NOVEL NEXT Chapter 55: shadow within shadow
Under the vast expanse of the dark galaxy, the district hummed with life. A cacophony of chatter filled the air as people moved in a thousand directions, their faces illuminated by the soft, flickering light of street lamps that lined the bustling pathways. Nyxander and Beorn walked the labyrinthine walkways, their boots pressing against cobblestones polished by the tread of countless feet.
The duo maneuvered through narrow alleys cloaked in shadows, their sharp eyes scanning every corner. Occasionally, they leaped onto the rooftops, surveying the lively streets below, their senses tuned to every murmur and motion.
At times, a sudden noise, a sharp yell or an echoing clang, would break the rhythm of the night, propelling them into action. They darted toward the source, their steps swift and deliberate, only to find the streets safe once more. Now, perched atop a towering building, the two finally paused to catch their breath.
Beorn leaned back on his arms, his face tilted toward the celestial expanse, the stars above like scattered jewels glinting in the abyss. "Ah, finally, a break," he exhaled, his words carried on a gust of heavy breaths. Sweat glistened on his brow as he turned to Nyxander, whose gaze remained fixed on the rivers of people below.
"Do you even get tired?" Beorn asked between labored breaths, his voice tinged with both exasperation and admiration.
Nyxander turned his head swiftly, his expression unreadable. "Me?" He paused, as though the thought required careful consideration. "Sure, I do," he said finally, nodding slowly, his words carrying a strange calmness.
As silence settled, it was broken by the unmistakable growl of Beorn's stomach. He chuckled awkwardly, rising to his feet and dusting his trousers. "Nyxander, why don't we grab something to eat?"
Nyxander tilted his head slightly, his serene face meeting Beorn's curious gaze. "I'm fine. Not feeling the need."
Beorn frowned slightly, misinterpreting the reason. "You don't have to feel burdened, you know. We're on break. It's okay to let your guard down for a moment," he said, his tone gentle, almost reassuring.
Nyxander offered a faint smile, shaking his head. "That's not it. Have you forgotten? I came straight from a restaurant when we met earlier." His words danced lightly, concealing the truth he kept buried, that his body required no sustenance.
"Alright, then," Beorn replied, shrugging as he strode toward the roof's edge. "I'll leave you to watch over the area. Don't hesitate to call if something comes up."
"Take your time," Nyxander said, his voice steady as Beorn leaped gracefully off the roof, disappearing into the vibrant streets below.
Left alone, Nyxander's gaze wandered once more to the bustling scene below. Yet his mind was not on the present. Slowly, his thoughts drifted to distant memories, his home, his family, and his friends, each face and moment flashing through his mind like fragments of a dream.
But the reverie was short-lived. A faint murmur reached his ears, carried on the stillness of the night like a ghostly whisper. His head snapped up instinctively, his sharp senses catching the disturbance from the northwest. "Hmm," he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. His eyes narrowed, honing in on the source of the sound.
The noise persisted, a distant hum that grew sharper, emanating unmistakably from the direction of the Astro Station. Nyxander's stance shifted as his instincts surged. "Nullpoint," he called softly, his tone firm.
At once, a dark, liquid-like fabric began to ripple and morph across his blue uniform, flowing seamlessly over his body. The material coalesced into a sleek, dark grey suit, its design fitting and precise, a hood forming at the back and rising to cover his head. A mask emerged from the hood, shrouding his nose and mouth, rendering his presence a shadow among shadows.
Empowered by Nullpoint's ability to erase his presence, Nyxander moved with purpose, his steps light and precise as he leaped from rooftop to rooftop, the city below unaware of his passage. The murmurs grew louder, more distinct, as though the very air carried their urgency. Nyxander's form blurred against the night, a shadow streaking through the skyline, closing in on the source of the disturbance like a predator hunting its prey.
After minutes of weaving through the air with precise agility, Nyxander bounded across rooftops like a silent shadow. He crossed the borders of the Aqua Astro Station, skimmed over the grandiose North Astro Lord Hall, and finally approached the Gravity Astro Station. His form remained imperceptible, cloaked by Nullpoint's ability, his presence a whisper in the dark. Landing on the rooftop nearest the commotion, he crouched low, his sharp eyes scanning the scene below.
