ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 369: The Green Calamity (4)

Back at the Tempest Palace, chaos thundered just beyond the walls. Royal guards held their ground at the perimeter, swords drawn and myst flaring as they clashed against the rising tide of Gaia demons and hybrids. Not a single creature had breached their line—yet. But every strike they landed, every roar they withstood, came with the weight of protecting the one person they could never allow to fall: their monarch.

At their helm stood Gerrard Reed, the Knight–Commander of the Royal Guard, barking orders with the discipline of a man who’d faced death too many times to be rattled.

Inside the palace, far removed from the frontline carnage—yet still walking through shadows of urgency—Queen Lucy moved swiftly through the marbled corridors. Flanked by four elite members of the Royal Corps, two walked at her sides, one ahead, and one watching their rear like a hawk.

Wyjin, her most trusted operative, walked at her right. His hood cast a dark shadow over his eyes, but they remained sharp and alert, scanning everything.

Before the city fell into disarray, Lucy had gone to the underground wing of the palace to check in on Liam. But when she reached his chamber, she found it completely empty. No trace of him. Not even Mabel, who rarely left his side.

She had then headed to the training halls, suspecting perhaps a sparring session or early exercise. But it was the same story. No Liam. No Mabel. Nothing.

At first, Lucy tried to rationalize it. Maybe Liam had asked Mabel to escort him to the royal library. Or maybe he was taking a private walk through the inner gardens—something odd, but not impossible. Liam was, after all, unpredictable. But the moment she activated her comm-rune to contact Mabel—and received nothing but silence—her instincts flared.

Something was wrong.

Liam wouldn’t vanish without informing her. It wasn’t his style, she believed. And more importantly, Mabel never missed a direct call from her. Not once.

Only two possibilities remained.

The first: betrayal. That Mabel had turned, sold her loyalty to Sylvathar, and somehow convinced Liam to follow—or worse, trapped him. But Lucy immediately pushed this theory aside. Mabel had been raised under the Tempest crown since she was a child. Her loyalty wasn’t just bred—it was engraved.

And if she had been a traitor, Liam would have known the moment they met. His unique ability to detect mystic scents would’ve exposed any corruption long before trust had taken root.

That left the second possibility—the more terrifying one.

They had been taken.

And the fact that such an act could happen inside the Tempest Palace, with its unrivaled defenses, was almost unfathomable. Almost. But Lucy had learned long ago that impossible things tend to happen at the worst times.

Refusing to stand idle, she had mobilized her Royal Corps to sweep the entire palace for signs of tampering, intrusion, or mystical residue. And then, right as her agents began — The attack began.

Gaia demons and hybrids poured into the kingdom like a flood loosed from the abyss. Civilians screamed. Cities burned. And Lucy, torn between two crises, was forced to split her forces—sending the majority of her agents to aid the battlefield.

Now she moved with the last four. Loyal to the end. Their steps echoed through the grand corridors of polished stone.

"Do you sense anything unusual, Wyjin?" Lucy asked calmly, glancing sideways.

"Nothing yet, Your Majesty," Wyjin replied, voice low, crisp.

Lucy’s thoughts churned, burning with frustration. ’What the hell happened to Liam and Mabel? How could they just vanish... and why now, of all times?’

"Your Majesty," came the voice of the agent ahead, speaking clearly over his shoulder, "I have reports from the Crescent and Solara Kingdoms."

Lucy’s gaze sharpened instantly. She had sent two agents to each kingdom just as the attack hit—she needed to know if this attack was isolated... or continental.

"Speak," she said.

"The Crescent Kingdom is under attack as well. Their casualties and active threats are currently lower than ours, but they’re dealing with formidable enemies."

Lucy nodded slowly, processing. "And Solara?"

The agent’s voice tightened. "Solara is being hit the hardest. Reports suggest the combined threat levels of Tempest and Crescent don’t equal what Solara is currently facing."

Lucy halted in her stride. "That extensive?" she muttered.

Of the three kingdoms, Crescent was the largest—governing seven zones. Tempest ruled over six. Solara had five, making it the smallest. So why was it being hit the hardest?

Only two options made sense.

Either Sylvathar was targeting the weakest link to erase it quickly—or he meant to destroy Solara as a mark.

Because if Galen’s report from five days ago was right, then Sylvathar had no desire to destroy Amthar. He was preparing to return to the Demon Realm. But if he could leave Amthar with the knowledge that he singlehandedly destroyed one of its three great kingdoms...

That would be the perfect crown to his legacy.

Lucy frowned as she thought through all the possibilities.

