ShadowBound: The Need For Power

The road outside a city near zone nineteen had long since fallen quiet.

It was the kind of quiet that only came after midnight—when the taverns had closed, when lanterns burned low behind shuttered windows, and when most decent people had already made their way home. The only sounds left were the distant rustling of wind through tall grass and the occasional bark of a stray dog somewhere far down the road.

And, of course, the voices of men who had drunk far too much.

Four of them staggered along the dirt path that ran between the outer fields of a small farming settlement. Their steps were uneven, boots kicking up loose gravel as they swayed from side to side. The smell of cheap liquor clung to them like a second skin.

One of them—broad shouldered with a crooked beard—let out a loud laugh that carried far into the night.

"I'm tellin' you," he slurred, jabbing a finger toward the others as they walked. "That barmaid was lookin' at me. Properly lookin'. Not just polite-like."

The tallest of the group snorted.

"Bren, the only thing she was lookin' at was the coin you kept slammin' on the table."

"Jealous," Bren muttered immediately, waving a dismissive hand. "That's what that is."

Another man behind them chuckled quietly. His name was Coren, a thin fellow with narrow shoulders and the permanently amused expression of someone who rarely took anything too seriously.

"Mate," Coren said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "you tried to serenade her with a song about goats."

"It was about love," Bren insisted defensively.

"Pretty sure goats were involved," Coren replied.

The fourth man, walking slightly behind the others, shook his head slowly.

"Gods above… next time we drink, we stop after the third jug."

"No," Bren said firmly. "We stop after the seventh. That's where the magic happens."

They burst into laughter again, the kind of loud, uninhibited laughter that only drunken men walking through empty fields could afford.

For several minutes they continued like that—stumbling, joking, occasionally shoving each other off balance while trying to stay upright.

Then Coren suddenly slowed.

At first he thought it was just his head spinning again.

He squinted forward.

The dirt road ahead of them stretched into darkness, lit faintly by the distant glow of lanterns from the village they had left behind.

Except now…

Something looked wrong.

Coren blinked.

"…Hey."

His voice was quieter this time.

The others didn't notice at first.

"Hey," he said again, stopping completely.

Bren glanced back at him.

"What?"

Coren pointed ahead.

"You… you see that?"

The others turned lazily.

"What am I lookin' at?" the tall one asked.

Coren stared harder at the space in front of them.

About twenty paces down the road.

Right in the air.

Something had appeared.

At first it looked like a thin crack—like someone had taken a hammer to an invisible pane of glass floating in the air. Jagged lines spread outward from a single point, faintly shimmering in the moonlight.

Coren rubbed his eyes.

"…Nope."

"What?" Bren asked.

Coren pointed again.

"There. Right there."

The others squinted.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Then Bren snorted loudly.

"Yeah," he said, clapping Coren on the shoulder. "You've definitely had too much tonight."

The tall one laughed.

"Mate's seein' ghosts now."

"I'm serious!" Coren insisted.

But even as he said it, doubt crept into his voice.

The crack flickered.

Then it disappeared.

Coren blinked again.

"…Alright," he muttered slowly. "Maybe I did drink too much."

Bren grinned smugly.

"Told you."

They began walking again.

Three steps forward.

Four.

Then the tall man suddenly stopped.

"…Wait."

The others bumped into him.

"What now?" Bren asked irritably.

The tall man slowly raised his hand.

"…Do you see it now?"

The others looked.

This time there was no mistaking it.

The crack had returned.

But it was larger now.

The air itself looked fractured, like broken glass suspended in midair. Jagged lines of shimmering distortion spread outward, forming a spiderweb of warped space.

The men stared.

Coren swallowed.

"Alright," he said quietly. "Now tell me that's the liquor."

None of them laughed this time.

The cracks began to widen.

Not loudly.

Not violently.

Just… slowly.

Like something on the other side was pushing outward.

The fractured surface trembled.

Then bent.

Then stretched.

One of the men took a hesitant step backward.

"…Maybe we should go."

No one argued.

But before they could turn—

The cracks suddenly split open.

The air tore apart with a sharp crystalline sound.

And something stepped out.

A man.

He emerged from the fractured space as though climbing through a broken mirror. His movement was slow, deliberate, his bare feet touching the dirt road with quiet certainty.

His clothing—or what remained of it—hung in worn, shredded strips along his body, leaving most of his pale skin exposed. The fabric looked ancient, brittle with age.

