SPIRITBINDER: The Boy Without A Mark
Chapter 65: The Last Stand

Chapter 65: The Last Stand

Morvane, his body still trembling from the overwhelming surge of Drace’s power, felt a sudden rush of determination. He had to get to Vianna. He had to leave before the consequences of his actions caught up with him. His mind raced as he bolted in her direction, but as he took his first steps forward, the air around him shifted.

A sharp gust of wind whirled toward him, followed by the smell of salt and water. Before he could react, a cascade of water slammed into his chest, knocking him back. His feet skidded across the ground, and for a split second, his vision blurred from the sudden impact.

He tried to recover, but as he steadied himself, a blast of fire shot toward him, swirling in an inferno of rage. The heat was unbearable, searing through the air with a strength that nearly knocked him off his feet again. He raised his arm to shield himself, but the flames continued to come.

Then, from above, the air itself seemed to constrict, the very wind turning against him. Tendrils of air wrapped around him, tightening like ropes, and no matter how he struggled, he couldn’t break free. Morvane was overwhelmed. The elements themselves had turned against him.

As the final wave of magic closed in from every direction—fire, water, air, earth—he felt the weight of it all. He couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back. The magic was too much. He was trapped.

"Morvane!" Vianna’s voice cut through the chaos, but it was too late.

The guards of Ketamran, the Baltalahans, had surrounded him completely. Their magic was so finely honed, so precise, that Morvane felt as though every element of nature had conspired to restrain him. They had him at their mercy.

The leader of the Baltalahans, a towering figure draped in regal armor, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at the fallen prince. "You have caused enough trouble, Morvane. You thought you could return here without consequences?" His voice was low, but it carried a weight that seemed to settle heavily over Morvane’s chest.

The guards, each an expert in their elemental abilities, held their stances as they tightened their hold on him. Fire blazed in the air around him, water churned beneath his feet, and the winds whipped in a furious storm. He was no longer a fighter; he was nothing more than prey, held captive by the forces he had once controlled.

Morvane gritted his teeth, struggling against their restraints, but it was futile. The combined power of the Baltalahans was too much for him.

Vianna, still a few paces behind, pushed forward, her face a mixture of concern and disbelief. "Stop!" she shouted, her voice carrying authority. "He has already suffered enough. Let him go."

But the leader of the Baltalahans, his gaze hard and unyielding, did not budge. "The time for mercy has passed, Vianna. This traitor is a threat to Ketamran. He will be held accountable for his actions."

As he spoke, Medas appeared from the shadows, his face shadowed with an expression of unrelenting fury. His eyes locked on Morvane, and the pain of the earlier battle still lingered in his features. But there was no sign of mercy in his eyes, only cold disdain. "Take him. Now."

Morvane’s heart sank as the Baltalahans tightened their magical hold on him. He could feel their power pressing against him, suffocating him, and in that moment, it felt as if his fate had been sealed.

The Baltalahans held Morvane in their grasp, their magic wrapping around him like an unyielding vice. The water swirled around his legs, the wind tugged at his limbs, and the earth beneath him seemed to rise up, binding him even tighter. His shadow beast, once a powerful and loyal creature, was also restrained, held by the elemental forces of the Baltalahans.

Morvane could feel the power of his own strength slowly slipping away, the weight of the elemental magic pushing him deeper into the ground. His breath came in shallow gasps, his body exhausted from the battles he had fought—and from the intense power of Drace’s spirit, still swirling inside him.

With no other choice, Morvane’s eyes flared with raw, desperate energy. He lifted his head to the sky and shouted, his voice rising above the sound of the wind and the crackling fire. "You all will lose consciousness!"

The moment the words left his mouth, a surge of energy rippled from within him. A wave of shadow magic erupted, spiraling outward like a dark storm. It swept across the battlefield, moving like a tidal wave, overwhelming the Baltalahans one by one. The guards—so confident in their power—could not withstand the sheer force.

One by one, they dropped, their magic faltering as they collapsed to the ground, unconscious. The elemental forces they controlled dissipated as they fell, leaving only the remnants of their failed attack behind.

Medas watched in disbelief, his jaw tightening in fury. He knew what had just happened. He recognized the unmistakable power—the power of Drace, the kid who just died and who had a power that can manifest any bad things towards his enemies. This was the true strength of spiritbinding, the destructive force he could barely control. Medas had seen it before, but now, in this moment, it seemed so much more dangerous.

Morvane stood, his breathing heavy, sweat glistening on his forehead. He was exhausted, his body worn from the battle, but the power of Drace burned brightly within him. He could feel it calling to him, urging him to fight, to take back what had been stolen from him.