The scene that met his eyes was a grotesque performance of cruelty. Two thugs stood with menacing nonchalance, their bald heads gleaming under the dim light like polished steel. Their exposed chests bore the scars of countless battles, twisted emblems of violence etched into their flesh. Jagged blue trousers hung low on their hips, the frayed cuffs swaying as they shifted their weight. In their left hands, they clutched four kitchen knives, the blades glinting dully, while in their right, a single knife danced, flipping back and forth in a mockery of control.
Before them, three captives knelt on the cold, unforgiving ground, two men and a woman. Their trembling forms bore the weight of water-filled pots perched precariously on their heads, each drop a testament to the injustice weighing down their spirits. The shattered remains of pots littered the ground, their jagged edges glinting like fallen stars, water pooling beneath them like tears shed in silence. An old man stood nearby, his hunched figure dwarfed by a cart laden with fresh pots, a silent witness to the cycle of torment.
A ring of onlookers surrounded the scene, their faces etched with helplessness and fear. Their murmurs hung in the air like a dirge, each word a lament for the captives whose suffering they could not halt.
"Please, give us a chance! We'll repay you, handsomely!" one of the men cried out, his voice cracking as blood trickled from a fresh wound on his forehead. His words, desperate and raw, fell like pebbles into a well of cruelty.
"Pay us? You're already paying!" sneered the thug to the left, his tone dripping with derision. Their laughter exploded, coarse and grating, their fingers pointing mockingly at the trembling captives.
The woman faltered, her pot trembling on the verge of collapse. "Oh, oh! Don't let it fall!" the thug on the left jeered, his voice a whip of mockery.
"I've scored three times now! You've only managed one!"
"Too early to gloat!" the other retorted, flipping his knife into a throwing position. He raised the blade, his movements deliberate, his aim fixed on the fragile balance atop the woman's head.
Nyxander moved before the blade could fly. With a sharp leap, he descended like a predator from the sky, his form slicing through the air. His foot connected with the back of the left thug's head, the impact sending the man into an involuntary somersault before he crashed to the ground, a heap of defeated arrogance.
Nyxander landed in a squat, his posture composed, his back turned to the second thug. The remaining brute hesitated only briefly, his instincts sharp. Flipping his knife to a firmer grip, he swung it downward in a vicious arc, the blade aimed for Nyxander's nape.
The knife shattered on impact, its fragments scattering like broken dreams. Nyxander turned, his hand shooting out to seize the thug's arm in an unyielding grip. With a single, powerful motion, he hoisted the man off the ground and slammed him down, the force reverberating through the street like a thunderclap.
Amidst the chaos, the leader of the thugs stirred. Seated by the pot-laden cart, he rose slowly, his calculating gaze fixed on the scene. Beside him, a massive blade jutted from the ground, its hilt gleaming ominously. In his other hand, a heavy sack of coins dangled, its weight symbolic of the blood he had wrung from others.
Moving with the stealth of a serpent, the leader blended into the crowd, his presence a shadow slipping through the cracks of fear. The onlookers, cowed by his aura, stepped back instinctively, their fear complicit in his escape.
Closing the distance to Nyxander, the leader leaped into the air, his massive blade raised high. The crowd gasped as the air seemed to tighten around them, the tension crackling like a storm about to break. Nyxander turned, sensing the disturbance behind him, but his instincts, sharp as they were, failed to register the impending strike as a true threat.
Before the blade could descend, a blur of motion streaked past Nyxander. A swift figure intercepted the thug mid-air, slamming him to the ground with bone-shaking force. The sack of coins was wrenched from his grasp, and a well-placed kick sent his blade clattering harmlessly aside.
The crowd gasped, their collective breath caught in awe and disbelief. Hands flew to mouths as they watched the scene unfold, their fear momentarily eclipsed by the sheer, unrelenting power of the shadowy savior who had materialized before their eyes.