ShadowBound: The Need For Power

"Crap. Crap. Crap."

Marcus cursed inwardly, clutching Serah close as his gaze remained locked on the distant crimson spike that pierced from the like a bloodstained fang.

He grit his teeth.

'I stayed out too long after using that much dark myst... should've retreated right after the job. Damn it... I'm still too close to Caelmoor. I thought I was far enough out just get to the outskirts—but of course I got traced. I should've known better.'

Two centuries had passed since the third Demon War, and in that long, bitter aftermath, dark mages were no longer seen as humans. They had become myths twisted into monsters—demonspawn wearing human flesh. It started subtly: whispers, suspicions, minor exclusions. But it escalated into open hatred once the Crescent and Solara Kingdoms signed their infamous decree—declaring dark mages as threats to all of mankind and vowing to purge them completely.

The Tempest Kingdom had tried to oppose this cruel decision, urging diplomacy and restraint. But their pleas fell on deaf ears. Crescent and Solara moved forward with resolve, and the hunt began.

But humans weren't the only ones who desired the extinction of dark mages. From the abyssal horrors of the third Demon War, a new predator had emerged—one born and bred for the hunt: Blood Demons. These were not mindless beasts. They were precise. Efficient. Perfected through centuries of carnage.

After the war's end, the Blood Demons had spread across all of Amthar like a red plague. They didn't discriminate. They didn't hesitate. They simply followed the pulse of dark myst—and killed. Their pursuit was relentless, and over time, the number of surviving dark mages had dropped to a number so small, it could be counted on one hand in some regions.

With both humans and demons thirsting for their blood, the dark mages fractured. Some, desperate to survive, betrayed their own kin—using them as bait to escape Blood Demons. Others chose cowardice, hiding in caves, forests, or ruins, waiting for death to come quietly. A few, broken in spirit, surrendered outright to Crescent or Solara, willingly walking into their graves.

But not all chose to cower. Some fled from humanity altogether, taking the fight to the Blood Demons themselves. It was through these brutal clashes that one grim truth was uncovered: Blood Demons were uniquely suited to track and eliminate dark mages.

They could sense the very essence of a dark mage. Every myst affinity left a trace—but dark myst was unlike any other. It infected the blood, made it pulse in an unnatural, syncopated rhythm, like a second heartbeat. To Blood Demons, that strange pulse was as bright as a flare in the night, allowing them to trace a dark mage from miles away.

And tonight, Marcus had made that signal burn like a bonfire. He had unleashed a high-tier spell—Hollowing Veil—to wipe out the Bleeding Smile, the sadistic cult of murderers and slavers. The plan had been clean and quick with no witnesses and no trails.

But then Serah and her Cohort showed up.

He hadn't wanted to cross paths with them. Didn't want the risk. Didn't want the baggage. But her presence complicated everything, and to finish the job before things spiraled, he had no choice but to cast the veil spell and drown the entire chamber in shadow.

Now, even after sprinting across the wilds and fleeing to the far edges of Caelmoor, a Blood Demon had still found him.

Or worse—a horde of Blood Demons had found him.

Still veiled behind the thick trunk of a towering alder, Marcus's eyes darted across the clearing where the crimson spike had erupted like a cursed fang. His senses were drawn taut as bowstrings, every muscle on edge, and every breath calculated.

'Where the hell are you?' he thought grimly, sweeping his gaze over the shifting mist and trembling leaves. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled.

Then a realization struck him like a sudden crack of thunder.

'Fuck… I forgot about her.'

He looked down slightly and remembered the body pressed close to his own, tense but quiet in his arms. Serah.

'Right… she's still here. Damn it. Can't believe I actually forgot I'm dragging around a high-tier Eight-Star knight from the Solara Kingdom. Maybe this'll work in my favor though... I mean, having her might just make facing this thing easier. Question is—has she ever dealt with one before?'

Still holding her with practiced care, Marcus lowered his eyes to the woman in his arms. She was alert, watching the clearing as well through narrowed lashes.

Casting the whisper spell, his voice filtered into her ear with a soft current of myst.

"Hey."

