Chapter 13 :- A Child?

The boy's crimson eyes flick to Calon for the briefest moment, then to the shadow user. His expression is blank, his movements measured and deliberate. He stops a few paces away, tilting his head slightly, as if analyzing every detail of the scene.

"You're here for the package," he says, his tone flat. A statement, not a question.

The shadow user's grip on his katana tightens, his eyes narrowing. "So what if I am?"

The boy doesn't reply. He doesn't need to.

One moment, he's standing still, his posture almost relaxed. The next, he's gone—a blur of motion too fast to follow. The shadow user barely has time to react before the boy's leg arcs through the air, striking him with a force that sends him hurtling across the warehouse. The impact reverberates as the shadow user crashes into a stack of crates, splintering wood and scattering debris.

The boy straightens, his crimson eyes unblinking, his movements as calm as before. He doesn't look at the crumpled figure of the shadow user or even acknowledge Calon. Instead, his gaze shifts toward the package, his objective clear.

The package is small, about the size of a shoebox, wrapped in dull, metallic-gray material that reflects the warehouse's harsh fluorescent light. Strange markings are etched along its surface—runes or symbols that seem to shimmer faintly, as if alive. It feels heavier than it should, radiating a faint hum, like a heartbeat. The boy cradles it in one hand, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as he turns to leave.

Before he takes a step, the shadows shift, pooling unnaturally in the corner of the room. The shadow user emerges, his figure now fully visible. His short, graying hair and beard are matted with sweat, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His black, ninja-like outfit clings to his body, torn and smeared with dirt and blood, yet his eyes burn with fierce determination.

"You're not leaving with that," he growls, his voice rough, almost feral.

The boy doesn't reply, doesn't even glance back.

With a guttural roar, the shadow user lunges forward, his katana a blur of motion. Strike after strike comes in rapid succession, each one faster and more desperate than the last. One. Two. Five. Ten. Fifty. The blade moves like a living thing, a tempest of steel meant to shred through anything in its path.

But the boy doesn't falter. He doesn't block or counter. He moves.

Each strike misses by a hair's breadth, the boy slipping through the onslaught with fluid, mechanical precision. His movements are calculated, almost lazy, as if he's already seen every attack before it happens. The sound of the katana slicing through the air grows frantic, the strikes faster and more erratic as the shadow user's frustration mounts.

"You're just a kid!" the shadow user snarls, his voice shaking with fury and disbelief.

The boy stops, his crimson eyes locking onto the man with an intensity that freezes him mid-strike.

The next moment, the boy's hand snaps up, catching the blade mid-swing.

The warehouse falls silent, the only sound the faint hum of the package in the boy's grip.

The shadow user stares, his eyes wide with shock. "Impossible…" he breathes, his grip tightening on the katana.

The boy's expression doesn't change. With a sharp, almost dismissive motion, he twists the blade free from the man's grasp. Before the shadow user can react, the boy steps forward, faster than the eye can follow.

The black blade in the boy's hand arcs through the air in one fluid motion.

For a heartbeat, the shadow user freezes, his expression caught between defiance and disbelief. Then his head separates from his body, the cut so clean it takes a moment for the blood to follow. His body collapses to the ground, lifeless, the shadows around him fading into nothingness.

The boy lowers the blade, his gaze already shifting back to the package. Without a word, he turns and walks away, the faint hum of the package the only sound in the stillness of the warehouse.