ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 392: Fall Of The Green Calamity (10)

Silently, Aesmirius stared at the still demons before him—frozen mid-snarl, mid-step—held in place by his overwhelming presence. Then, with a slow turn of his head, he glanced over his shoulder at the motionless humans behind him. Despite the pressure suffocating the battlefield, despite their paralyzed limbs, the warriors of Solara, Tempest, and Crescent still had their guards up.

To them, he was no savior.

He was another threat.

Valemir and Tharion especially burned with restrained fury. Their jaws clenched, fingers twitching for weapons they could not yet raise.

Valemir’s eyes locked onto the cocooned figure of his daughter. The instant he saw her—alive, unharmed—life surged through his veins once more. Yet his instincts screamed that the one standing between them was not to be trusted. Whatever power the boy infront of him wielded, it was far too unnatural to be on their side.

Tharion, on the other hand, wasn’t just overwhelmed by pressure—he felt something more... something forbidden. Darkness. Pure, unfiltered dark myst. A presence so archaic, it clawed through time itself. That same forbidden energy was what forced his hand years ago—the energy that compelled him to make the decision to execute his own daughter.

Now it was here again... standing in the form of a boy.

Tharion wouldn’t leave this battlefield without uncovering the truth. Or silencing it.

Yet amidst all this tension, Queen Lucy stood still, watching with wary calm. She remembered what Liam told her about Aesmirius, the ancient being within him—older than memory, powerful beyond comprehension. She didn’t fully understand it. But she knew. Somewhere beneath that divine pressure and ominous aura, Liam still existed.

Still... even she couldn’t deny the dread settling in her gut.

Aesmirius wasn’t trying to hide the dark magic pouring from his body. And if she could feel it, then so could Tharion and Valemir. And when this war ended, Liam’s fate would no longer be hers to protect.

With a slow, fluid motion, Aesmirius turned fully to face the humans, his brilliant violet eyes calm and piercing. He took a single step forward, his hands calmly folding behind his back.

That one step made every soul on the battlefield flinch inward. fгeewebnovёl.com

Then his gaze landed on Lucy—and held.

Without a word, the glowing cocoons surrounding Mabel and Sheila floated gently from his side. They glided through the thick, silent air like feathers on a breeze, stopping just a foot before Lucy. Slowly and softly, they lowered to the ground.

Valemir’s eyes never left his daughter—not for a second.

Then, breaking the silence like the crack of thunder, Aesmirius spoke.

"They are yours to keep safe," he said, his tone regal yet quiet—eerily detached. "I have more important matters to attend to."

His voice shifted, subtle and colder. "I’ll be leaving now. Inform your men to withdraw from Sylvathar’s battle. I want no involvement with them. If anyone interferes..." His eyes narrowed, the air thickening once more, "...they will be removed."

His last words held a ghost of civility. "Please do that now."

But it wasn’t a request.

It was command.

Lucy gave the slightest nod, her throat dry as she activated her comm-rune, calling Mystica immediately.

But then—a sound. A low, guttural growl behind Aesmirius.

He turned slowly, eyes half-lidded in mild annoyance, toward the horde of demons still trying to push forward. Some had begun to move, resisting the divine pressure that had once paralyzed them. Their twisted bodies shuddered, snarling in defiance, driven by instinct to fight.

Aesmirius blinked slowly.

"Hm? I nearly forgot about you pitiful insects."

Then he raised his right hand—casually.

A glowing sigil bloomed to life in his palm, deep violet and pulsating like a living rune. The moment it appeared, every demon’s eyes widened in instinctual terror.

Then a pillar of violet fire erupted from his hand, devouring the demons like a tidal wave of hellfire. The flames surged forth with impossible speed, erasing everything in their path—beast, bone, stone, steel—consumed in a blinding inferno. Buildings crumbled, streets cracked, and ash exploded into the sky.

And then silence.

Nothing remained before him and nothing moved. The entire path had been wiped clean as if by the hand of a god.

