As Ivor watched the fight in front of him, another clash rang out behind him.
He turned just in time to see two more figures collide near the far end of the street, blades crashing together in a burst of sparks and shadow. Their movements were fast and tight, the kind that left no room for hesitation.
Then it happened.
As if some silent signal had been given, the alley filled.
Figures burst in from both ends of the narrow street, slipping out from between buildings and over low ledges. Pairs formed instantly, each colliding with another in violent precision. Five more duos locked together, steel flashing as they fought in close quarters, shadows snapping and stretching with every movement.
The space was overwhelmed.
Ivor's breath caught as he realized what he was seeing.
One group was pushing forward, their movements angled toward him, advancing in short, deliberate steps whenever they could force space. The other group moved just as hard to block them, cutting off paths, turning strikes aside, dragging the fight back into the center of the alley whenever someone broke free.
They weren't fighting randomly.
They were fighting over him.
The narrow street shook as blades struck stone and shadow slammed into walls. Ivor backed away instinctively, step by careful step, until his shoulder met the cold stone behind him. He pressed himself against it, heart hammering, eyes darting between the shifting figures as the battle closed in.
Cold stone pressed against his shoulders as he slid sideways, trying to make himself smaller, trying not to draw attention.
It didn't work.
One of the fighters broke away from the clash near the center of the alley. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, circular object made of dull blue metal. It fit neatly in his palm and he threw it straight toward Ivor.
The disc spun through the air toward him.
It burst apart before it reached him.
The metal shell split open with a sharp crack, and from within it exploded a mass of shadowy tendrils, thin and jagged like spikes made of darkness. They fanned outward in all directions, more than thirty of them, lashing forward with violent speed.
Ivor did not have enough time to twist away.
The tendrils struck where he was standing. Stone shattered. The wall behind him erupted as spikes punched straight through it, tearing deep holes into the masonry. Dust and fragments rained down, filling the alley with grit and choking air.
"No!"
The shout cut through the chaos.
One of the men forced his opponent back with a brutal shoulder check and broke away, sprinting toward Ivor without hesitation. His blade dragged a line of shadow along the ground as he moved, his focus locked entirely on the spot where Ivor had nearly been torn apart.
He swept aside loose stone and dust, peering through the broken masonry.
There was nothing.
No body. No movement.
"What?" he muttered, surprise slipping into his voice.
The man he had been fighting reached the wall a heartbeat later. He scanned the debris once, then again, his expression tightening as the realization set in.
"Where did the boy go?" he shouted.
The sound cut through the alley.
One by one, the clashes faltered. Blades lowered. Shadows stilled. The remaining fighters flashed toward the broken wall, gathering around the damage in tense silence. They searched quickly, methodically, overturning rubble, checking the ground beyond.
A few seconds passed.
They found only a few drops of blood.
"Someone else took him," one of them said finally, voice low and certain.
There was no argument.
"Spread out," another ordered. "Check every street. Hurry. He couldn't have gone far."
They moved at once, breaking apart and vanishing down side streets and rooftops, shadows folding back into the city.
"Go," another man added sharply to those nearest him. "Follow them. Nothing can happen to the boy."
Within moments, the alley emptied.
Broken stone lay scattered across the ground. Blood stained the wall.
The alley fell quiet.
For a moment, nothing moved.
Then the shadows beneath the broken boulder shifted.
Ivor tumbled out from beneath it, landing hard on his hands and knees, breath tearing in and out of his chest. He sucked in air greedily, his lungs burning as if he had been held underwater. The stone above him remained still, shadows settling back into place as if they had never moved at all.
A second figure rose nearby, emerging from the same darkness. He was wrapped in a hood and dark clothes, his outline blending easily with the alley's remaining shade.
The man let out a low chuckle.
"That was close," he said. "You hurt, kid?"