"Damm you, Sylvathar."

***

The ground cracked beneath their feet as Liam and Mabel surged forward in perfect sync—two blurs of motion streaking through the lush green sanctuary now turned battleground.

Morenelle didn’t flinch.

With a flick of her wrist, the earth between them erupted, a wall of twisted roots and stone shooting upward like the jaws of some buried creature. Liam reacted instantly, weaving around the left edge, his javelin twirling once before he hurled it like a spear.

The weapon glowed faintly with red fire and shadow, slicing through the air with a ghostly whistle. But before it could reach her, a curved branch of hardened bark spiraled into its path, smacking it aside with a jarring crack. Morenelle’s eyes glowed faintly green now, her power rippling through the soil like veins of energy.

Mabel, meanwhile, had warped mid-dash, reappearing above and behind the demoness in an instant. Her blade came down in a clean arc—silent, fast, and razor precise.

Morenelle turned her head ever so slightly.

With a wave of her fingers, a barrier of bark-scaled vines erupted from her back, catching Mabel’s blade in midair. The impact cracked the defenses, but didn’t break them. Mabel vanished again, reappearing beside Liam as he recalled his javelin into hand.

"She’s a lot stronger than I expected," Mabel said quickly. "It’s like she’s watching us from every direction."

"Makes sense," Liam muttered. "This sanctuary feels like it’s tied to her myst. She doesn’t need to move much— which means she’s probably drawing power straight from the land."

"Then we cut off the flow."

Without hesitation, Mabel darted left while Liam veered right, splitting off in a coordinated pincer. Twin blurs flanked Morenelle, forcing her to react.

She did.

The roots beneath Liam’s feet suddenly bucked upward like a wild wave, but he vaulted off them, flipping midair and releasing his javelin again. This time, it wasn’t aimed at her—it struck the base of a large tree behind her. Fire-shadow ignited on impact, spiraling up the trunk in a vortex of dark flame.

But the flames didn’t spread naturally.

They spilled—almost sentient—branching out across the canopy and devouring the myst threads woven through the sanctuary’s trees. The air shifted. The balance of myst wavered. The terrain groaned.

That got Morenelle’s attention.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. The root cocoon that held Sheila pulsed with a sudden glow, shielding itself from the unraveling energies.

Then she flicked her fingers toward Liam—and the ground beneath him detonated.

He was thrown back, slammed against a spiraling tree trunk with a gut-wrenching force that knocked the breath from his lungs. Blood slipped from the corner of his mouth, but he grit his teeth and pushed to his feet.

Mabel was on her instantly, her blade now wrapped in high-pressure water. She slashed, the hiss of her attack sounding like boiling steam as it clashed against Morenelle’s wooden shield.

Once—twice—again.

Each clash sent sparks flying, bark splitting and roots fracturing.

But Morenelle remained composed.

With a snap of her wrist, a lance of sharpened wood shot from her palm like a bolt. It grazed Mabel’s shoulder, shredding her armor and drawing blood. Mabel warped back, sliding to Liam’s side.

"She doesn’t even need the myst stream anymore," she said quickly. "And worse—she’s used to head-on attacks."

"Then we just keep hitting her ’til she’s not."

Liam didn’t wait. He raised a hand—and conjured three Umbra Stars, each one hovering like a miniature black sun above his palm. Then he launched them all at once.

Finally, Morenelle’s eyes widened.

The stars split mid-air—one diving low, one spiraling overhead, the last aimed straight at her. The first exploded on impact with the ground, rupturing the terrain in a quake of black myst. The second was caught by a barrier of roots—but the third?

The third hit.

Dark energy detonated across her form, launching her back in a ripple of raw power.

"She’s open!" Liam shouted.

Mabel shot forward, blade drawn—but just before she could land a hit, a surge of blinding green mist exploded outward, a defensive pulse that hurled them both back.

The roots surrounding Sheila twisted tighter, glowing with renewed strength as Morenelle straightened, her breath just slightly more audible now.

"Impressive," she said at last. Her voice remained calm, though it now carried a subtle edge. "You two are formidable. But being formidable doesn’t mean you win."

Her eyes blazed—bright green, burning like emerald fire.

Then the ground behind her split apart—cracking, groaning—and something emerged.

A creature.

It rose like a mountain, a titan of bark, stone, and moss. Glowing vines pulsed across its body like arteries of light. Its face was a hollow mask of thorns.

The golem roared.

Liam glanced sideways. "Any smart plan for this one?"

Mabel gave a small nod. "Yeah. The bigger they are, the easier they are to hit."

Then they charged.

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