Elric lay motionless, his breath shallow as he listened to the faint hum of activity around him. The pressure of the shadows constricting his body made it difficult to move, but his mind raced, trying to assess the situation. The moment the shadowy tendril had coiled around him, he knew this opponent was unlike any of the others. The smugglers had been easy to read, men hardened by desperation and survival, but this shadow manipulator was different—far more dangerous, a Rank 2 with abilities far beyond what Elric had encountered.
The looming figure with shadow manipulation stood tall, his face obscured beneath a hood. His posture, however, conveyed cold certainty. The smuggled cargo, now laying to the side in a row of crates, gleamed faintly under the sparse light, almost mocking Elric's efforts. It was so close, and yet far from his grasp.
"You're quick," the shadow man's voice was calm, his words dripping with cold detachment. "But this isn't your game, boy. You should've walked away."
The shadowy tendrils holding Elric's arms and legs tightened ever so slightly, the force of the constriction painful but not enough to crush him. He could feel the man's confidence, the assumption that this battle was already won. That arrogance might just be Elric's saving grace.
He needed a way out, and fast. His system pulsed at the back of his mind, the familiar menu lurking like a weapon he couldn't reveal yet. Not openly. The shadow manipulator didn't know what Elric was capable of, and he intended to keep it that way. For now.
His body remained still, but his mind worked furiously. The cargo was of immense value; Marlow had made that much clear. Whatever was inside those crates was worth risking lives for, but now it was clear that someone else had caught wind of the operation. This wasn't just a simple delivery—it was a death trap. If Elric didn't escape, everything he'd built up to this point would be for nothing.
The shadows coiled tighter, and Elric shifted just enough to gauge his surroundings. The alley was narrow, bordered by decaying buildings that once stood tall but now crumbled under years of neglect. The perfect place for an ambush. His captor had chosen well, cutting off any escape route except for the rooftops above—if Elric could get free.
The system menu flickered in his mind's eye, awaiting his command. Spark of Burning Blood might help, but it wouldn't be enough against the shadows alone. His Healing Blood talent wouldn't save him if the fight turned lethal. He needed something else, something precise.
A plan began to form. He couldn't overpower the shadow man—not directly—but he could outthink him. Elric let his body relax just a fraction, slowing his breathing, buying time. The tension in the air thickened as the shadow man leaned forward, a gloved hand reaching for one of the crates.
Elric's eyes narrowed. If the man got his hands on the cargo, it would all be over.
With a sharp mental command, Elric summoned the smallest flicker of his Spark of Burning Blood. The crimson-hued flame surged through his veins, igniting the blood near his skin and sending a controlled wave of heat to one of the shadowy tendrils binding his ankle. The flame was weak, barely more than a pulse of energy, but it did its job—the shadows loosened just enough for Elric to shift his weight.
The shadow manipulator didn't notice at first, his attention focused on the crates. But as Elric rolled, using the momentary slack to his advantage, the man's head snapped up. His eyes, hidden beneath the hood, locked onto Elric with a sudden realization.
"You're persistent," the man growled, his voice low and dangerous. The shadows writhed in response, coiling tighter around Elric's arms and legs.
But Elric didn't hesitate. With a sharp twist, he wrenched his body free from the tendrils' grip, rolling toward the nearest crate. His muscles burned from the effort, and his breath came in shallow gasps, but he was free. His fingers grazed the side of the crate, and with a final push, he heaved the lid off, revealing the precious cargo inside.
Inside, he found sleek metallic components, their surfaces gleaming faintly in the dim light. This wasn't simple contraband. This was high-tech—military-grade tech, by the looks of it.
Elric didn't have time to think. He grabbed one of the smaller pieces, a rectangular device with intricate circuitry etched into its surface, and shoved it into his pack. He knew he couldn't take everything—the crates were too heavy to carry, and he wasn't about to fight the shadow man over them. But the piece he'd grabbed might be enough to fulfill his part of the bargain with Marlow.
A tendril lashed out toward him, but Elric was ready this time. He dodged to the side, his movements fluid and sharp. He bolted toward the nearest wall, eyes fixed on the rusted fire escape leading to the rooftops above.
"Running won't save you!" The shadow man's voice rang out, laced with fury. His hands flicked forward, and the shadows followed, snaking up the walls toward Elric.
Elric's fingers gripped the cold metal of the fire escape, and he pulled himself upward, moving with the desperation of someone who knew their life depended on every second. The metal creaked ominously beneath his weight, but he didn't slow down. He climbed higher, his muscles screaming in protest, until he finally reached the rooftop.
From above, the city stretched out in all directions, a maze of decaying buildings and forgotten streets. The cold night air stung his face, but Elric didn't stop to catch his breath. He could hear the shadows moving below, like a predator tracking its prey. The man was relentless, but Elric had an advantage now—he knew the rooftops. The city may have been rotting, but he'd spent years memorizing its streets and alleys.
He sprinted across the rooftop, his footsteps barely audible against the crumbling concrete. His mind raced, calculating the next move. He needed to put as much distance between himself and the shadow man as possible, and then figure out how to get back to the city's safety zones.
The rooftop led to another, and then another, the gap between buildings just wide enough for Elric to leap across. His legs burned, but he kept going, every step taking him further from the danger below. He could still feel the presence of the shadow man behind him, but the distance was growing. Elric had the upper hand now, and he wasn't about to lose it.
Finally, after what felt like hours of running, he found an opening—a narrow alley that led back to a more populated sector of the city. He dropped down into the alley, landing softly on the ground, and pressed himself against the wall, listening.
Silence.
For now, he was safe.
Elric allowed himself a moment to breathe, his chest rising and falling with the exertion of the chase. He reached into his pack, pulling out the device he had taken from the crate. It was small, unassuming at first glance, but Elric knew better. This was no ordinary tech. Whatever it was, it was valuable enough to kill for—and he had it.
His mind raced with possibilities. Who was the shadow man working for? Why was this cargo so important? And what exactly had Marlow gotten him into?
The weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, but Elric pushed the thoughts aside. He had the device, and he had escaped—for now. But this was far from over.
With one last glance around the alley, Elric tucked the device back into his pack and slipped into the shadows of the city. The game had just begun, and Elric intended to win.
End of Chapter Eleven