart! I'm going to shred you into pieces, limb by l—!"

And once again, Liam silenced him.

Charging through the haze with the javelin in hand, Liam gripped it like a blade ready to strike true. No words. Just a full-force swing aimed to behead the shrieking hybrid.

But this time—unlike before—it didn't land.

In a flash of sickening speed, Mourne countered.

Liam didn't even have time to react before he was struck down, slammed into the ground with an earth-shaking crash. The force of the blow created a crater, dust and fragments scattering in all directions.

Blood shot from Liam's mouth as his body hit the floor like dead weight. For a brief moment, everything turned to white—then the pain set in, hard and suffocating.

As his blurred vision sharpened, Liam saw Mourne looming over him—what was left of his face grotesque, twisted in rage. One eye gone, skin in tatters, yet his remaining eye burned with fury.

"I've let you live long enough," Mourne growled, his voice warped by hate and raw vengeance.

Feeling the crushing weight of Mourne's heavy, mutated hand around his throat—extended unnaturally from where the hybrid still stood upright—Liam somehow managed a smirk. Even as his airway tightened and the pressure built, he looked Mourne dead in the eyes and chuckled faintly.

"Now you really look like a half-demon," he rasped.

Mourne's grotesque face twitched, but the insult didn't land quite as intended. Because, in the next moment, his deformed features began to stitch themselves back together. Slowly at first—then rapidly.

His dislodged eye slid back into its socket with a wet pop. Torn flesh knit itself together. Bone reformed. Blood vessels reconnected. Skin smoothed over the wounds like molten wax hardening into perfection. In less than a second, the monstrous mask was gone.

His handsome, flawless face had returned.

"I told you," Mourne said calmly, voice regaining its cruel elegance, "I'm nothing like those other weaklings you slaughtered tonight."

"Yeah," Liam muttered, struggling to lift his hand just a few inches from the floor, fingers trembling from the effort. "That's why your death's been... slightly delayed."

In his palm, a familiar red-hot glow ignited. Another miniature sun bloomed to life, spinning with volatile energy.

With no hesitation, Liam released it—his aim clear. The glowing orb rocketed toward Mourne's face.

But Mourne was faster.

He tilted his head with a fluid motion, letting the blazing sphere sail past his cheek harmlessly. The orb ascended into the sky and detonated high above with a brilliant explosion.

"You missed," Mourne said, smirking.

Liam's smirk returned, wider now despite the pressure on his throat.

"Think again."