Shadow Being System

High above the chaotic battlefield, hidden amongst the branches of a towering tree, a man sat perched on a sturdy branch. He was cloaked in a flowing black robe that covered his entire body, including his head. The fabric was so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light, blending perfectly with the shadows.

His gaze was fixed on the tunnel entrance, his eyes narrowed, as if he could see through the solid stone walls to the events unfolding within.

"Interesting," he muttered to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper. "That kid managed to kill a beast without an ability. Impressive, but troublesome."

He shifted slightly, the branch beneath him barely swaying under his weight. The corners of his mouth curved into a small frown. "Even though it was just a newborn-tier beast, it's not something a kid like him should be able to handle." He leaned forward, his gaze growing colder. "I need to get rid of him."

Without another word, he slipped off the branch. But instead of plummeting to the ground below, he hovered in the air, his feet just inches above the grass. The man began to move forward, gliding silently through the air as if he were walking on an invisible path. He moved with an eerie grace, his robe fluttering slightly behind him, making no sound as he approached the tunnel entrance.

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In a different part of the battlefield, the landscape was a scene of utter devastation. Trees were uprooted, craters dotted the ground, and the smell of smoke and burnt earth filled the air. Amongst the wreckage, a hulking figure lay sprawled on the ground, his massive frame making him look almost like a mountain of muscle and sinew.

His clothes were torn and bloodied, riddled with holes that revealed his skin beneath, and his breath came in labored gasps.

The man, built like a legend from old, with a physique rivaling Ronnie Coleman's, groaned softly as he rolled onto his back. He glanced at the watch strapped to his thick wrist and grimaced.

"Twenty minutes is up," he muttered to himself. His voice was a low rumble, full of exhaustion. "They better not be late."

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Back near the tunnel, the battlefield was descending into chaos. The soldiers, brave and determined as they were, were losing ground. The enemies were pushing forward relentlessly, their numbers overwhelming. Commander Charles was out of the fight, his body battered and bruised from his earlier fight.

Miss Mona and Hiro, too, were down, their once formidable forms now slumped against the walls, barely holding onto consciousness.

The enemy's abilities were wreaking havoc on the remaining defenses. Advanced weaponry and machinery that the soldiers had brought to support the battle were now melted heaps of metal, rendered useless by the enemy's corrosive powers. Some enemies had broken through the front lines, their fierce aggression leading them straight toward the students who huddled in fear.

Screams filled the air as the enemies reached the terrified students. They ran in every direction, trying to escape the onslaught. Some, in a desperate bid to survive, crawled under the damaged buses, thinking they would find safety there. But the enemy spotted them, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He raised his hand, and with a swift motion, unleashed his ability.

A sudden, intense pressure filled the air as the enemy's power, gravitational manipulation, was unleashed. The ground beneath the buses buckled and cracked, the vehicles themselves creaking ominously. The students hiding beneath were crushed in an instant, their bodies crumpling under the immense force, their screams abruptly cut off.

The scene was horrific, and the remaining teachers and soldiers were powerless to stop it. They fought bravely, but the tide was against them. Their ranks were thinning, their strength waning.

Then, amidst the chaos, a voice echoed through the tunnel. It was deep and resonant, carrying over the noise of battle with a commanding presence.

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"I'm sorry that I'm late."

All eyes turned to the tunnel entrance as a figure descended from above. He wore a pristine white robe, stark against the dark, chaotic backdrop. Sparks of electricity danced across his body, casting an ethereal glow around him. He held a traditional Chinese fan in one hand, his posture relaxed, almost casual.

The man looked to be in his late fifties, his face calm and composed, yet exuding an air of absolute authority. He seemed almost otherworldly, like a deity descending to the mortal realm. As he landed lightly on the ground, the soldiers, battered and bloodied, stared at him in awe. A murmur spread through their ranks, quickly growing into a cheer.

"It's General!" someone shouted.

Hope surged through the ranks of the soldiers, their morale skyrocketing. The sight of the man before them, with lightning crackling at his fingertips, was like a beacon of salvation. The enemies, on the other hand, were struck with fear. Their bravado melted away as they realized who stood before them.

"It's General Zhao!" one of them gasped, his face turning pale. Panic spread like wildfire as the enemy soldiers began to drop their weapons, turning and running in a frantic bid to escape. But it was too late.

General Zhao's eyes narrowed as he glanced at the fleeing enemies. With a casual flick of his wrist, he raised his fan, and in the next instant, his body blurred. He moved with such speed just like the yellow flash of the leaf (AN: If you know who I'm talking about), his movements impossibly fast.

The soldiers watched in stunned silence as he tore through the enemy ranks. Each step he took left a trail of lightning in his wake, the air crackling with electricity. In less than a minute, over 800 enemies lay sprawled across the ground, their bodies motionless. General Zhao stopped, standing amidst the carnage, his robe unruffled, his fan still in hand.

The soldiers stared at him, their eyes wide with shock and awe. The battlefield had gone from chaos to silence in the blink of an eye. General Zhao turned to them, his expression calm.

"Backup will arrive shortly," he said, his voice carrying clearly over the stunned silence. "When they do, I want everyone to get healed as quickly as possible."

He gestured toward a distant section of the battlefield. "Commander Charles is over there. Make sure he gets the treatment he needs."

A soldier stepped forward, saluting sharply. "Sir, where are you going?"

