ShadowBound: The Need For Power

As the consuming darkness devoured every inch of the chamber, Serah stood firm, blade raised defensively, her stance poised like a coiled flame ready to strike. Jyn had been directly in front of her before the shadows poured in, but now—now the world had gone pitch black. Even with myst amplifying her vision, she could barely see more than faint silhouettes dancing at the edge of her sight.

"Banen! Hana!" Serah shouted, her voice cutting through the void like a warning flare, hoping to regroup by sound.

But there was no response. Not a whisper or even a breath.

"Dammit," she cursed under her breath, tightening her grip on the hilt of her sword.

'This has to be the work of a dark mage... Jyn's one, sure—but the look in his eyes before the lights went out, that wasn't planned. He was caught off guard too…'

Her crimson eyes narrowed. 'That means there's a second.'

The thought made her jaw clench. A second dark mage meant double the threat, double the chaos—and she didn't even know where her team was.

Without hesitation, she poured myst into her blade. Her sword ignited with roaring flames, the blade glowing in brilliant orange and red. The fire's heat radiated outwards, licking the air, and casting flickering shapes into the void.

Yet the flames did little to pierce the overwhelming darkness. It was like trying to burn through smoke with sunlight—it only illuminated her immediate surroundings, and even then, barely.

"This is unreal," she muttered bitterly, pivoting slowly. "Two damn dark mages, here of all places."

She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, her eyes slicing through the dark as her ears strained to catch anything. Every step echoed unnaturally, as though the space itself warped around her.

Then, without warning, she felt it.

A presence.

It shot past her like a streak of wind, almost invisible to the eye—but there, undeniably real. Serah turned sharply, her sword sweeping in a defensive arc—but there was nothing.

"Show yourself, coward!" she snarled, gripping her weapon tighter.

Another movement.

Faster this time. More erratic.

It darted high, low, left, right—flashes of something, something fast—flitting around her like a storm of crows.

Serah's eyes flicked in every direction, keeping her stance fluid. Her muscles twitched with every shift, trying to read the invisible threat, to anticipate the next step. Every time she felt it coming, she struck—but her blade met only air and swirling black.

She tried again—this time, a blazing vertical slash that cleaved the dark in half for a moment—but again, there was nothing.

This continued—strike after strike, spin after spin—until even Serah began to feel her breathing quicken. Her chest rose and fell in subtle pants, not yet exhausted, but on edge. Her heart pounded—not with fear, but with frustration.

'I can't win a fight like this,' she thought grimly.

She had no visuals, mo target and no control. And even worse—she didn't know where her team was.

'I can't let loose... not with them possibly nearby. I could end up burning one of them alive.'

She sucked in a deep breath through her nose and gritted her teeth. The darkness had swallowed light, sound, and strategy.

"This is really getting on my nerves," she hissed.

Then, without warning, she crouched low, the tip of her blade dipping toward the blood-drenched ground. Her free hand pressed to the stone, and with a sudden spark of myst, a dome of flame burst around her—spinning in a slow, controlled vortex.

Her blade moved to her side in a battle stance.

"This is a dumb idea..." she muttered. Her eyes glowed even brighter—focused, ruthless.

She was just about to launch forward in a myst-propelled dash, to burn through the unknown, when everything stopped.

The darkness began to peel back.

Just like it had arrived—whispering in from all sides—it now slithered away. Tendrils of shadow recoiled like mist sucked into a vacuum, retreating up toward the ceiling and down into the ground as if they had never been there.

Within seconds, the underground chamber was illuminated once more.

But something had changed.

Something drastic.

The battlefield that had once been brimming with chaos—filled with masked cultists, grotesque Choir priests, and Painters wielding death with every breath—was now silent.

Still.

Dead.

Serah's eyes widened, her fire still burning around her.

Everywhere she looked, bodies covered the ground.

Not just fallen—but mangled.

Heads were torn clean from necks, lying meters away from their torsos. Bodies were bisected diagonally, intestines coiled across the floor like spilled rope. Skulls were split open, their contents splattered across the stones. Some corpses had holes so cleanly carved through their chests, it looked surgical. Others were flayed so precisely they seemed more like morbid sculptures than bodies.

Blood pooled in massive rivers across the floor, reflecting the flickering lights above.

The Bleeding Smile had been annihilated.

Serah stood in the center of it all—surrounded by a massacre.

She blinked. Once, then twice. Her stomach twisted, churning violently. She almost gagged—but clenched her jaw and pushed the feeling down.

"What the hell happened?" she muttered, voice low and stunned.

"Serah!"

Her head snapped around.

From the far end of the hall, familiar figures emerged—bloody, bruised, but alive.

Jack, Hana, and Banen.

They rushed toward her, weapons still drawn, eyes wide with disbelief.

She didn't wait—she sprinted forward and wrapped her arms around Hana in a tight embrace.

"You're alive... thank the gods," she breathed, barely able to contain her relief.

"Yeah... we're fine," Hana said, half-stunned, patting her back. "But uh... no need for hugs..."

"Speak for yourself," Jack muttered, glancing around the carnage with a disturbed look. Themostup-to-dateversionisonM(VLEMPY)R.

Serah pulled back with a smirk. "Sorry, Jack. Should've hugged you too."

Jack blushed slightly, turning away. "Huh? Me? No thanks—I don't need hugs…"

The moment hung for only a second longer before Banen stepped forward, eyes narrowing at the battlefield.

"Wait... Serah," he said slowly, "was this you?"

Serah shook her head, expression still frozen in shock. "No. I didn't do this. I was as blind in the dark as you."

"Then... who did?" Hana asked, eyes scanning the floor, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't know," Serah murmured. "But whoever it was—it wasn't normal…"

She turned slightly, eyes scanning the edges of the battlefield—and then she stopped.

She froze, completely.

The others saw her face and immediately followed her gaze.

And then they froze, too.

Pinned like a sacrificial offering against the far wall of the giant circular stage was a body.

A familiar body.

A corpse.

He had been crucified with jagged metal rods driven through his limbs—his arms, his legs, even through his gut. Blood poured in rivulets down his chest, soaking his robe into a black-red mess. His heart had been carved out, a gaping cavity in his torso still dripping. His face, once hidden behind a golden smile mask, now lay exposed—yet horrifically defaced. The lower half of his face was flayed down to muscle, teeth and bone exposed. Blood leaked from his open mouth in a silent scream.

He had not just been killed.

He had been erased.

But Serah knew that twisted corpse. Knew the structure of that jaw, the frame, the presence—even in death.

"...Marrow Jyn," she whispered.