ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 498: Time To Get You Back

As Galen stepped out from the room where he had fought the three mercenaries, his steps faltered to a halt. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened at the sight that sprawled before him. The entire warehouse looked like the aftermath of a massacre—an ocean of blood and carnage.

’Damn,’ he thought, his voice echoing within his mind. ’When Serah said he was the infamous Scourge, I thought it was just some exaggerated joke. But now...’ His eyes trailed over the splattered walls, the mangled corpses, and the faint tendrils of smoke rising from burnt flesh. ’...It’s clear he truly is a walking carnage.’

He swallowed hard and took a few slow steps forward, the soles of his boots squelching softly against the blood-slicked floor. His gaze locked on Marcus, who stood a few paces away—calm, composed, almost serene amidst the chaos he’d wrought.

For a moment, Galen just stared. Then, despite himself, he scoffed faintly.

’This sick bastard...’ he muttered under his breath. ’He actually has a pretty face, even with blood smeared across it.’

Marcus tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faintly amused grin as his dark eyes caught the prince’s. "For someone who just fought and killed three scumbags," he said with a teasing tone, "you’re awfully calm and unbothered. Makes me think you’re a natural at killing after all."

Galen’s eyes widened just a bit at the remark. His chest tightened. The realization hit him—not the act itself, but the absence of emotion that followed it. He had killed three men. Not demons. Not beasts. Men. And yet... he felt nothing.

He tried to justify it in his mind. ’They would’ve killed me. I had no choice.’ His fingers flexed unconsciously, recalling the feel of the blade in his hand, the resistance of flesh, the sound of it cutting through life. His heart didn’t race. His stomach didn’t twist. There was only a cold acceptance settling into him.

He’d done what he thought he’d never be capable of—and it didn’t even faze him.

Marcus noticed the distant look in his eyes and let out a quiet scoff. "Don’t think too much into it," he said casually. "You’ll understand soon enough. Just look at it as killing another demon on a normal day."

Galen blinked, snapping from his thoughts, and gave him a deadpan stare. "Since when did ’killing a demon’ and ’normal day’ start belonging in the same sentence?"

Marcus chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess I should learn to use the right words."

Galen exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "Anyway, can you get me home now? I’m really close to passing out."

"Yeah, sure. Just—"

Marcus didn’t get to finish.

The sound came first—a wet, sickening shhk!—followed by the sharp metallic glint of a blade protruding from his chest. His body jerked violently, his breath catching as a gush of crimson spilled from his mouth. His hands trembled as they instinctively reached for the blade, fingers slicking with his own blood.

Galen’s eyes went wide in sheer horror. "N–No... Marcus!"

Then came the voice—cold, smug, and familiar.

"I guess no matter how much of a threat you were to my men," it said smoothly, "you’re still nothing against the power of invisibility."

Blue particles shimmered in the air behind Marcus, swirling into the outline of a man. Slowly, Lucien Draumere’s form materialized, his amber eyes glinting with malice as he gripped the sword’s hilt firmly, a devious smile carving across his face.

Marcus’s knees buckled, his gaze sliding sideways to catch sight of his attacker. The edges of his vision blurred, but he still managed a glare—a faint, venomous glare.

Lucien leaned in close, whispering with cruel satisfaction, "You should’ve stayed in the shadows where you belong."

With a sharp twist, Lucien yanked the blade free. The sound was wet and final as Marcus’s body collapsed to the blood-soaked floor with a heavy thud.

Lucien exhaled with a grin, running a gloved hand through his hair as he looked down at Marcus’s fallen form. "And that," he said softly, almost amused, "is what happens when an unworthy foolish brat forgets his place and tries to tamper with my agendas."

Lucien’s amber eyes glowed faintly in the dim haze of the warehouse as he turned his attention from Marcus’s collapsed body to the trembling figure a few paces away. Galen stumbled back, his boots slipping slightly on the blood-slick floor, his breath quick and shallow. His eyes darted from Marcus’s still form to Lucien’s smirking face, his body frozen between terror and disbelief.

"Well, well..." Lucien began, his tone disturbingly calm as he took slow steps toward Galen. "The prince of the Solara Kingdom is all by himself once again." His gaze darkened, voice dipping low as he gestured casually toward Marcus’s body with the blood-stained sword. "This—" he said, motioning to the scene before him, "is what happens when both Solara and Crescent play gods. You purge, you purify, you judge. And good people... good people die for nothing."

He paused mid-step, his expression softening into something almost nostalgic before a cold chuckle left his throat. "But I suppose it’s all part of the course, isn’t it? History repeating itself." His eyes hardened again, the faint blue glow of myst curling around his sword. "You, prince, will be the first to fall. And then I’ll pay the rest of the Magna family a visit—just like I promised."

