Wednesday:Shadowbound

The night had not been kind to Adrian. The optimism that had sparked his steps at dusk was now a distant memory, smothered by the unforgiving embrace of the forest. Branches clawed at his skin like desperate fingers, unseen rocks and roots conspired against his footing, and the whispers of the shadows had grown cryptic, almost taunting. Sleep had eluded him, replaced by a restless vigilance that kept him moving deeper into the oppressive darkness.

Every step forward was a battle against exhaustion and the sinister allure of the shadows. The forest seemed alive, each rustle and snap a reminder that he was never truly alone. Memories of the orphanage, Matron Shaw's harsh words, and the shadows' unyielding presence swirled in his mind, blending with the night's eerie sounds.

Adrian's resolve hardened with each passing hour. Fear tried to claw its way into his thoughts, but determination forged a path through the turmoil. He wasn't just escaping; he was searching—for answers, for purpose, for something beyond the darkness that had consumed his life.

By the time dawn bled into the sky, painting it in hues of pink and gold, Adrian stumbled out of the treeline, shoes caked with mud and his breath short. The road ahead was narrow and cracked, cutting through the silence like a scar. His hands trembled at his sides, muscles aching, but he couldn't stop moving. He didn't dare.

A low rumble cut through the morning stillness—a pickup truck crawling along the road like it had seen better days. Adrian raised a hand, more out of instinct than hope. The truck slowed, its engine rattling, before sputtering to a halt next to him.

Behind the wheel was a man who looked like he'd been carved out of rough wood: gray beard, thick forearms, and eyes that were as suspicious as they were tired. He gave Adrian a once-over, the kind of look you give a stray dog you're deciding whether to kick or feed.

"You lost, kid?" the man grunted, though it sounded less like a question and more like a warning.

Adrian hesitated. His throat felt raw, and his mind was still swimming in the fog of whatever the hell had happened to him the night before. Was he lost? He wasn't sure anymore. "Yeah, something like that," he croaked, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. "Is there a town nearby?"

The man squinted at him, the lines in his face deepening. For a moment, it seemed like he might drive off. But then he sighed, jerking his thumb toward the back of the truck. "Couple miles down the road. Hop in if you're not a psycho. I ain't got all day."

Adrian clambered into the truck bed, wincing as his sore muscles protested. The truck lurched forward before he had fully settled, throwing him against the rusty toolbox. He clenched his teeth, bracing himself against the sharp wind. The countryside blurred past in muted colors—fields, old fences, the sky getting lighter by the second.

His mind was elsewhere, though. The dagger. The memory of it cutting through his flesh should have been the end of him. It should've killed me. But instead... here he was, alive. More than alive, maybe. He didn't understand it, but the shadows... they felt different now, quieter. Not gone, just waiting. Watching.

The truck rattled to a stop, jerking him back to reality. "End of the line," the driver barked from the cab.

Adrian hopped down, landing on cracked asphalt. He nodded a silent thanks, but the driver was already pulling away, dust and exhaust swirling in his wake.

The town ahead of him was the definition of forgotten. Weathered buildings sagged against each other like they were holding each other up. The gas station on the corner had long since stopped advertising prices, and the lone diner looked like it hadn't been touched since Eisenhower was in office. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in—God, he didn't even know how long.

The bell above the diner door jingled as he stepped inside. The smell of bacon and stale coffee hit him like a warm blanket, but the tired eyes of the waitress behind the counter told a different story. She looked like she'd been awake too long, her face set in that practiced smile that doesn't quite reach the eyes.

"Seat yourself, hun," she said, her voice rough like gravel, but not unkind.

Adrian slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl sticky under his hands. He picked up a menu, though his mind wasn't really on food. His wallet was nearly empty. He settled on coffee. When the waitress shuffled over, he didn't bother looking up.

"Just coffee," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Black."

She poured it and left without a word, which was fine by him. His thoughts were a mess, pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit. He sipped the coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste, then noticed an old newspaper folded on the next table. He reached for it, flipping it open out of boredom. His eyes landed on the date.

June 12, 2016.

He froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. No. That can't be right. His last memory—before the dagger—was from 2011. Five years...

