All Chapters of The Blood Bound Legacy: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

The roar of the Firstborn creatures tore across the sanctuary like a living wave. They moved with terrifying grace, shadows with jagged edges, mouths full of teeth too many for any natural being. Their bodies twisted in ways that defied logic, like they had never been meant to walk in a world bound by rules.I barely had time to raise a shield before the first impact hit. Magic flared around us, an unsteady wall of golden light. Maxwell was already at my side, slashing at the nearest creature, his blade singing as it cut into the darkness. But they weren’t easy to kill—every wound sealed almost immediately, the monsters adapting, growing stronger with each blow.“We can’t hold them!” Barin shouted from somewhere to my left, his arms coated in blood—some his, some not.Nima and Elara worked furiously at the boundary, their chants weaving more layers of protection, but the creatures shredded through them like paper. I knew it then. This wasn’t a battle we could win by brute strength.We

The aftermath should have felt like a victory. But it didn’t.The sanctuary lay broken, cracked from the battle, the magical veins of the earth still pulsing weakly underfoot. Smoke drifted lazily in the air, the tang of blood and burnt magic too thick to ignore. Survivors moved like ghosts, patching wounds, retrieving bodies.I sat on the cold stone steps of the ruined central hall, numb, staring at my shaking hands. Maxwell hovered close, never letting me drift too far, but giving me space I didn’t know how to fill.“What now?” Nima asked softly, kneeling beside me. Her face was grimy, streaked with dried blood, her eyes bruised from exhaustion.“Now?” I said the word hollow on my tongue. “Now we bury the dead. And we wait.”“For what?” Barin asked, joining us, cradling a broken arm against his chest.“For the next monster,” I said, without a shred of humor.Maxwell shifted, his body taut with tension. “They’ll come,” he said. “Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even next month. But the

Words in a language none of us had ever spoken but all understood.“Come home, Gatekeeper.”I stepped into the dark. And it welcomed me.Not with warmth but with recognition. The shadows curled around my boots, not pulling me down, but carrying me forward, a quiet reverence in their movement. It wasn’t a fall. It was a descent controlled, precise. As if this place had been expecting me all along.The world above vanished in an instant.No light, no sound. Just pressure. Like the air here had weight. Like memories were embedded in it. I felt them—fragments of thought, of pain, of sacrifice—all whispering around me like a thousand voices buried beneath layers of time. None loud enough to understand, but all too present to ignore.And then, just ahead, I saw it.A gate—not made of stone or metal, but pure energy. It pulsed like a living thing, veins of crimson and gold coursing across its surface. It wasn’t shut. It wasn’t open. It waited.“Gatekeeper,” a voice echoed, not around me, but

The light didn’t feel like light; it felt like time, memory, and pain crushed into radiance. My body felt like it was unraveling and reforming all at once. I hit something solid, air? A barrier? My knees buckled, but I caught myself. When I opened my eyes, everything was white. Endless, shifting white.And she was there. The other me.No longer a shadow. No longer a voice in my mind. She stood across from me, whole and real, dressed in a twisted version of my armor, darker, sleeker, with glowing cracks like magma splitting through iron. Her eyes were mine, but colder. Older. Tired in a terrifying way.She smiled, almost kindly. “Finally. Just us.”I took a slow step forward, trying to steady my breath. “This isn’t your world.”“It could be. You let me out,” she said, folding her arms. “You cracked the shell. You gave me your grief. Your rage. You didn’t lock me away, you fed me.”“You manipulated me,” I snapped.“I am you,” she said simply. “There was no manipulation. You wanted justi

Darkness. Not the absence of light, but a void—a silence that pressed against the skin, the mind, the soul.Lena stood alone in this nothingness, her breath the only sound. The world around her was undefined, a canvas awaiting form. Then, a flicker—a sharp and sudden memory.She was six years old, hiding beneath the staircase of her childhood home. Thunder rumbled outside, and the walls trembled with the echoes of raised voices. Her parents, locked in another argument, their words weapons that left invisible scars."You're never here!" her mother screamed."I work to keep this family afloat!" her father retorted.Lena clutched her stuffed rabbit, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wished for silence, peace, and the storm to pass outside and within.The scene shifted.Now, she was ten, standing in front of her school's principal. Her teacher had found her drawings—dark, twisted images of creatures that didn't belong in a child's imagination."Is there something you'd like to talk abo