Galen’s muscles tensed as Lucien approached, each step echoing like a drumbeat of impending death. Lucien raised his blade high, the mystic energy around it pulsing like veins of lightning across the metal. The sword whistled faintly as he brought it down—

—but then came a sharp, slicing whip!

Lucien froze, confusion flickering in his eyes. He looked down in disbelief. His sword clattered uselessly to the floor—alongside his arm, which had been severed clean from the shoulder. Blood erupted in a violent spray as he screamed, stumbling backward in agony. His scream was raw, animalistic, echoing across the blood-soaked hall.

Before he could even register the pain, another slash followed—two rapid, unseen movements that cut through the air with the sound of tearing silk. The next thing he knew, his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed to the ground, his severed limbs scattering across the floor, blood pooling beneath him in growing rivers of crimson.

His voice cracked between sobs and screams as his remaining arm clawed at the floor, trying to pull himself away. "Wh–What... what is this?!"

Galen stood frozen, eyes wide, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was witnessing. Then, his gaze caught movement—a ripple in the shadows beneath Lucien. A sharp, black tendril, long and serpentine, coiled upward from the floor like a living thing, twitching and flexing as if tasting the air. It slithered across the ground, maneuvering with unnatural grace, before curling possessively around Lucien’s mangled form.

The sight alone sent chills running through Galen’s spine.

Then came the voice—familiar, calm, and laced with wicked amusement.

"You know," Marcus’s voice drawled from behind Lucien, casual and teasing, "if you’re gonna stab someone, you should always make sure they’re dead-dead before turning your back on them... because stuff like this tends to happen otherwise."

Galen turned his head, disbelief painting his features as he watched Marcus rise from the ground. The hole that had been in his chest still gleamed faintly with drying blood, but he walked as if nothing had happened, his steps unhurried, his smirk maddeningly casual.

Lucien’s eyes went wide with sheer horror. "No... no, that’s impossible! I pierced your heart! I—"

Marcus interrupted him with a lazy shrug, brushing off some dust from his body. "Yeah, about that..." He raised a hand and pointed to the side of his chest where the wound still lingered. "See, the trick’s pretty simple. You just... shift your heart a little. Magic can do wonderful things if you know your anatomy well enough." His smile widened, almost boyish. "So, technically, this isn’t even a scratch."

Lucien’s face twisted into a mask of fury and disbelief, veins bulging in his neck. He grit his teeth, shaking violently from both pain and humiliation. The realization that he had been outclassed—outplayed—burned hotter than the agony in his limbs.

Marcus knelt slightly beside him, his tone dropping to an almost whisper, smooth and mocking. "You talk too much about vengeance, Lucien. But it looks like karma’s faster."

Lucien snarled through clenched teeth, the last vestiges of strength in his voice trembling. "You... you bastard—"

"Yeah, yeah," Marcus cut him off, standing to his full height. "Heard that one before."

He turned to Galen, who still stood stunned and pale, and placed a hand on his head. "We’re done here. Time to get you home, kid."

The air around them darkened as tendrils of shadow began to swirl upward, twisting and spiraling like a vortex ready to swallow them whole. The faint hum of myst vibrated through the ground.

But before they could vanish, a sound cut through the silence—a faint murmur. A chant.

Lucien, still lying on the ground, his body broken and bleeding, whispered an incantation through trembling lips. Light blue sigils flared to life in the air above him, intricate and glowing, pulsing like a heartbeat. The glyph expanded, radiating lines of myst energy that locked onto Marcus and Galen.

Marcus’s brow lifted slightly as he tilted his head. "Huh... spatial magic? Mirror type, if I’m not mistaken." His tone was almost curious, like a scholar observing an experiment.

The sigil’s glow intensified, reaching its peak, the entire warehouse trembling with magical pressure. But before it could activate, Marcus simply raised one hand, fingers curling slightly.

"Let’s not."

In an instant, a dome of pure darkness erupted around Lucien, swallowing both him and the spell whole. The shadows thickened, warping the air itself, the sigil’s blue light flickering helplessly inside the black mass.

Then came the screams.

Lucien’s voice tore through the silence, a raw, tortured shriek that echoed long and loud. The sound was suffocated quickly, fading into nothing but a hollow silence. The dome pulsed once—then collapsed inward, vanishing like mist.

When the shadows cleared, nothing remained of Lucien Draumere. No body. No bones. Only a pool of blood steaming faintly on the floor.

Marcus stared at it for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled softly through his nose and turned to Galen. "Guess that takes care of that."

Galen swallowed hard, his voice trembling faintly. "He’s... gone?"

Marcus gave a small, crooked smile. "Oh, he’s very gone. Probably on the express route to whatever hell his kind believes in."

He adjusted his gloves, looked around at the devastation once more, then back to Galen. "Alright, kid. Time to get you home."