Aesmirius lowered his hand, folding it neatly behind his back once again.

’I’ve lingered to long here...’ he thought with quiet finality. ’It’s time I head to the worm itself.’

And with that, Aesmirius vanished—dissolving into the air like a phantom retreating into the void.

Just as he left, a crushing pressure evaporated. It was as if an invisible mountain had been yanked off every soul on the battlefield.

Gasps erupted. Soldiers collapsed to their knees, gripping their weapons to stay upright as their bodies trembled with relief. Breath returned like a gift no one had realized they’d lost.

Queen Lucy exhaled shakily, her composure intact but her body betraying the strain. Her fingers twitched at her sides, still tingling from the weight that had pressed into her very bones. Without hesitation, she strode forward toward the two glowing cocoons. The light was already receding, peeling back like petals to reveal Mabel and Sheila—unconscious, but breathing. Alive and intact.

In a ripple of distortion, Wyjin warped to her side, his eyes sharp and steady on the girls. "Orders, my Queen?"

"Secure them," Lucy said crisply. "Get a healer immediately. Prioritize respiratory stability and mystic restoration. Keep them under constant watch."

Wyjin gave a sharp nod and signaled to a pair of Royal Corps agents. The women were lifted carefully, as if made of porcelain, and swiftly carried toward the evacuation perimeter where the medics waited.

Meanwhile, King Valemir stood frozen. His eyes locked on the image of Sheila as she was carried away, his lips parting with disbelief, a whisper tearing free.

"She’s alive..." His voice cracked. "She’s... still alive."

Lucy glanced at him, her face unreadable. "She is. Because of Liam."

Valemir’s fingers pressed against his eyes, fighting back the storm of emotion. His jaw clenched, but the tremble in his breath betrayed him.

Not far off, King Tharion stood tense. His fists clenched so tightly the veins in his arms pulsed. The air still carried the bitter taste of dark magic, and he couldn’t ignore it. He wouldn’t.

"Liam?" Tharion growled, stepping forward. "So you do know what that thing was. Care to explain?"

Lucy turned her gaze to him calmly. "I’m afraid I can’t. If you want answers, you’ll have to wait until the war is over."

Tharion’s jaw locked, teeth grinding audibly. Then—without warning—he raised his sword, the blade igniting with flame as he leveled it at Lucy’s neck. "That thing radiated dark magic and you seem to have a clear knowledge on who or what that was. Yet, you tell me I have to wait?"

"Yes," Lucy said coolly, unmoved by the blade inches from her throat. "And if that answer doesn’t please you, feel free to march to Zone 16 and ask Liam yourself."

"Then maybe I should just kill you instead," Tharion snapped, stepping closer.

But before he could move another inch, a cold bite of steel pressed against the side of his neck. His eyes shifted slightly—only to meet the unblinking, icy stare of Wyjin. The commander’s blade was drawn, and already cutting into Tharion’s skin.

"I’d advise you step back from my Queen, King Magna," Wyjin said, voice like a blade of its own. "Unless you’re looking to leave this field without your head."

Tharion froze, rage pulsing in his eyes, but the warning was clear. After a tense beat, he lowered his sword—slowly—and turned away.

"No matter how this war ends," he said over his shoulder, his voice low and lethal, "that boy dies by my hand."

He walked away, pushing through the crowd of knights.

Lucy watched him go without a word. Then Valemir stepped up beside her, face fixed in a cold, unreadable mask once again.

"As much as I hate to admit it... Tharion may not be entirely wrong," he said quietly. "That boy brought my daughter back... but what if it’s an illusion? A trick? That kind of power doesn’t exist without cost."

"We’ll deal with that after we survive," Lucy said flatly.

Valemir nodded once. "Agreed. But for now, we need to focus on Sylvathar. Because if what that thing said is true... our warriors shouldn’t be anywhere near him."

Lucy’s eyes hardened. She tapped her comm-rune again. "Mystica, I need you and everyone else to fall back from Sylvathar. Now. Things are about to get messy."