Chapter 57: Ending Things (2)
In a blink, Alex was behind Shadow, slashing low. Shadow blocked with a whip of darkness that cracked like lightning, sending Alex sliding backward. But he didn’t stop, he rolled with the momentum, came up low, and struck again.
The golden dagger met Shadow’s shadows and tore through them.
Shadow hissed in pain, stumbling back, clutching his side where the blade had grazed him. Wisps of corrupted darkness hissed away from the wound like smoke from a snuffed-out flame.
"That dagger isn’t ordinary," Shadow snarled.
"It was made to kill people like you," Alex replied coldly, his voice steady.
Shadow snarled and raised both arms, the floor beneath them trembling as spikes of shadow erupted upward. Alex leaped between them, agile and focused, blade glinting with every twist of his wrist. He landed on a toppled surgical table, then launched himself forward with all the strength in his legs, golden dagger poised for a killing strike.
But Shadow was fast.
He raised a wall of pure darkness, shielding himself just in time but the dagger carved a deep gash through it, making the shield groan and shatter apart like fragile glass.
"You’re stronger than before," Shadow said, voice low.
"I’ve had practice," Alex answered, circling now, steps slow and deliberate.
Shadow bared his teeth. "So have I."
A wave of shadows erupted from beneath Shadow’s cloak, consuming the floor and crawling up the walls. The room dimmed as if the very light was being swallowed. Alex’s dagger shone brighter in response, countering the spreading darkness as he dashed forward again, blade slashing, blocking, parrying every incoming strike.
They danced, light against shadow, gold against black. Every blow sent sparks flying. Every missed swing dented the walls and cracked the floor.
Then Shadow shifted, teleporting behind Alex in a blink, aiming a spike of shadow straight for his back. But Alex was ready.
He spun and stabbed the dagger backward, driving it into Shadow’s shoulder.
Shadow let out a guttural roar and stumbled away, clutching the wound. The dagger had pierced deeper than before—its magic searing through the corruption laced into Shadow’s form.
"You’re bleeding," Alex said flatly.
Shadow looked at the blood dripping from his sleeve, dark blood, not quite human. His breathing was heavier now. His form slightly flickering.
But he grinned. "So are you."
Alex glanced down and noticed a deep gash along his side. At some point, a tendril had gotten through. Blood soaked his shirt, but he didn’t falter. He held the dagger tighter.
Both of them stood there, staring, breath heavy, sweat and blood dripping onto the ruined floor.
Alex’s breath came in shallow bursts. His shirt clung to his body, soaked with sweat and blood. The golden dagger remained steady in his grip, its glow flickering like a dying flame. Across from him, Shadow knelt, wounded but grinning like a beast backed into a corner.
"You’re persistent," Shadow said, his voice rasping. "But you’re bleeding out. You won’t last much longer."
Alex didn’t reply. His eyes narrowed, and a strange calm settled over him.
He took a step forward.
Shadow’s grin faltered.
The air grew cold. Not the chill of night, but the unnatural kind—the cold that made bones ache and breath turn visible. The room darkened, and not from Shadow’s doing this time. A different force was awakening.
From the corners of the ruined hospital room, black tendrils began to rise—but not Shadow’s. These were different. Thicker and heavy with decay. With each step Alex took, they slithered toward him, obeying a silent command.
Shadow stood up quickly, backing away.
"What... what are you doing?"
Alex’s voice was low, controlled.
"You shouldn’t have pushed me this far."
The lights above flickered and died. From the floor, faint, skeletal hands clawed their way upward—broken forms of the long-dead, remnants of lives that had ended in this very hospital. Bones rose, draped in shadow and rot, drawn by Alex’s will.
Shadow lashed out, trying to destroy them, but each strike only slowed them for a moment. They reformed, dragged forward by invisible chains. Moaning and whispering.
Alex raised his free hand. Dozens of skeletal figures stood behind him now—some small, some large, all silent.
"Hold him."
The army surged forward.
Shadow fought, his shadows slamming into the undead with explosive force. Bones shattered. Screams echoed. But more came. Every step Shadow took was slowed. Hands reached out, grabbing, pulling, wrapping around his legs and arms.