For several seconds he didn't move.

He simply stood there.

Looking up.

The moonlight fell across his face as he tilted his head toward the night sky.

The drunkards stared.

No one spoke.

Then Bren let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

"…Alright," he muttered. "We are definitely drunk."

Coren nodded slowly.

"Absolutely hammered."

The tall man took a cautious step forward.

"Hey!" he called out.

The man didn't respond.

He continued staring upward, his eyes slowly scanning the sky as though studying it for the first time.

"Oi!" Bren shouted.

"Are you alright there, mate?"

Still nothing.

Coren leaned toward the others.

"…Do we help him?"

"Help him with what?" Bren whispered. "He just came out of the bloody air."

The tall man approached another few steps.

"Hey," he said cautiously.

"You lost or something?"

The man finally moved.

His head lowered slowly.

His gaze shifted toward them.

The moment his eyes settled on the group, something about the air changed.

Cold.

Still.

Like the world had suddenly decided to hold its breath.

The tall man forced a grin.

"…Rough night?"

The stranger studied them silently.

Then Bren shrugged and walked forward.

"Look, friend," he said. "If you're drunker than us, that's honestly impressive."

He took two steps closer.

"Where'd you even come from—"

His sentence never finished.

There was no warning.

No visible movement.

One moment Bren was standing there.

The next—

His body split.

Perfectly.

Into dozens of square fragments.

The pieces separated cleanly, like someone had sliced him through an invisible grid. Flesh, bone, clothing—every part of him fell apart into geometric chunks that collapsed onto the road with wet, scattered thuds.

For a full second…

No one reacted.

Then Coren screamed.

The other two men froze.

Their legs refused to move.

The stranger tilted his head slightly, observing them with faint curiosity.

"…Interesting."

His voice was calm.

Measured.

Almost thoughtful.

He took a step forward.

Neither man could move.

Their bodies felt locked in place.

The stranger's eyes studied them carefully.

Then he spoke again.

"What… is the name of this realm?"

The tall man's lips trembled.

"…W–what?"

"The realm," the stranger repeated calmly.

"What is it called?"

Coren swallowed hard.

"…A–Amthar."

The stranger's expression changed slightly.

Not dramatically.

Just the faintest curl of satisfaction at the corner of his mouth.

"Amthar," he murmured softly.

He looked upward again.

Then exhaled slowly.

"…So I finally escaped the endless wormhole."

Silence returned.

The two remaining men stood frozen.

The stranger lowered his gaze again.

His eyes moved between them slowly.

Calculating.

Observing.

Then—

The air shifted.

The tall man exploded into fragments.

The same invisible grid carved him apart instantly, reducing him to dozens of perfect cubes of flesh that collapsed into the dirt beside Bren's remains.

Coren's knees nearly buckled.

He was the last one left.

The stranger approached him slowly.

Each step was quiet.

Measured.

Controlled.

Coren began shaking uncontrollably.

"P–please…" he whispered.

"I didn't do anything—"

The stranger stopped directly in front of him.

His pale eyes studied Coren's face.

Then he nodded slightly.

"…Yes," he murmured.

"You will do."

Coren's breathing became frantic.

"Do… do what…?"

The stranger reached forward.

His hand closed around Coren's face.

The moment his fingers touched skin—

Coren's body convulsed violently.

His muscles locked.

His arms jerked uncontrollably as violent tremors surged through him.

The stranger remained perfectly still.

Watching.

Observing.

Coren's skin began twitching beneath the man's grip.

Then something even stranger happened.

The stranger's body started to shift.

His bones subtly realigned.

His facial structure warped.

His hair darkened.

His skin tone changed.

Clothing slowly materialized along his body—reshaping itself into the same worn coat, boots, and trousers Coren wore.

Within seconds…

The transformation was complete.

The stranger now looked exactly like Coren.

Every detail.

Every feature.

Even the terrified expression.

Coren's body suddenly went limp.

The man released him.

The corpse collapsed onto the dirt beside the others.

For a moment, the copied man stood there quietly.

He looked down at his new hands.

Turned them slightly in the moonlight.

Then flexed his fingers.

"…Acceptable."

He glanced briefly at the pile of bodies scattered across the road.

Then he turned.

And began walking away into the darkness.

Leaving the shattered remains behind him as though they were nothing more than discarded scraps.

The night swallowed him completely within minutes.

Only the wind remained.