ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 621: I Guess He Won

As those words slipped from Liam’s mouth, the Umbra Star screamed forward.

It didn’t travel in any conventional sense. There was no arc, no traceable path. One moment it hovered between Liam’s fingers, a compact mass of writhing darkness and molten light—and the next, the space between him and Percy simply ceased to exist. The air tore apart in a violent flash, warped and folded as searing heat erupted outward. Shadows bent unnaturally toward the advancing sphere, dragged inward as if the Umbra Star possessed its own gravity, while the glowing cracks along its blackened surface flared brighter, pulsing rhythmically like the heartbeat of something alive and furious.

Percy’s eyes widened sharply.

He felt it before he fully processed what he was seeing—the pressure, the distortion, the sheer wrongness of it pressing against his senses. The Myst around him shrieked in warning as the dense, hyper-compressed violence packed into that small sphere bore down on him. It eclipsed everything Liam had used before. The blazing punches, the explosive kicks, the relentless fire orbs—all of it felt insignificant in comparison.

This wasn’t an attack designed to burn.

It wasn’t meant to pierce.

It was meant to collapse everything it touched.

’This is bad...’ Percy realized in the space of a breath, his instincts screaming as his Myst surged reflexively. ’No—this is really bad.’

He reinforced his guard beyond what felt safe, beyond what felt sane. Ice flooded his arms, shoulders, and torso in thick, layered plates, density stacking atop density as he planted his feet and braced himself head-on. The moment the Umbra Star slammed into his defense, the impact alone was catastrophic.

A thunderous crack tore through the hall.

The collision detonated with brutal force, and Percy was launched backward instantly, his body hurled through the air like something weightless and disposable. The ice guarding his arms fractured on contact, spiderweb cracks racing violently across its surface before entire sections shattered apart. Shards of frozen Myst exploded outward, scattering across the stage in glittering fragments that clattered and skidded along the stone.

But the impact was only the beginning.

A fraction of a heartbeat later—so brief it barely registered—space itself folded inward.

The Umbra Star imploded.

The air collapsed violently toward the point of impact, dragged inward with crushing force as if the world itself were being pulled into a void. Sound vanished entirely, replaced by an overwhelming, suffocating silence. Percy felt his body yanked backward mid-flight, his shattered ice armor screaming under the pressure as it was compressed inward. The force crushed the breath from his lungs, his ribs protesting violently as his Myst struggled desperately to maintain cohesion.

Then—

It detonated.

A deafening roar ripped through the hall as fire, shadow, and compressed force erupted outward in a devastating explosion. Percy was torn from the air like a leaf caught in a hurricane, flung far beyond the boundaries of the stage as the shockwave pursued him relentlessly. What remained of his ice guard was shredded apart, fragments vaporizing under the heat while the rest was blasted away. His uniform scorched, frost boiling off his body in violent bursts of steam as he was sent flying.

He flew.

Past the edge of the platform.

Past the protective runes embedded deep within the arena floor.

Past the distance any combatant was ever meant to cross.

Students screamed as Percy’s body slammed into the far wall of the hall with bone-rattling force. The impact thundered through the structure, cracks racing outward through reinforced stone as a crater formed instantly. Dust and debris erupted outward in a violent plume as his body rebounded once before slumping downward, leaving behind a smeared trail of frost, blood, and scorched stone.

The hall fell into stunned, unnatural silence.

Shards of ice rained down slowly, clattering against the floor as lingering heat warped the air. Smoke and frost mingled where Percy had struck, the cloud hanging thick and heavy, obscuring his figure for several long, agonizing seconds.

Back on the stage, Liam collapsed hard onto his back the moment the Umbra Star left him.

The flames that had danced around his body sputtered violently before dying out altogether as the last of his Myst drained from him in a sudden, brutal drop. The glow in his eyes dimmed sharply, flickering once before fading almost completely.

Blood flowed freely from his nose now, trailing down his face and soaking into his hair as he lay there, chest rising and falling unevenly.

He exhaled a slow, shaky breath and forced himself to tilt his head, vision blurring at the edges as he looked toward the far wall where Percy had crashed. Dust still drifted through the air, settling slowly over the ground and broken stone.

"...Yeah," Liam muttered under his breath, his gaze shifting from the cracked crater in the wall to the thick cloud of debris below it, where Percy likely lay buried. His lips twitched faintly despite the pain. "That should’ve been enough to make him violate the restriction." 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

As Liam lay there, the hall was claimed by silence.

Not the ordinary hush that followed the conclusion of a match, nor the disciplined quiet enforced by authority or etiquette, but something far heavier—an oppressive stillness that pressed down on every student like a physical weight. No one spoke. No one dared breathe too loudly. Hundreds of gazes remained fixed on the far end of the hall where stone had been shattered and reality itself seemed bruised, minds struggling to reconcile what they had just witnessed with everything they believed they understood about strength, rank, and order.

Seconds stretched.

Then more followed.