He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing, but it wasn't working. The edges of the room felt too sharp, too bright, and his pulse quickened as if the walls were closing in on him.

"Refill?"

The waitress was back, holding the pot of coffee like it was the only thing tethering her to this world. He barely noticed.

"Sorry," he started, his voice shaky. "What year did you say it was?"

She gave him a strange look, halfway between pity and suspicion. "You okay, hun? You hit your head or something?"

Adrian forced a smile, though it felt all wrong on his face. "Just... humor me."

Her eyes narrowed, but she sighed and shrugged. "It's 2016."

The words hit him like a gut punch. He stared at her, the coffee suddenly tasting like ash in his mouth. He nodded, swallowing the rising panic as best he could. "Right," he muttered. "Thanks."

She gave him one last weird look before moving on, but Adrian barely noticed her leave. His mind was racing. Five years. Five years, gone. Just like that. His hands shook slightly as he set down the cup, the sound of porcelain on wood too loud in the empty diner.

He had to get out of there. The moment he stepped outside, the sunlight seemed too harsh, too real. The shadows from the buildings stretched long and thin, creeping toward him in ways that didn't make sense. He could feel them, tugging at him, like they knew him. Like they wanted something from him.

"What's happening to me?" he whispered to no one, rubbing his temples, trying to block out the headache that had been building since the diner.

Out of the corner of his eye, something flickered. He turned, staring at the alley between the diner and the hardware store. The shadows there weren't normal—they writhed, deepened, swallowing the light in a way that made his skin crawl. He knew better than to walk toward it, but something... something pulled at him.

Run. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to turn away, but his feet didn't listen. They carried him toward the alley, his breath coming faster, his hands shaking as he stepped into the darkness. The world beyond the alley faded, the sound of the street disappearing like someone had flipped a switch.

The shadows coiled around him, pressing in like a suffocating blanket. His chest tightened as the darkness wrapped around him. He tried to scream, but the air was thick and heavy in his throat. Just when he thought it would crush him, it let go.

He stumbled, gasping for breath. His hands slapped against cold stone—he wasn't in the alley anymore. The air smelled of salt and diesel. Adrian blinked, disoriented, his heart racing. He was in the middle of a bustling street now—vendors shouted in a language he didn't recognize, the sounds chaotic, unfamiliar.

"Where the hell am I?" he muttered under his breath, looking around in disbelief.

A wave of dizziness washed over him. He pressed a hand to his temple, the coolness of his fingers a stark contrast to the feverish heat beneath his skin. Focus, Adrian. But his thoughts were a tangled web, ensnared by the whispers that began to seep into his consciousness.

The shadows at his feet stirred, almost imperceptibly, like ink spreading through water. They pulsed with a subtle rhythm, aligning with the frantic beating of his heart. Then, softly at first but growing in intensity, they began to whisper—not in words, but in sensations, impressions. Images flashed behind his eyes: towering skyscrapers piercing a smog-laden sky, a river snaking through a metropolis, throngs of people moving like currents.

He blinked, and the swirling haze in his mind coalesced into clarity. Shanghai. The name surfaced from the depths of his memory—or was it implanted there? He couldn't tell. The realization settled over him like a shroud. He was in Shanghai, thousands of miles from where he'd been moments ago.

But how?

A vendor shouted nearby, his call sharp and melodic. "小笼包,新鲜出炉!" Adrian understood the words instantly: "Fresh dumplings, just out of the steamer!" His eyes widened. He didn't speak Mandarin. He'd never even studied it. And yet, the language unfolded in his mind as naturally as his own.

Panic gnawed at the edges of his mind, relentless. The shadows weren't just clinging to him—they were invading, creeping into his thoughts like oil spreading through water, tainting everything they touched. They fed him what he needed, but it was forceful, invasive, knowledge slipping into his brain like a slow-acting poison, corrupting his sense of self with every drop.

//=//

The streets of Shanghai were alive with motion—vendors calling out, the buzz of motorcycles weaving through traffic, and the endless hum of neon lights. But to Adrian, it all felt distant, a backdrop to the pounding in his chest. He was lost, not just in the city, but in himself.

His hands shook as he shoved them into his pockets, his mind racing. What's happening to me? The shadows that had swallowed him moments ago still clung to his skin, like an invisible weight pulling at the edges of his consciousness. He could feel them, always there, waiting. Watching.

