Shadow Blood

The Stranger in the dark

The night felt heavier than usual.

The wind moved through the broken streets like something alive, slipping between abandoned buildings and shattered stone. The moon was thin—barely enough light to show the world properly—yet even in that dim glow, danger always found a way to see.

He ran.

His breathing was uneven now. Boots scraping against stone, heart hammering like it wanted out of his chest. Behind him—footsteps. Not random. Not lost.

Hunting.

“They’re still on me…” he muttered under his breath.

He didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The streets twisted into narrower paths, leading him deeper into the old district where no one dared to go at night. That should’ve been enough to lose them.

It wasn’t.

A blade sliced past his ear.

The air screamed before the metal did.

He ducked instantly, rolling forward as sparks exploded against the wall where his head had been. Three figures emerged from the darkness, their movements coordinated—trained.

Not ordinary thieves.

Assassins.

“You should’ve stayed down,” one of them said.

The main character clenched his fists. Blood Blood… he could feel it stirring inside him, reacting to danger. Warm. Restless. Unstable.

But he wasn’t ready to use it fully yet.

Not here. Not like this.

He lunged forward anyway.

One strike. Two.

Fast—but not enough.

A kick sent him crashing into the ground. Pain shot through his ribs. He coughed, forcing himself back up, but another assassin was already closing in.

This was it.

No space. No time.

Just—

A shadow moved.

Not like a person walking.

Like reality bending for a fraction of a second.

The assassin froze mid-step.

Then collapsed.

Silence followed.

The others turned instantly, confused.

“What—?”

Another shadow flashed.

A second body dropped without a sound.

The main character’s eyes widened. “What the—who’s there?!”

No answer.

Only movement.

Fast. Too fast to track properly. Like the darkness itself had learned how to fight.

One more attacker tried to swing blindly—but his arm was caught.

A voice finally spoke.

Calm. Low.

Almost bored.

“You’re loud for someone trying to survive.”

The last assassin fell to his knees.

Dead.

Everything went still.

The main character stood frozen, breathing hard, eyes scanning the darkness. Then he saw him.

A figure stepped forward from between two broken walls.

A hooded cloak.

Half his face hidden.

Pale scars running across his exposed hand like old lightning strikes.

And eyes—

Not just watching.

Analyzing.

Judging.

“You…” the main character said slowly, still tense. “Who are you?”

The stranger tilted his head slightly.

As if the question itself was unimportant.

“Someone who arrived a little too early,” he replied.

That didn’t make sense.

Nothing about him did.

The main character stepped forward carefully. “You killed them.”

“It was necessary.”

“Why help me?”

A pause.

For the first time, the stranger looked away—toward the rooftops, the empty sky above the broken city.

“I didn’t say I was helping you,” he said quietly.

Silence again.

Then he turned back.

“Tell me,” he added, voice lower now, “how long have you been carrying that power without understanding it?”

The main character’s body stiffened.

“How do you—”

But when he looked again—

The stranger was already gone.

No footsteps.

No sound.

No trace at all.

Only the bodies remained… and a strange pressure in the air, like something far larger had briefly passed through the world.

The main character stood alone in the dark street, fists clenched, heart still racing.

“…I didn’t even see him leave.”

Above him, somewhere in the shadows of the rooftops, unseen eyes watched once more.

Then vanished into the night.