General Zhao turned, his gaze shifting toward the tunnel entrance. "There's still a rat I need to take care of," he replied, his tone casual as he started walking toward the darkness.

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Inside the tunnel, the man in the dark robe moved silently toward William's unconscious form. The boy lay crumpled on the ground, his body limp beside the beast he had somehow managed to kill. The man's eyes narrowed as he approached, his hand slowly shifting into a spear-like shape, energy crackling faintly around it.

"No hard feelings, kid," he murmured, raising his arm, ready to strike. "You're just too dangerous to be left alone."

He lunged forward, his hand descending toward William's head.

But his strike was stopped mid-air, a soft clang echoing through the tunnel. A traditional Chinese fan had appeared, blocking his path. The man in the dark robe glanced up, startled, his eyes widening.

"Hey, buddy!" General Zhao's voice was light, almost cheerful. "If you're trying to give head massages, you're doing it all wrong. Need a tutorial?"

The robed man's eyes narrowed in recognition. He leaped back instantly, but not before the fan moved in a swift arc. He landed several feet away, clutching his right arm. Blood dripped onto the floor, his severed limb lying on the ground between them. It was a clean cut, smooth and precise.

"You…" the man hissed, his voice trembling with fear.

"Too late," General Zhao said softly, his eyes gleaming. He flicked his fan again, and the man's head rolled off his shoulders, his body collapsing to the ground. The general sighed, making a mock gun gesture with his fan. "Headshot."

He turned to William, who lay still on the cold stone floor, his breathing shallow. The general glanced at the dead beast beside him, his brow furrowing in thought.

"Now, how did you manage to kill that thing?" he mused. "Interesting…"

Without another word, he carefully lifted William onto his back and headed back toward the entrance.

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By the time General Zhao returned to the clearing, the backup had arrived. Soldiers swarmed the area, medics tending to the wounded. The healers moved quickly, their hands glowing with soft, green light as they worked to mend the injuries of soldiers and students alike. Although the physical wounds would heal, the emotional scars would take much longer.

General Zhao laid William down on the ground, motioning for a medic to come over. The healer knelt beside the unconscious boy, placing her hands gently on his chest. A soft glow enveloped William, and she nodded after a moment.

"I've healed what I can. He just needs rest now," she said, her voice gentle.

The general nodded, watching as the medic moved to tend to others. A familiar figure approached him, his posture stiff and formal.

"General," Commander Charles said, saluting. His face was pale, his movements stiff from the pain of his injuries. "I'm sorry. It's my fault I couldn't protect the students."

General Zhao turned to him, his expression unreadable. "Yes, it is your fault," he replied, his voice steady. "And as punishment, I want you to find out how that teacher managed to fool us all."

Commander Charles straightened, his jaw clenching. "I will, sir."

General Zhao's eyes flickered with something dark and dangerous. "And make sure to kill anyone who tries to interfere. I'll handle the higher-ups. Our soldiers deserve justice."

Commander Charles nodded, his face set in grim determination. "I'll do everything in my power to make them pay, sir."

The general nodded, his gaze shifting to the battlefield. "Gather all the uninjured men and collect every body. I don't want anyone left behind."

Commander Charles saluted again. "Yes, sir. What about the enemies?"

General Zhao glanced at the beast's corpse. "Bring the beast's body back. It's useful. As for the rest… leave them for the crows."

The commander nodded and turned to leave. The clearing was filled with the sounds of movement and hushed conversations as soldiers and medics worked to clean up the aftermath of the battle.

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An hour later, the mood in the camp was somber. The surviving students sat in small groups, their eyes wide and unseeing. The horror of what they had witnessed was still fresh in their minds. Some stared at nothing, their expressions blank, while others sobbed quietly, their bodies shaking with the force of their grief.

General Zhao watched them, his expression softening. "Poor kids," he murmured. "They shouldn't have had to go through this."

Commander Charles approached him, his face grim. "It's ready, sir."

General Zhao nodded. "Let's go."

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Deep in the heart of the heretics' base, the atmosphere was tense. The throne room was dimly lit, shadows flickering on the walls. At the center of the room, the Heretic King sat on his throne, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. Before him, a man knelt, his forehead touching the cold stone floor. His entire body shook with fear, sweat dripping down his face.

"So, they failed?" the king said softly, his voice carrying a deadly edge.

"Yes, your highness," the man stammered, his voice trembling.

The king waved his hand dismissively, and the man's scream echoed through the chamber as his body disintegrated, turning to dust in the blink of an eye.

The king's eyes burned with fury. "Incompetent fools…"

Beside him, another man stepped forward, bowing low. "Your highness, they did manage to bring back some information."

The king's gaze shifted to him. "The kid who killed a beast?"

The man nodded. "Yes, your highness. He did it without an ability."

The king's eyes narrowed. "No one has ever done that except"HIM". If he learns to use an ability, he will become a threat. Eliminate him."

The man bowed even lower. "I will do everything necessary, your highness. Even if it means using the Anbu."

The king's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Good."

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Far to the east, the military convoy carrying the students coming from the east side sped along a deserted highway. In one of the buses, a boy glanced nervously at the convoy of armored vehicles flanking them.

"Is it just me, or does the security seem a bit too much?" he muttered to his friend beside him.

"I mean, what could possibly go wrong?"