He had to focus. Get a grip. He was about to cross the street when a scream cut through the noise, sharp and panicked. He froze, his blood running cold.

A woman was being dragged into an alley, her voice rising in terror. Adrian's eyes darted to the source—a hulking figure shrouded in darkness, its shape unnatural, twisted, moving with a jerky, unsettling rhythm. It wasn't human. It couldn't be.

Without thinking, Adrian's feet carried him forward, his heart slamming in his chest. Don't be a hero. You don't know what that thing is. But some deeper instinct drove him, something beyond reason or fear.

The alley was narrow and stank of rotting garbage. The woman's cries were muffled now, choked with terror. The creature loomed over her, its long, sinewy limbs encircling her body like ropes. Its face—if it could be called a face—was a grotesque mask of leathery skin, no eyes, just a mouth full of jagged, needle-like teeth.

Adrian's breath caught in his throat. What the hell is that?

The woman thrashed weakly in the creature's grasp, her eyes wide with terror. Adrian had no weapons, no plan, but something stirred within him—a pulse, deep and dark, like the shadows at his feet were coming alive.

"Hey!" he shouted, his voice rough and unsure, but it caught the creature's attention. It turned its head toward him, its neck cracking as it moved, the sound like old wood snapping.

The thing let out a low growl, a sound that crawled up Adrian's spine like ice. It released the woman, letting her collapse to the ground, and straightened to its full height—at least seven feet tall, its limbs too long, too thin, moving in jerky, unnatural motions.

Adrian stepped back instinctively, his mind screaming at him to run. But she's still there. The woman, barely conscious, whimpered, trying to crawl away.

The creature's mouth twisted into something like a smile, and it lunged.

Adrian barely had time to react. He threw up his hands, but something strange happened. The shadows around him moved—rushed to his aid like they had a mind of their own. They coiled and stretched, forming a barrier of darkness between him and the creature. The thing slammed into it with a heavy thud, snarling in frustration.

Adrian stared, wide-eyed, as the shadows pulsed around him, like they were waiting for his command. He didn't understand it, but there was no time for questions.

"Okay... okay, you want to do this?" Adrian muttered to himself, his heart pounding. His hands moved instinctively, and the shadows responded, coalescing in his grasp. A weapon took shape—a long, curved blade made entirely of darkness, its edge gleaming like polished obsidian.

The creature lunged again, faster this time. Adrian swung the shadow blade, slicing through the air. The blade caught the creature across its chest, leaving a deep, black gash that oozed something dark and oily. The thing shrieked, a high-pitched, inhuman sound that made Adrian's teeth ache.

He pressed forward, slashing again, but the creature was faster now. It dodged to the side, its long claws raking across Adrian's arm. Pain exploded up his shoulder—hot, searing pain that made his vision blur for a second. Blood dripped from his arm, but he didn't have time to think about it.

The creature circled him, snarling, its movements unnervingly quick for something so large. Adrian's breath came in ragged gasps, his heart hammering in his chest. He wasn't a fighter. He wasn't a hero. What the hell am I doing?

But the shadows seemed to guide him, moving with him, forming a shield when he needed it, a weapon when he reached for it. They knew what to do, even if he didn't.

The woman moaned weakly from the ground, her voice barely a whisper now. Adrian's gaze flicked to her—just a second, a moment too long—and the creature seized its chance. It lunged at him, claws outstretched.

The shadows reacted, but not fast enough. The creature's claws slashed across his chest, cutting deep. Adrian staggered back, choking on a gasp as white-hot pain tore through him. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, blood spilling onto the dirty pavement. The world tilted, spinning.

No, no, no—

The creature loomed over him, its mouth twisted into that grotesque smile. Adrian tried to move, tried to get his hands to obey, but his body felt heavy, too heavy. His vision blurred, the edges of the world going dark. He could hear the woman's soft sobs, but they sounded far away.

He was going to die. This is it.

The creature pounced, its claws raised high, gleaming in the dim light. Adrian tried to scream, but the sound was strangled in his throat. The claws came down—

And everything went black.

