[b][u]The Shadow - 1[/u] [/b]

[i]t'chi[/i]

The arrow pierced through the shadow, hidden among the darkness of the forest. It didn't flinch. The man who shot the arrow grimaced, a sharp pain going up his arm and into his neck as he let his bow fall to the ground. he was panting and in tears, yet his face showed nothing but a stern expression. He brought his hand close to his face and tried to flex his fingers. He couldn't. His hands were so calloused that balling up his fist was impossible, and the rest of them were so raw that blood was beginning to flow freely.

So the man let his left arm hang and used his right one to pick up his knife from the grass, taking care not to stumble on any of the roots going along the ground.

When he looked up, the shadow was no longer there. He squinted his eyes and pushed his matted hair out of his face.

"Not again…" He muttered to no one but the ever-growing trees.

Holding the knife tightly but not as tightly as he once could, the man closed his eyes and focused. After a moment, his useless left arm began emitting a soft glow. He could barely see a moment ago, and now it was much easier to find his way around. 

So, now a bit safer from the shadows, the man walked forth.

The question is, when is a shadow most dangerous? Is it most dangerous in a dark place, where it has dissipated and you can't tell where it is? Or is it most dangerous when its borders have been defined by a light source?

Long, shadowy arms all crept along the border of his light, looking for the moment to approach the man. Looking for the moment to taste his soul.

Every step was heavier than the one before. His calves were burning. his stomach felt like it was being hacked apart by a battle axe. When was the last time that he ate? He tried not to think of such things. There was no way to tell how long it had been since he entered the damn place, but it was for sure that he hadn't felt thirsty. 

Every step was heavier than the last. And then he fell, his dragging foot caught up in a root. His light dimmed for a moment and he couldn't recover the full brightness no matter how deep he searched for the energy.

He saw the shadows closing in. They were mere feet away, with their clawed silhouettes dragging across the grass, over trunks and under roots. Some scratched at his shins, others at his forearms.

There, in an unknown forest, after having spent who knows how long starving and running from these shadows, after having seen his village burn down and having covered his family's escape from the Demon, he felt it.

A knot formed in his throat, and his tears took on a renewed vigor. His lower lip quivered and he squeezed his eyes shut to try and stop what was happening. 

There, as his limbs were being pulled by these shadows, he knew.

One of the arms coiled itself on his left arm, stronger than the rest and much more defined as well. Turns out, you don't want the shadows to be defined if you're trying to escape from them. 

He choked back a sob.

"Ggrrah-!" He groaned as he pulled his right arm hard, freeing it from the other arms. He aimed the knife at his heart and brought it down-

Only to see, with a chill going down his spine, that the stronger shadow got a hold of the knife blade moments before it pierced the man's skin. With a flick, the knife went flying out of the man's grasp.

He knew he was going to die.

The last thing he felt was a sharp sting on his sternum. The last thing he saw was the fountain of blood that spurted from his gaping chest as the shadow arm tore out his heart. The last thing he heard was the metallic grind of the shadows slithering across the ground as they enveloped his dying body.