ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 512: Echoes Of The Past (5)

The air rippled again—burning red, darkening to a void hue—as Aesmirius shifted the scene around them. The fires of Azareth twisted like smoke before reforming into a clearer vision: endless black plains stretching under an infernal sky, where crimson lightning cracked in silence. Aesmirius floated beside Liam, his arms folded behind his back, his expression calm but his voice carrying the quiet chill of memory.

"Even after setting foot here," he began, his tone low and measured, "I knew... instinctively... that this was a place I should not linger in. Everything about Azareth screamed danger—its air, its silence, even its pulse. The realm itself watched me." He let out a slow breath, golden eyes reflecting the molten rivers below them. "But then again—where was there that I could not go? Nowhere. Who among the living or divine could deny me entry? No one."

The scene pulsed—Liam saw past Aesmirius walking through the blackened wastelands, his long white hair glowing faintly in the gloom, his bare feet pressing against the obsidian ground without leaving a trace. The moment he appeared, the world itself seemed to recoil. Demons—grotesque, powerful things with horns, claws, and wings—fled into the shadows at his approach. Some vanished outright, their forms dissolving in smoke. None dared to stand before him.

Aesmirius’ lips curved slightly as he watched the memory. "Even the foulest creatures of this world dared not draw near me. They hid like frightened vermin, and that..." He exhaled, almost smiling. "That gave me satisfaction. The satisfaction of superiority."

The vision shifted—past Aesmirius wandered through charred valleys and infernal plains until the great black castle of Azareth rose before him, carved into a mountain of pure obsidian. Jagged spires reached to the sky, wreathed in rivers of molten flame. Gates of carved bone opened before him as if the realm itself invited him in.

"And so," Aesmirius continued, "I entered the heart of the Demon Realm. No hesitation. No fear. Just curiosity—and that instinctive hunger for challenge."

Within the castle, shadows parted as he moved. The interior was a cathedral of darkness—pillars of black stone, rivers of molten silver flowing along the floor, faint whispers of the damned echoing in the distance. At the far end of the grand hall sat a figure upon a throne of jagged crystal and bone.

Volgath.

He looked nothing like the grotesque monsters surrounding him. His skin was pale—almost ghostly white—and his eyes were pits of darkness with crimson irises glowing like dying stars. A crown of scorched metal rested upon his head, and behind him stretched vast wings—scaled and shadowed like those of a dragon, pulsing with embers.

Aesmirius’ tone grew quieter. "I remember the first time our eyes met. He did not move to strike me, nor did he summon his beasts. Instead... he smiled. As though he had been waiting for me all along. It was almost amusing."

The scene flickered—Volgath stood, his towering form both regal and terrifying, and raised a hand in greeting. No words passed, but the air around them vibrated with the tension of two gods measuring each other.

"He welcomed me," Aesmirius went on, "as though I were an expected guest. And for the first time in a very long while, I found myself intrigued. A being of such power, such poise... yet unafraid. That alone was reason enough not to kill him on sight."

He gave a faint, humorless smile. "Our first meeting was... pleasant. We spoke of the realms, of creation, of destruction. And soon enough, we became—how do you mortals say it?—’good friends.’"

Liam stood there with that same straight, unreadable expression he’d grown into after years in Aesmirius’ mindscape. His silence lingered until Aesmirius finally noticed.

Then Liam’s face twitched slightly—just enough for the corner of his mouth to tighten into a look of judgment. "...You’re insane," he said flatly. "Like, genuinely insane. Who looks at this—" he gestured at the black, burning realm surrounding them, "—and just decides, ’Yeah, this is fine. I’m gonna make friends with the demon emperor.’ You’ve got issues."

Aesmirius turned toward him slowly, his gaze glowing sharper for a heartbeat. "Watch your tone, boy."

But Liam only shrugged, his face deadpan. "Nah, I’m serious. You killed thousands because people treated you badly, but suddenly you meet one smooth-talking demon and all your hatred just—poof—disappears? You’re more senile than I thought."

The silence that followed was tense enough to bend air. For a moment, Aesmirius looked as though he might lash out—his hand even twitched, the air around him heating slightly. But then he exhaled, slowly, through his nose. He needed Liam intact. So he simply turned back toward the shifting memory.

"...I will ignore that," he said stiffly.

The scene continued.

He and Volgath—two gods of ruin—were seen traversing different realms, their power shaking worlds apart. They unleashed storms that drowned continents, carved mountains with their hands, and laughed as entire civilizations trembled beneath their feet. Together, they were devastation incarnate.

"It was... entertaining," Aesmirius admitted, his voice carrying faint traces of nostalgia. "For once, I was not alone in my chaos. To have someone who shared my hunger for destruction—and possessed the strength to match it—was... delightful."

But his tone darkened. "Yet, with time... I began to notice something. Volgath’s questions. His eyes."

The vision showed Volgath sitting across from him in a hall of burning crystal, his crimson gaze fixed upon Aesmirius like a predator studying prey.

"He would often ask about my power—how it felt, how I sustained it, how I remained so... preserved." Aesmirius’ voice lowered, his golden eyes glinting with old venom. "He said he wished to taste such divinity for himself. I dismissed it, of course. For one as powerful as he, what need was there for another’s strength?"

Before he could continue, Liam cut in, expression still blank but his tone edged with sarcasm. "That’s the most hypocritical thing I’ve ever heard you say. You’re literally the definition of power-hungry. If Volgath had what you didn’t, you’d have torn it out of him in a heartbeat."

Aesmirius’ jaw flexed. He didn’t look at Liam, but his next words came through gritted teeth. "...You’re not wrong."

The moment hung there—silent, hot, uncomfortable. Liam’s eyes remained locked on the unfolding memory, and slowly, he exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, I thought so. Let me guess..." he said dryly, "Volgath lures you in, catches you off guard, and suddenly, you’re fighting your way out against him and a legion of demons trying to rip your head off."

Aesmirius’ lips pressed into a thin line. "You think yourself clever," he muttered, voice cold. But then, after a moment, he nodded once. "You’re right."

The vision around them erupted in chaos. Flames exploded through the great halls of Azareth. Screams echoed. Shadows burst into form as demons of every shape and size surged toward a blinding figure—Aesmirius in his prime—his white hair billowing like fire, golden eyes burning brighter than the sun. Volgath stood at the center, his wings spread wide, the crimson glow of his irises turning the battlefield into a storm of blood and fury.

"That battle," Aesmirius said, his voice dark and heavy, "was the most brutal I had ever faced. It was not merely a clash of strength—it was a war of gods. The realm itself tore apart beneath us. The skies screamed. Mountains shattered. And though I stood my ground, Volgath... came closer to ending me than any being ever had."

The memory froze—two titans locked in a storm of energy so vast that even Liam could feel its echo reverberate through his chest.

Aesmirius’ tone softened, almost thoughtful. "That day, I learned... even gods can bleed."