ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 287: Biant Hue 2

Charlotte was the first to move, launching forward like a striking panther. Her jaguar instincts ignited behind narrowed eyes, she slashed at Biant's chest with clawed fingers glowing faintly with myst energy. Her movements were swift and calculated, aimed not to toy, but to incapacitate.

But Biant? He barely shifted his footing.

With a lazy flick of his wrist, the scalpel-like knife he had drawn from the desk met her swipe, sliding against her attack and redirecting her momentum as if guiding a dance partner offbeat. She stumbled slightly—not from a lack of skill, but from sheer surprise.

Liam followed a breath later, his dagger cutting in low, aimed toward Biant's ribs from the right. His eyes were locked on the man's center of gravity, waiting for the smallest tell—a shift in balance, a glance, a breath.

Again, Biant moved effortlessly.

He twisted, the hem of his long coat swirling like a shadow, and let Liam's blade graze just an inch too short. "Fascinating," he murmured, voice calm and composed. "Did you know that the thinnest skin in the human body rests behind the ear? A slight puncture there and one could bleed out in under two minutes."

He ducked under Charlotte's next strike—an overhead slash meant to split his skull—and jabbed upward with his knife. She twisted mid-air, avoiding a lethal stab, but the motion caused her to land with an unstable footing.

Biant didn't press.

Liam's eyes narrowed. This wasn't going to be a quick win. He had to create an opening.

Drawing myst into his palm, Liam cast it forward in a smooth, swirling motion. Fire sparked to life and rapidly condensed into a glowing orb above his shoulder—his miniature sun. The heat instantly flooded the room, the shadows warped, and light bathed every corner in a searing golden glow. Charlotte used it to reposition and lunged again.

But Biant moved like water. He slipped past them with the grace of someone who had long ago memorized every angle of the human form. He deflected each blow not with strength, but with precision—catching their wrists, nudging their balance, using their force against them. The moment the sun flared to blind him, he turned his head and stepped just out of its radius, staying in motion.

"I do admire this one," he said, referring to Liam as he parried a horizontal slash. "Your aim—it's refined. Predictable at first, but now… now you're adjusting, learning, and adapting."

Liam's foot swept at Biant's ankle in a feint. Charlotte used the distraction to dive in with a spinning kick meant to break his ribs—but once again, Biant bent backward like a reed in the wind. Her boot brushed his coat. Nothing more.

"Very good," Biant whispered, sounding giddy. "But let's not forget—I, too, learn."

Then, it happened in a blink.

Biant stepped into Charlotte's guard mid-attack. His free hand rose like a flash of light, and the edge of his knife stabbed forward—not to cut, but to press. Right into a narrow vertebra along her lower spine.

Charlotte's breath hitched. Her body locked in place.

The sensation was immediate and terrifying. It was like someone had flipped a switch—her nerves went cold. Arms, legs, everything—gone. She fell to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Conscious, eyes wide in shock, but mute and unmoving.

"Charlotte!" Liam growled, lunging forward.

He struck with clean form, blade aimed toward Biant's throat. But Biant sidestepped, grabbed Liam's outstretched wrist, and drove his knife into the meat of Liam's shoulder—precisely between two nerves near the deltoid. The pain shot down Liam's arm like electricity. His hand flinched and lost strength, and the dagger tumbled loosely in his fingers before he caught it by the hilt with a hiss.

He leapt back instinctively, body low, shoulder sagging.

Biant stood tall, wiping blood off his blade with a cloth as if finishing surgery. "There it is. Marvelous, isn't it? The human body… such a complex design. And yet, strike a few key nerves and it becomes little more than a sack of meat. One prod," he gestured to Charlotte's fallen form, "and the motor control collapses."

His gaze turned back to Liam, and for the first time, his tone dropped into genuine admiration. "But you… you're quite special. You noticed, didn't you? The tempo of my movements. The flawed delay in my turns. You almost broke through."

Biant slowly tilted his head. "But now… your dominant hand is gone. And even you must know, in this state, you're no better than a shadow of what you were."

Liam said nothing.

He kept his eyes locked on Biant, unflinching. Then, with a slow exhale, he brought his blade up—and began prying it free from his right hand. Blood dribbled down his wrist as he pulled the dagger from his weakened fingers and passed it to his left. He gripped the hilt tight.

There was no trembling or hesitation.

Biant's brow twitched.

"You're ambidextrous."

Liam rolled his stiff right shoulder with a quiet grunt. "Your monologue's too long."

Biant's face lit up with delight. He spread his arms as if welcoming a divine revelation. "An ambidextrous fighter! Oh, I've always wanted to work on one of your kind! The symmetry, the potential—you're a marvel in motion!"

He tossed aside the cloth and lunged forward again, grinning with uncontainable glee.

