Chapter 2: The Shadows Strike
Adam's chest burned as he ran through the empty streets, every nerve on fire. The fleeting calm of the previous moment had vanished. The shadows weren't gone—they were everywhere, stretching from walls, crawling over streetlights, pooling into shapes that seemed almost human but moved like liquid night.
He skidded around a corner and froze. Ahead, a shadow figure hovered midair, its edges flickering like smoke in the wind. Its glowing eyes fixed on him. Adam wanted to scream, but the sound caught in his throat. Every instinct told him to flee, yet his legs refused to obey.
The shadow lunged. Fast. Terrifying. Adam rolled to the side, feeling the cold air of the creature brush against his skin. Behind him, more shadows emerged from the alleys, merging into a writhing mass. Their whispers grew louder, words he couldn't comprehend, yet every syllable made his bones ache with fear.
He reached a small square, a faint streetlamp illuminating cracked pavement. His own shadow clung to him—but now it wasn't following. It moved independently, stretching, crouching, ready to attack. Adam realized with horror that it had joined them. It wasn't just a shadow anymore. It was alive.
"Stay back!" he yelled, waving his arms. The shadows paused, as if amused. Then, without warning, tendrils of darkness shot out, curling around the lamp post, the benches, the edges of the square. They hissed, like air escaping a wound, and Adam felt the heat of their intent, the hunger radiating from the darkness.
He dashed into a narrow alley, hoping to lose them. The walls closed in as shadows poured from the cracks in the bricks. One reached for his ankle. Adam stomped, kicked, twisted—but it only laughed in silence, a chilling vibration through the air.
Suddenly, a memory flickered in his mind: stories his grandmother told him about the "Night Without Shadows," an ancient curse that could make darkness live. He had laughed at it as a child. Now, every word of those tales felt real. And he was living it.
Adam skidded to a dead-end. The shadows had him trapped. Their shapes writhed, eyes gleaming, edges sharp like knives. Panic surged, but in the back of his mind, a spark of determination ignited. He couldn't run forever. He needed to understand them, to find their origin—or he wouldn't survive the night.
A cold whisper brushed his ear:
"You belong to us now… Adam."
He spun around. The shadows advanced, faster than ever. His own shadow detached completely, stretching like a serpent ready to strike. Adam's heart hammered. Somewhere deep in the darkness, he felt a presence, waiting, intelligent, patient. And in that moment, he understood: the night was no longer just dark—it was alive.
Adam raised his hands, trembling, and whispered to himself:
"I won't let you take me… not tonight."
The shadows surged forward.