"Let me go!" he roared, darkness exploding from him.
But Alex was already moving.
He rushed through the chaos, dagger glowing golden in one hand, his other still raised, commanding the dead to pin Shadow in place. As Shadow turned to flee, Alex leapt, driving his knee into Shadow’s chest and slamming him hard against the wall.
With a shout, he plunged the dagger into Shadow’s chest—straight through the heart.
The room went still.
Shadow gasped, his body trembling. The shadows around him twitched violently before beginning to peel away—like smoke caught in a rising wind. His form cracked. His skin dimmed. His essence unraveled.
"You..." he croaked. "You’re not a hero..."
"No," Alex said, voice quiet. "I’m worse."
He twisted the blade.
Shadow let out a final scream before his body disintegrated into ash and smoke, leaving behind only silence.
The undead around Alex shivered, then collapsed into piles of dust and broken bone, their purpose fulfilled. The room returned to stillness.
Alex stood alone, breathing hard, blood dripping onto the ground.
Shadow was gone for good.
------
The hospital lay in ruins behind him, quiet now—eerily so. Not a whisper remained of the violence that had unfolded inside, save for the deep cracks in the walls and the blackened remnants of shadow still clinging to the floor like old scars.
Alex stepped out into the night, the wind brushing against his bloodstained clothes. His face was expressionless, eyes hard, jaw tight. In his arms, he carried the limp, broken body of Shadow.
It was lighter than expected. Fragile even. Without the swirling darkness, Shadow looked almost... human.
The walk back was long. No one stopped him, no one dared to ask questions.
The streets were mostly empty. A few stragglers glanced his way, but the sight of his bloodied figure and the motionless body in his arms made them turn their eyes elsewhere, pretending they hadn’t seen. The golden dagger remained tucked inside his coat now, pulsing faintly as if still hungry for more.
By the time he reached the apartment, the sky had turned a deeper blue, stars faintly visible above the tall buildings. The lights in the hallway flickered as he entered, and the familiar sound of the ceiling fan’s lazy rotation greeted him like an old friend.
The door creaked open.
Ace stood from the couch, eyes widening the moment he saw Alex—his condition, the blood, the body in his arms.
Zia turned too, frozen mid-step, her eyes darting from Alex’s face to the corpse in his grasp.
"Cap, you..." Ace began, but the words died in his throat.
Alex walked past them both without a word, heading straight down the hallway. He entered the storage room, a place usually left untouched, and laid the body carefully on the ground. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the lifeless form that had once called himself Shadow.
He remembered the voice. The twisted grin. The battles. The words that still lingered.
"You’re not a hero."
"I’m worse."
He clenched his fist, the pulse in his temple throbbing.
Behind him, footsteps approached hesitantly—Zia.
She didn’t say anything. Not at first. Just watched him in the silence, her arms hugging her own body.
"You brought him back but why Captain?" she finally asked.
Alex didn’t look at her. "I needed proof."
"You’re hurt," she mumbled.
He glanced down. His side was still bleeding, the wound sluggish to heal this time. The necromantic magic had drained him more than he expected.
"I’ll be fine," he muttered.
"Do you want me to—"
"No," he cut her off gently. "I just need to rest."
Zia hesitated. Then, after a moment, she nodded and turned to leave.
Before she could walk away, Alex spoke again.
"There’s more coming."
She looked back.
"This wasn’t the end. He was just the beginning."
Zia’s face paled. "Then what do we do?"
Alex finally looked at her, the weight of exhaustion in his eyes—but also something else. Something colder... Sharper.
"We prepare to welcome them."
"If you ask me, I’m always ready," she said and Alex nodded
"Very well then. You can go."
Zia nodded and then walked out of the room.
After she had left, Alex pulled out his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.
"Hero Necro, has the mission be completed?" The voice from the other side asked the moment the call was picked.
"Yes."
"Bring him to us tomorrow."
"He’s dead, sorry I can not bring him to the headquarters."
There was a long moment of silence before the voice continued.
"This wasn’t the instruction given to you. How do you explain it to the Chief?"
"I will be there tomorrow."
With that, the call ended and Alex let out a deep sigh.