For a moment, there was nothing. No pain. No sound. Just darkness. It was peaceful, in a strange way, like sinking into a deep, endless void. Is this what death feels like?

But then—something stirred. A pulse, deep and slow, thrumming through the darkness. Adrian's consciousness flickered, like a flame caught in a breeze. And with the pulse came a voice. Not words, exactly, but a feeling, an awareness, something ancient and cold. The shadows—they were alive. And they weren't done with him yet.

Adrian's eyes snapped open. He was still on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. The creature stood over him, its claws still buried in his chest. But he wasn't dead. I'm not dead.

The creature pulled back, confused, its head tilting to one side as it stared at him with those empty, eyeless sockets. Adrian could feel the wound in his chest, but it wasn't... right. The pain was fading, the edges of the wound knitting themselves back together, dark tendrils of shadow weaving through his flesh like threads. He stared, wide-eyed, as the wound sealed itself, leaving only a faint scar.

"What...?" Adrian whispered, his voice shaky. He pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling. The creature hissed, furious, but also wary now. It had seen him die—or at least, it had thought it did.

The shadows surged around Adrian, coiling at his feet like eager animals. He flexed his fingers, and the darkness responded, forming a new weapon—a spear this time, long and sharp, its point glistening with the same oily blackness as the creature's blood.

"I don't know what the hell I am," Adrian muttered, his voice low and cold. "But you're not walking away from this."

The creature lunged again, but this time, Adrian was ready. He spun the spear in his hands, the shadows moving with him, faster, sharper. He thrust the spear forward, and it found its mark, piercing through the creature's chest with a sickening crunch. The thing screeched, thrashing wildly, but Adrian held firm.

The shadows pulsed through him, powerful, alive. He twisted the spear, and the creature let out one last, ear-splitting scream before dissolving into a cloud of dark mist, its form unraveling in the air like smoke.

Adrian staggered back, panting, his hands shaking. The spear dissolved in his grip, fading back into the shadows at his feet. He looked down at himself—his blood-soaked shirt, the faint scar where the creature's claws had torn into him. I should be dead.

The woman whimpered from the ground, and Adrian moved toward her, his legs still unsteady. He crouched beside her, his hands gentle as he helped her sit up.

"You're... you're okay," he said, though the words felt hollow. She stared at him with wide, terrified eyes, her breath coming in short gasps.

"What are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Adrian didn't have an answer. He wasn't sure he wanted one. His chest was still tight with the phantom pain of the wounds that had knitted themselves back together. His breath came in uneven gulps, and the world felt different, distant, like he was a step removed from it all. The woman trembled in his arms, her skin cold to the touch. But he couldn't offer her comfort—not when he didn't know if he was even human anymore.

"I… I don't know," he finally muttered, his voice thick, feeling the weight of those words press down on him. His gaze flicked toward the shadows pooling around his feet, twisting, almost alive. They hummed, a steady pulse deep within his bones. They responded to him, but what he couldn't shake was the unsettling truth that they had acted before he had even understood what was happening.

The woman sobbed softly, drawing Adrian back to the present. She was still shaking, clutching his arm as though letting go might mean falling back into the darkness that nearly claimed her.

"You're safe now," he said, though his words felt as empty as the cold street around them. She nodded slowly, unable to tear her eyes away from the place where the creature had dissolved into nothing.

Sirens echoed faintly in the distance—Shanghai's authorities, finally catching up to the chaos. I need to go. Adrian stood, helping her to her feet. "Go to them. You'll be alright," he said, his voice soft, but firm. She looked at him with wide, haunted eyes but didn't argue, stumbling toward the approaching police lights as though they might offer sanctuary.

Adrian, however, knew better. There was no sanctuary for him. Not anymore...

//=//

He watched the woman stumble toward the flashing police lights, her silhouette swallowed by the neon haze of Shanghai's streets. The distant sirens wailed—a symphony of chaos he was no longer part of. He stood alone in the alley, shadows coiling around him like living armor, their whispers now a familiar hum in the back of his mind.

He glanced down at his torn, blood-soaked shirt, fingers tracing the faint scar where the creature's claws had torn him open. "Well, that's one way to test out immortality," he muttered dryly, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

The shadows pulsed, mirroring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. They were no longer just lurking at the edges of his vision; they were an extension of him, responding to his every thought. He felt a strange kinship with them—a dark comfort that settled into his bones.

