ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 378: The Green Calamity (13)

’Just how unbreakable is that damned barrier?’ Eliv thought, his stoic expression holding firm, though his mind raced. He watched Galen walk out of a blast that could have reduced an entire district to rubble—unbothered, untouched, and worse... unimpressed.

"Tch—hey, old man," Damian barked, his tone laced with pure venom. He jabbed a finger at Eliv. "Didn’t you say you could end him in one damn shot? What the hell was that? And what’s with that invisible heat wall? You conveniently forgot to mention that part? If this is some setup, I swear to the gods, I’ll drop this mission and kill you instead."

"Yeah... Mage Borges," Lamit added, arms folded, his tone calm but edged with doubt. "He walked out of your attack like it was a soft breeze. You sure you’re not leading us into something you can’t control?"

The air grew tense—silent, just for a moment.

Then Eliv’s voice cut through, sharp and cold.

"You two need to shut the hell up and focus. Yes, I underestimated him. He’s stronger than I expected, fine—but that doesn’t matter if you both stop taking turns like this is some tournament bout."

His gaze snapped between them like blades. "You want to kill him? Then stop acting like amateurs. Overwhelm him. No matter how powerful he is... nothing holds under a full-force onslaught."

He turned to Morbuan, his voice dropping an octave—low and commanding.

"And you, Morbuan... enough with the polite act. Let go. Be who you really are. Be the freak that earned Sylvathar’s blood."

At that, a twitch ran through Morbuan’s jaw—then a wide, crooked smile peeled across his face like cracked porcelain. His eyes began to glow faintly, pale and ghostlike, and a quiet hum of distorted myst built around him like static before a storm.

"There it is," Eliv muttered.

He stepped forward, the wind from Galen’s residual heat stirring his robe. "Now listen—get him in a bind. Pin him down. I’ll handle the final blow."

Damian cracked his knuckles, lightning dancing across his arms.

Lamit adjusted his hat with a smirk, bark myst already sprouting over his fists.

Morbuan’s head twitched once to the side, the smile still stretching, unnatural and eerie. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

Then the wind shifted.

Like a silent signal passed between wolves, Damian, Lamit, and Morbuan launched forward—not in staggered bursts like before, but in a perfect, chaotic triad of war. Their movements were jagged, yet synchronized. Ruthless and raw. Each one of them took a different angle of approach, circling Galen like predators starving for blood.

Damian moved first, a blur of motion with rage surging like lightning through every vein. Electricity danced off his arms like coiling vipers, wrapping his forearms and shoulders in crackling arcs of cobalt. He didn’t even touch the ground—each step launched him forward in short flight bursts as thunder boomed behind him. Mid-air, his palms began to churn with twin spheres of voltage, each one pulsing brighter until they became white-hot orbs, throwing shadows everywhere.

From the left, Lamit was a storm of thorns and barked armor. Roots erupted with each step he took, racing along the ground like serpents, weaving into the terrain and seeking to trap Galen’s ankles. He weaved between trees he summoned in seconds, using their trunks for leverage as he twisted and shot forward like a green bullet. His fists were encased in hardened earth, layered in nature’s fury and clenched to shatter steel.

Morbuan... vanished.

One second he was standing still with that twisted smile—then the next, his form blurred into wisps of colorless mist, then reappeared behind Galen in a bent, jagged crouch. No sound, no energy signature. Just eerie silence and that soft hum of voided myst. He reached into the air and tore it open like silk, pulling from it blades shaped from compressed rock and shadow—jagged, unholy things that hissed as he tossed them forward with perfect precision toward Galen’s back.

But Galen?

He didn’t even move.

He stood there, hands still stuffed into the pockets of his black coat, a mild glow pulsing beneath the fabric. His head tilted slightly, red-orange irises flaring like suns igniting with every strike that approached.

The lightning orbs came first.

They struck the force field and instantly detonated—two perfect suns of thunder erupting against his heat barrier. The boom rippled across the valley, hurling wind in every direction. Cracks tore through the earth where Galen stood, yet the flame shimmer of his invisible wall didn’t flicker even slightly.

The roots coiled around from below, sharp as spears, twisting toward his calves. But the moment they got within a foot, they ignited—set ablaze not by contact, but by proximity. The fire raced through the vines in reverse, consuming the trail back to Lamit like a flaming serpent.

Then came Morbuan’s blades.

They didn’t stop. They rotated mid-air, curving in like homing shards. But Galen simply took one slow step forward—and every blade that neared him melted midair, turned to molten slag by a layer of heat so fine it danced like vapor.

Then Galen vanished.

A burst of flame erupted in the middle of the battlefield—sheets of fire spreading like wings as Galen appeared behind Lamit, his coat now slightly lifted by the force. Before Lamit could even register the change in pressure, Galen flicked two fingers toward his head. A stream of flame shot out in a tight spiral—Lamit barely managed to reinforce his bark armor before the fire collided, sending him skidding back through his own summoned trees, which shattered like dry bones on impact.

Behind him, Morbuan emerged from the ground—literally stepping out of the soil like a ghost. He lashed out with his claws, his hands now long and veined with corrupted earth, sharp enough to cleave through boulders.

Galen ducked.

One slow bend at the knees. Morbuan’s claw passed through empty air, and in that heartbeat, Galen shot an upward palm to his gut. A condensed pulse of fire surged through Morbuan’s core, launching him skyward like a meteor. His body soared, twisting in the air as smoke trailed off him in a spiraling column.

Damian had seen enough.

"YOU SON OF A—!!"

He blasted forward, lightning coating his body like an exoskeleton. Speed and wrath merged into one blinding charge. He didn’t just move—he ripped through the space, crossing the distance with enough force to rupture the ground behind him.

Lamit shouted, "WAIT—DAMIAN!!"

But it was too late. Damian had lunged straight at Galen.

And Galen... finally looked up.

He met Damian’s eyes with a calm expression, like a teacher waiting for a student to finish flailing. He pulled one hand out of his pocket—slowly. Palm forward. Fingers stretched wide.

On the center of Galen’s palm, a burning sigil ignited.

A glowing, intricate orange rune—a swirling spiral of ancient design and layered geometry—flickered to life.

Damian’s grin faltered.

"...huh?—"

Too late.

A beam of concentrated flame erupted from Galen’s palm. But this wasn’t ordinary fire—it was pure essence, compressed into a tight lance no thicker than a wrist, yet dense enough to carve through the fabric of existence.

The light swallowed Damian whole.

There was no scream. No cry. No resistance. Damian’s body simply vanished—atomized in mid-air. One moment he was there, and the next he was not. Erased from reality, like he had never existed.

The beam didn’t stop. It kept going—blasting through the mountain range in the far distance. A hole the size of a castle was carved clean through one of the silver-capped mountains, and a few seconds later, a delayed explosion echoed through the realm. The top third of the mountain crumbled. Rock and ice tumbled in a deafening roar, burying valleys below in a quake that shook the world.

Smoke.

Silence.

Ash.

And at the epicenter stood Galen. His coat fluttering in the aftershock. One hand still raised. The glowing sigil on his palm now slowly fading like the sun slipping beneath the horizon.

He turned.

Eyes locked on Eliv... Lamit... Morbuan.

A smirk danced across his lips.

"...Next."

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