Serah tilted her head slightly, her mouth still covered by his hand as she met his gaze. Her crimson eyes burned quietly beneath the canopy's gloom.

Marcus slowly peeled his hand away from her lips.

"Have you ever faced a Blood Demon?" he asked, low and sharp.

"Yes. Just once." Her voice was calm, but her body remained wound like a spring.

'Okay, that's better than nothing,' Marcus thought, then followed up, "Redblood or Pureblood?"

Serah's brow pinched slightly. "What?"

Marcus blinked, a flicker of realization passing through him.

Right. Most of Amthar had no idea the Blood Demons even had types. Only those who'd truly studied them—or survived them—knew the difference. And of course, the dark mages had done both.

Redbloods were savages, predatory, and driven by primal instinct but possessing twisted intelligence.

Purebloods were rarer, smarter, more human-like and more dangerous.

He opened his mouth to explain—but froze.

A warning surged through his gut like a lightning strike.

MOVE.

The tree behind them exploded in a burst of bark and gore as another crimson spike burst upward, piercing straight through the trunk like a spear through wet parchment. Marcus didn't hesitate. He seized Serah again, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other planting hard into the earth as he spun them violently to the side.

The world blurred. They rolled, dust and leaves trailing behind, just as the sharpened spike slammed down where they'd crouched a heartbeat before.

Serah twisted mid-roll, catching her balance with feral grace. Her boots skidded across the moss-laced dirt as she came down in a crouch, her sword already igniting at the edges. Flames shimmered along the blade, curling like serpents in the half-shadow of the woods. Her breathing was steady.

Marcus rose beside her, his expression void of mischief now. Twin blades shimmered into his hands—curved, single-edged sabres, forged with runes etched into the steel. One in a forward grip. One reversed. His stance was low, spine aligned with the ground like a prowling wolf. And his eyes—those playful, storm-dark eyes—had sharpened into unflinching steel.

Then came the sound.

Low and guttural, like something bubbling from the throat of a corpse. It reverberated through the trees. And with it, the scent of blood and ash.

From the misted gloom, a figure slithered into view.

It stood at nearly seven feet tall. Crimson light pulsed through the vein-like etchings across its obsidian flesh. Its limbs were unnaturally long, its hands tipped in claws that dragged lines into the dirt as it moved. Joints popped and bent at angles that should've broken bone, reshaping itself with every step. Its face—if it could be called that—was little more than a twisted skull, with eyes like sunken voids. Those sockets bled slow, steaming tears of molten red.

Marcus's lip curled slightly.

"Redblood," he whispered, almost with relief. "Thank the gods."

Serah, still locked on the creature, tightened her grip on her sword. "Care to explain what that means?"

Marcus didn't look at her as he responded, his eyes tracking every twitch of the creature's movement. "That… is a Redblood. The apex predator."

"Aren't all Blood Demons like that?" Serah asked, puzzled.

Marcus caught that question with a glance—and just like that, he had his answer. She had only ever faced a Redblood. She didn't know what a Pureblood was.

He gave a small sigh.

"I'd explain," he muttered, shadows already licking across his shoulders and face, "but we don't have the time." The darkness wrapped around his jaw and formed a half-mask, obscuring everything but the sharp, glowing gray of his eyes. "Let's end this quick, and I'll tell you later. If you've survived one of these bastards before, I'll trust you don't need a primer."

Serah side-glanced at him, studied the shift in his demeanor. The teasing stranger from earlier was gone. What stood beside her now was someone… focused, hardened, and dangerous.

She looked back to the Blood Demon, who now lowered itself into a crouch, claws twitching. The air grew thick with pressure.

'Teaming up with a dark mage I barely met today is insane,' she thought. 'But... what choice do I have? This isn't some cultist or knight skirmish. It's a Blood Demon. And unlike me, he's clearly studied them—or worse, fought more than one.'

Her grip shifted. Her myst surged.

"Alright," she said finally, her voice steeled, her eyes beginning to glow with an inner fire. Flames burst to life around her body, dancing along her armor, wrapping her sword like a second skin.

"Let's make this quick."