ShadowBound: The Need For Power

Galen didn't answer right away. His eyes lingered on the scorched ruin beneath his boot—Mourne, a twitching, half-burnt mess barely holding together beneath the weight of the burning myst. Then he turned to Liam, his expression cool and unreadable.

"…If there are more like him, then Sylvathar's already sunk his claws into Amthar deeper than we thought."

"Yeah," Liam muttered, brushing ash off the remnants of his shirt. "Guess you folks have better places to be sweeping than just the cities and Zones."

Galen gave a quiet nod. "Seems like it."

Mourne coughed violently beneath him, wheezing, each breath a rasp dragged through shredded lungs. His throat crackled with the effort, but he still managed to growl one bitter word: "Fools…"

Galen's eyes shifted back down. "Speak again and I'll rip out your soul with your tongue."

Mourne went silent immediately, though his eyes still flared with hatred, tinged with panic.

Liam stepped closer, casual but precise. "We need to lock him down before his healing kicks in again and he tries something desperate. I can stuff him into my Void Storage."

Galen gave it a beat, then asked, "You can do that while he's still breathing?"

"Only one way to find out," Liam said, gazing down at Mourne's mutilated body with a glint of dark amusement.

"Ready for a glimpse of the Void, Moan?" he asked, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips.

"My name is Mourne, you insufferable little—AHHH!" Mourne's protest was cut short by Galen grinding his boot down again.

"I thought I told you to shut it," Galen said, his molten irises glowing faintly. "Moan suits you better anyway. Looks about right for someone this pathetic."

He stepped back. "Get it over with, kid."

Liam moved in, standing over Mourne as a faint shadow began to rise from beneath his boots. He extended his hand, his palm brimming with darkness.

"You know," Mourne rasped, coughing blood, "you're only alive because of luck. Once I'm out of this prison, I'll come back. Healer and stronger. And I'll kill you—I swear it."

Liam tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in interest. "What makes you think the Void makes outsiders stronger? Is that what those worthless tales say about my kind?"

The words landed like a slap. Mourne's eyes widened—what was left of them, anyway.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Liam said with chilling calm, "but you'll be lucky to survive even an hour in there."

Without another word, thick tendrils of swirling black shadow rose up and wrapped around Mourne's broken frame, dragging him downward into the yawning darkness beneath Liam's feet.

"Wait… WAIT! I can be useful! Just like you said—don't send me in there! Please, wait—!"

His voice was swallowed as the tendrils pulled him fully into the black. Then silence. Only the bare, blood-stained ground remained where Mourne had been.

The ruined street fell completely quiet, the aftermath of destruction giving way to the distant hum of life in Tynoon—music, laughter, chatter from unseen alleyways where the people went on with their night, blissfully unaware.

"So," Galen said casually, breaking the silence as Liam turned— "you've got less than an hour to get him out?"

"Not exactly… he could already be dead," Liam replied. Then he blinked, eyes narrowing at what Galen was holding. "Wait. Where the hell did you get that?"

Galen took a bite of a meat skewer, chewing calmly. "This? Just now. While you were dealing with Moan."

Liam stared. "…That was like… seconds ago."

"Yeah. Tastes better than what I got in Central," Galen said, shrugging. "Lady running the stall at the far end's got good hands. And she's polite."

Liam's brow twitched. He hadn't sensed Galen leave. Not even for a blink. Which meant…

'He went out that far, grabbed food, and came back… and I didn't even notice?' Liam thought, eyes wide.

Galen took another bite. "Want one?"

Liam blinked again, completely baffled, then narrowed his eyes. "No. I don't want one. I want to know how you managed to pull that off without me even noticing."

Galen arched a brow, chewing slowly and deliberately. "Kid, if you can't sense me moving in and out of the field, you're not ready for five-star."

"I am five-star."

"Then start acting like it." Galen flicked the skewer aside, letting it clatter onto the rubble. "First rule of survival—never trust that your senses are enough. There's always someone quieter, faster, deadlier. You were lucky that 'Moan' was more talk than action. If he wasn't so in love with his own voice, death would've wrapped you up in a nice little bow."