His scalpel flashed in the dim light, a blur of silver that moved like a serpent's fang. The way he wielded it defied logic—his grip rotated effortlessly from reverse to forward, fingers dancing around the handle with a surgeon's grace and a madman's unpredictability. He didn't slash; he sculpted his way through Liam's defenses, redirecting every parry, every slash, like a duelist who knew exactly how Liam's muscles were about to move before they even did.

But Liam was not faltering.

His left hand, though slightly less dominant, moved with burning intent. His dagger slashed in arcs that trailed embers, coated with Inferno Edge, flames licking along its length. Each strike was made with lethal precision, aimed for the neck, the ribs, the inner thigh—places he knew the human body could bleed out from in seconds.

Biant twirled out of the way of a fire slash and countered with a thrust toward Liam's thigh. Liam twisted mid-air, bringing down a miniature sun between them with a snap of his fingers. The explosion of light and heat forced Biant to leap back, coat singed at the edges, teeth clenched in a manic grin.

"Oh, the flame and the fury! Do you know how heat affects nerves? Too much, and the sensation dies. Too little, and pain lingers for hours!"

Liam sent a burst of fire toward Biant's feet, forcing him to jump. Mid-air, Biant flipped a hand behind his back and pulled out four thin, silver needles.

Without warning, one darted through the air and nicked Liam's cheek with a whip-like hiss. Blood welled up instantly.

"Got it," Biant grinned, spinning the remaining three needles in his fingers before whispering something under his breath. The myst in the room shifted—twisted.

Clink.

The needles vibrated.

Then, like beasts unleashed, they flew.

They weren't just fast—they were relentless. Liam deflected the first two with his dagger, their impact sending painful shocks up his left forearm. Despite their size, each needle carried the weight of a sledgehammer. The third one crashed into his side, his flame barely cushioning the blow. The fourth whipped toward his thigh, grazing it just enough to cause a line of crimson to form.

The needles spun around, coming again.

Biant stood a few meters away, hands folded behind his back like a maestro conducting a twisted orchestra. "You see? The body's pressure points, Liam. That's where it's all stored—the control center. You press, twist, pierce here, and the body obeys. It's science. Beautiful, sacred, inevitable."

Liam blocked another strike and staggered backward, fire burning on his skin, sweat trailing down his jaw.

"I could make you my masterpiece," Biant continued, his voice dreamy. "Imagine, an ambidextrous subject… I'd study your reflexes, your muscular symmetry, your reaction to symmetrical pain—"

Buzz.

Liam's right fingers twitched.

A pulse.

He felt it.

Again—his wrist shifted.

His numb arm was coming back.

The fourth needle came flying in from the side. Liam ducked under it, gritting his teeth hard. He flicked his left wrist and sent two miniature suns into the air, then snapped his fingers to detonate one mid-flight, creating a smoke-flame veil around him.

The needles dove in again—he felt their pressure against his myst.

And in that instant, his right arm surged back to life.

Not completely—but enough.

Liam spun, using his rekindled shoulder to catch the motion of the needles through his myst, and redirected them away with a sweeping arc of flame.

Biant blinked, caught off guard.

He didn't get the chance to react.

Through the smoke, Liam exploded forward like a thunderbolt.

With his flame-wreathed dagger in hand, he moved low. His footsteps barely touched the ground as he closed the distance. Biant raised his scalpel, ready to counter, but Liam twisted his body mid-lunge and knocked the blade aside with a sharp, upward deflection. The dagger carved forward in a vicious uppercut slash across Biant's stomach—deep, searing, and unforgiving.

The scalpel slipped from Biant's fingers.

He staggered back, breath caught in his throat as blood spilled from the gash, soaking through his coat. His face contorted—shock and disbelief dancing across it.

"I…" he choked out, blood trailing down his lip, "I was meant to—"

"You talk too much."

Liam didn't give him the luxury of another word.

He surged forward again, swift and silent. Biant flinched and swung weakly, but Liam dropped low, rolled beneath the feeble strike, and drove his dagger straight into the man's gut.

Flames erupted from the blade the moment it entered—intense, white-hot. The heat seared through flesh and bone, igniting from within. Liam twisted the dagger viciously, then pulled upward and slammed it into Biant's sternum.

Biant arched back as fire exploded out his back in a sickening burst, his body convulsing from the force.

His eyes widened. Mouth open. Gasping.

And then… stillness.

Liam held him for a second longer, staring into the dying gleam in the man's eyes.

Then he let go.

Biant's body collapsed with a heavy thud. The scalpel clattered uselessly nearby. The needles dropped from the air, lifeless now without their caster's will.

Silence reigned.

Only the soft crackle of residual flames filled the air.

Liam exhaled, the fire on his blade dimming. He turned and made his way to Charlotte, who lay frozen but breathing, her eyes wide with consciousness.

"Mission completed," he muttered, kneeling beside her.