The students remained frozen in place, awe and disbelief twisting together across their faces as the gravity of the moment slowly sank in. Whispers threatened to surface, catching in throats too stunned to give them sound, only to fade again before returning as fragmented murmurs when shock began giving way to frantic thought.

A first-year.

Against Percy Granger.

Ranked One among the third-years.

Someone finally exhaled sharply, as if remembering how to breathe, and that single sound was all it took to fracture the stillness.

The hall erupted into hushed chaos.

"There’s no way..." a third-year muttered, eyes still wide, unmoving. "That last attack—did you see it?"

"He didn’t just push him back," another replied, voice trembling despite himself. "He overwhelmed him."

"No," someone else corrected, disbelief bleeding into their tone. "He outpowered him. That wasn’t luck."

The third-years were the loudest, their composure splintering the most. They had trained under Percy. Sparred with him. Been dismantled by him time and time again. To them, Percy Granger wasn’t simply strong—he was inevitable. Cold, precise, and utterly untouchable.

And yet.

"He’s a first-year..." one of them whispered, almost faintly, as if saying it louder might break something. "He shouldn’t be able to do that."

Others had already forgotten the restriction entirely, shock overwhelming reason.

"Did you see the scale of that attack?" a voice rose shakily. "That wasn’t something anyone walks away from, restriction or not."

"Even at fifty percent, Percy doesn’t get pushed like that."

"He got forced out of bounds," someone said quietly, reverently, as though voicing it aloud made it real. "That means—"

"That means he lost."

The realization landed like a delayed impact, rippling outward as more students grasped its meaning. A first-year had driven a ranked third-year assassin into defeat. Not through trickery. Not through loopholes or technicalities.

But through sheer, overwhelming force.

The first-years, clustered together near the lower rows, stared at the stage with expressions caught somewhere between fear and reverence. Some looked at Liam as if seeing him for the first time. Others whispered his name under their breath, like it was something dangerous to speak aloud.

"Did you feel that?" one murmured. "That last attack... it felt wrong."

"He’s a problem," another said quietly. "A real one."

"Did you see his eyes?" someone added, voice tight with nerves. "That wasn’t normal."

The words dark mage spread through the crowd like fire through dry grass.

Imagination ran ahead of reason. Futures were painted not with logic, but with fear—visions of a tyrant rising within the academy, of a walking calamity wrapped in fire and shadow. Someone who would one day stop holding back. Someone who would stop pretending to belong among them.

"That’s what dark mages do," a student muttered. "They hide it... until they don’t."

"He shouldn’t be here," another whispered. "Not with power like that."

And yet, beneath the fear, something quieter stirred.

Admiration.

Reluctant and unspoken. But unmistakably present.

On the elevated platform where the authoritative figures remained seated, the atmosphere was far more composed.

Headmaster Thion leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled lightly beneath his chin, his gaze not fixed on the shattered wall—but on the duel’s aftermath as a whole. A low scoff escaped him, rich with amusement rather than disdain.

"Well," he said at last, his voice cutting cleanly through the tension among the instructors, "that was... unexpected."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as though replaying every exchange in his mind. "I dare say," he continued, voice carrying easily across the platform, "that may very well be the finest duel I witness this entire academic year."

Some of the instructors shifted subtly, expressions ranging from intrigue to thinly veiled concern.

"To see the last dark mage pushed to such extremes," Thion went on, eyes gleaming with interest, "and to watch him respond with that degree of control, creativity, and sheer audacity... marvelous."

His gaze flicked briefly toward the far end of the hall. "And Percy Granger," he added thoughtfully, "handled himself with remarkable discipline. Restricted, pressured, and still unwavering. A fitting example to both peers and juniors alike."

A brief pause followed.

"Strength tempered by restraint," Thion concluded. "Both of them embodied it—each in their own way."

As his final words settled, the hall shifted once more.

The dust at the far wall stirred.

At first it was subtle, barely noticeable—a faint movement within the lingering cloud of debris. Then loose fragments of stone slid free, clattering softly against the floor.

Heads turned in unison.

Eyes widened as the dust began to part.

A silhouette emerged.

Slowly—deliberately—a figure stepped forward from the wreckage, posture upright despite the devastation surrounding him. As the haze thinned, details sharpened, and gasps rippled outward through the hall.

Percy Granger stood there.

Blood traced dark, uneven lines across his body, streaking from his temples, down his arms, and along his torso. His tank top had been completely incinerated, scorched remnants clinging uselessly to his shoulders. His pants smoked faintly where the fabric had torn and burned away. Jagged frost crawled across his skin, ice reinforcing wounds and stabilizing damaged muscle, creaking softly with each measured breath he took.

Yet his stance was steady.

His head remained held high.

And his gaze—cold, detached, unmistakably Percy—swept briefly across the hall before settling on the stage.

On Liam.

The students hardly dared blink as Percy’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. It held no bitterness. No mockery.

Only acceptance.

"I guess," he muttered quietly, the words meant for no one but himself, "he won."