Liam muttered something under his breath, brushing the soot and ash from his tattered sleeves. "Yeah, well, I don't exactly need a lecture on things I already learned the hard way."

"Good." Galen said, tone flat as he picked at his teeth with a fingernail. "Besides all that 'ally' nonsense, did Moan say anything actually useful?"

Liam nodded slightly. "Yeah, he said he was sent here by Sylvathar to execute me. That's one thing. Also, Sylvathar's not the one making those weak hybrids we fought tonight. According to Moan, they're just throwaways—sacrificial pawns for some 'greater plan.'"

Galen's face darkened. "So that bastard really is trying to bring Amthar to her knees using Gaia demons alone… I was hoping that was a bluff. Guess Sheila's divine light is more dangerous than I gave it credit for."

"Well, you're wrong," Liam said bluntly.

Galen's eyes flicked toward him. "What?"

"There was something else Moan said. Something that didn't sit right with me." Liam's voice was calm, but the weight in it shifted. "He mentioned Sylvathar using Sheila's light magic to strengthen himself… to return to the Demon Realm and challenge someone."

"Challenge someone?" Galen echoed. "Did he give a name?"

"Yeah. He called them 'Lord San.' Stopped himself right after he said it, like he wasn't supposed to say it at all."

Galen froze mid-motion. "What did you say?"

"Lord San," Liam repeated casually. "Sounds like another demon lord. Maybe higher up the food chain than Sylvathar. I don't know."

"Oh, he is." Galen nodded slowly. "Far stronger than Sylvathar. But I've never seen him, so I've got no clue what type of demon he is."

That was a lie, delivered so cleanly Liam didn't even blink.

'He doesn't need to know yet,' Galen thought, keeping his features neutral. 'If I told him the truth—that Sanguis is the Demon Lord of the Blood Demons—he'd lose his damn mind chasing after him. And gods know what disaster that would bring.'

"I see," Liam said, still oblivious. "Well, that's above my pay grade."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah. I wanna know something," Liam said, crouching down and picking up a jagged rock from the ground.

Galen's eyes narrowed slightly. "And what's that supposed to be?"

Instead of answering, Liam straightened and suddenly hurled the rock straight at Galen's face. But it never made contact.

A shimmer of force ignited around Galen's head, and the rock combusted mid-air, crumbling into smoke and sparks before it could even graze him.

"The hell was that for?" Galen growled, brushing his shoulder like he was swatting away dust.

"That's exactly what I should be asking you, Knight Strongest," Liam replied flatly.

"Same thing happened when Moan tried to hit you," Liam muttered, side-eyeing Galen. "But the attack just… didn't land. Just like mine. Wanna let me in on whatever fancy cheat code you're running? And your eyes—do they have something to do with it?"

Galen studied him in silence for a beat before sighing, the glow in his irises fading back to a deep, natural red.

"It's not a trick," he said calmly. "It's control. Heat control, to be specific. Everything within about six inches of my body is caught in a constant thermal shift. The air, the space itself—it's being superheated at all times."

Liam blinked. "Cool story, but what does that actually mean?"

"It means most attacks never make it to me," Galen explained. "The heat warps space just enough to distort kinetic energy. Projectiles bend or slow. Melee weapons melt or weaken before they hit. You're not getting blocked—you're getting undone before you even land the blow."

He paused, watching Liam closely.

"And the eyes?" Liam prompted.

"They're called Ember Sight. A blessing from the Sun itself," Galen said, his voice low. "Not just vision—calculation. It's a form of hyper-perception. I see heat signatures, detect magical flaws, predict the vectors of attacks before they're even finished being formed."

His eyes shimmered faintly again.

"When I engage it fully, I don't just react—I anticipate. I act on a level of precision that borders on precognition. That's why Moan attack did make it. And that's why your rock also didn't make it."

Liam just stood there, lips parted slightly, brain buffering hard.

"So… what you're telling me," he said slowly, almost casual, "is that you're basically overpowered as hell."

Galen gave a tired shrug. "I mean… yeah. Little bit."