"Looks like we're stuck with each other," he said to the darkness, his tone laced with sardonic amusement. "Might as well make the most of it."

A flicker of movement caught his eye—a distorted reflection in a puddle, the silhouette of something not quite human slipping between the rooftops. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "More of you, huh? Can't say I'm surprised."

He rolled his shoulders, the tension easing as he embraced the power thrumming beneath his skin. The old Adrian might have run, confused and afraid, but that version of himself had died in this very alley. Whatever he was now, he intended to find out on his own terms.

"Alright then," he called out, his voice echoing off the narrow walls. "If you want a dance, let's make it a good one."

From the depths of the alley, a low growl resonated—a challenge accepted. The shadows around him thickened, shaping themselves into a sleek, obsidian blade that felt right in his grasp. He twirled it effortlessly, the weight as natural as if it had always been there.

"You know," he mused aloud, "I was having a pretty dull day until you showed up. So really, thanks for that."

A figure emerged from the darkness—a creature similar to the one he'd just defeated, its eyeless face fixed on him. It hesitated, perhaps sensing the change in him, or the confident ease with which he held his weapon.

"What's the matter?" Adrian taunted, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Second thoughts?"

The creature lunged, but this time, Adrian was faster. He sidestepped with inhuman grace, the shadows propelling his movements. "Too slow," he remarked, bringing the blade down in a swift arc that severed the creature's arm. It screeched, a sound that might have unnerved him before, but now only fueled his resolve.

"Sorry, but I've got places to be," he said coolly. "And you're not on the guest list."

With a final, decisive strike, he dispatched the creature, its form dissolving into wisps of darkness that the shadows eagerly absorbed. He stood there for a moment, the alley silent once more save for the distant sounds of the city.

Adrian exhaled slowly, the adrenaline fading but the exhilaration lingering. The shadows receded slightly, still present but no longer enveloping him. He sheathed the blade—though there was no sheath to be seen—and shoved his hands casually into his pockets.

"Shanghai's lovely this time of year," he quipped to himself, stepping out of the alley and into the thrumming heartbeat of the city. The crowds parted around him, oblivious to the battle that had just unfolded mere feet away.

He moved with purpose now, a man on a mission, though the details were still hazy. Find out who—or what—was sending these creatures. Discover the extent of his new abilities. And maybe, just maybe, get some real answers about the shadows that had claimed him, not just half-truths from a lying witch.

A vendor shouted nearby, the aroma of street food wafting through the air. Adrian's stomach rumbled, reminding him that immortality—or whatever this was—didn't stave off hunger.

He approached the stall, the vendor eyeing him warily. "您想要点什么?" the man asked.

Adrian smirked, the language once again unfolding effortlessly in his mind. "两串烤肉,谢谢," he replied smoothly. Two skewers, please. He glanced down at his nearly empty wallet, the flimsy contents barely enough to cover the cost. With a rueful chuckle, he added, "It's all I can afford tonight."

As he waited for his order, he felt a presence nearby—a subtle shift in the air. Without turning, he spoke. "If you're here to fight, let's get it over with. I'm on a tight schedule."

A young woman stepped forward, her eyes sharp and measuring. "Not everything is a battle, you know," she said in perfect English, a hint of an accent coloring her words. "But I suppose with the trail of chaos you've left, paranoia is expected."

He glanced at her sidelong. "And you are?"

"Someone who can help—if you're willing to stop acting like a lone wolf cliché."

He chuckled softly. "Trust me, sweetheart, 'help' usually comes with strings attached. And I've had enough of those to last a lifetime."

She met his gaze evenly. "The name's Mei. I represent an organization that deals with... anomalies like yourself."

Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Is that what I am? An anomaly?"

Author notes:

Writing is a journey, and like any journey, it comes with its challenges and triumphs. Creating a world from scratch, bringing characters to life, and weaving a story together can be tough, but it's also incredibly rewarding. That said, I would love to hear your thoughts, ideas, or feedback as you read along. Whether it's a comment, a suggestion, or just a reaction, your input helps shape the story and keeps the creative process alive. Thanks for joining me on this adventure!