But Medas was far from done. His face contorted with rage, his fists clenched at his sides. "This is the last time I’m going to give you a chance," he growled, his voice low and filled with venom. "I will kill you now, Morvane. You are a threat to everything I’ve built."

Morvane didn’t have time to respond. Before he could gather his thoughts, Medas lunged forward with a speed that left him no room to react. His energy surged, and the air around him cracked with the intensity of his power. Medas was about to strike a fatal blow.

Then, just as Medas’s hand swung down toward Morvane, a deep, rumbling laugh echoed through the air, breaking the tension of the moment. A figure appeared from the shadows, stepping into the center of the battlefield with an air of confident amusement.

It was Drevon.

His laughter rang out again, filling the air with its mocking tone. "You Medas really think you’ve won?" Drevon’s voice was laced with amusement as he surveyed the scene. "How predictable. How utterly predictable."

Morvane blinked, his eyes widening as he saw the figure standing before him. Drevon, a figure of the demon who always shows up whenever he needs him, had always been a wildcard—an unpredictable force that had stirred trouble at every turn. But now, at this moment, he was here, and the uncertainty in the air only thickened.

Drevon tilted his head, eyeing Medas with a smirk. "Medas, my dear friend, this little play has gone on long enough. Don’t you think?"

Medas’s eyes narrowed. "Drevon," he hissed, his voice dripping with contempt. "What do you want now?"

Drevon’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I think it’s time for a change in direction. After all, you’ve had your fun, but it’s my turn now."

Drevon’s dark figure cast an imposing shadow across the battlefield as he raised his hand, and from the depths of the earth beneath them, black flames erupted. The air thickened with a suffocating heat as the flames twisted and contorted, dark tendrils of fire lashing out like serpents hungry for destruction.

Medas, never one to shy away from a challenge, met Drevon’s fiery assault head-on. His own powers surged forth, manipulating the very elements around him. Winds spiraled to life, feeding the flames he controlled, turning the atmosphere into a battlefield of chaos and destruction.

"Is that all you have?" Medas sneered, his eyes glowing with intensity. He thrust his hand forward, sending a blast of crushing wind toward Drevon’s flames. The two forces collided, causing an explosion of energy that rocked the earth beneath them. The ground cracked and shattered as both powers fought for dominance.

Drevon chuckled, his voice low and mocking. "I haven’t even begun."

With a flick of his wrist, the black flames morphed into a mass of dark energy, swirling and compressing into a single, concentrated ball of raw power. Without warning, he hurled it at Medas, the attack moving with a speed and intensity that left a trail of blackened smoke in its wake.

Medas quickly reacted, raising his hand to form a barrier of swirling wind and fire to intercept the attack. The explosion upon impact sent a shockwave that threw him back several paces, but he quickly regained his footing, his eyes fixed on Drevon with unwavering focus.

"You’ll have to do better than that," Medas growled, his body pulsing with the raw energy of the elements. He called upon the earth, causing the ground beneath him to tremble, and massive stone pillars shot upward, forming a protective shield around him.

But Drevon was already on the move, using his dark magic to propel himself forward with unnatural speed. He moved like a shadow, his black flames flaring wildly around him as he aimed another fiery barrage at Medas.

The two forces collided again in a violent burst of energy, the ground shattering beneath them, but neither Drevon nor Medas faltered. Their powers were evenly matched—one wielding the primal elements, the other the destructive might of black flame. The battle was a dance of light and dark, both forces creating a whirlwind of destruction around them, neither willing to give ground.

Morvane could only watch in awe as Drevon and Medas fought. The power they wielded was unlike anything he had ever seen. The intensity of their battle shook the very air, making it almost impossible for Morvane to concentrate on anything else.

Vianna, her body still sore from her earlier encounter with Medas, stood at a distance, her eyes filled with concern for Morvane. She knew that if the battle between Drevon and Medas continued, it would be a catastrophe for all of Ketamran. But she couldn’t intervene. Not yet.

As the two men clashed, each strike and counterstrike seemed to ripple through the air, sending waves of destruction in every direction. The ground trembled beneath them, and the sky above crackled with energy. Their battle was more than just a clash of power—it was a battle of ideologies, a fight for control over the fate of the kingdom.

Drevon’s black flames surged once again, his eyes filled with the promise of chaos. "This ends now, Medas."

Medas, not one to back down, smirked as he summoned a colossal windstorm to encircle himself, the air growing colder, sharper. "You’ll regret underestimating me."

The two forces met in a final, explosive clash, the very air vibrating with the force of their power. The ground beneath them buckled, the trees around them uprooted by the sheer force of their battle. And amidst the chaos, Morvane could feel the magic of Drace stir within him once more. Would he be able to fight alongside Drevon, or was this battle one that only Medas could win?