Something shadow related

An unfortunate fixxer was lost in the backstreets, and far too low of a grade to feel safe. He had barely gotten promoted to Grade 8 after years of work, and now it might all be for naught. He followed a girl who had run off into the alleyways in a moment of morals that would cost him everything. He cursed himself for letting the prophecy that everyone said about him come true.

He had been talking to her on the street, offering her some food and money since she looked miserable. But in the middle of their conversation she turned and ran with a look of fear that tugged at his heartstrings. But it had only taken moments for him to fall behind and get lost and the endless twists and turns shrouded in darkness claimed him. Now he was carefully searching for a way out.

Then he heard a noise. A scrap of metal skittering across the ground. Turning and drawing his knife while taking a standard combat sense he realized how horribly doomed he was. A party of a dozen cannibals surrounded him armed with shoddy equipment but a sheer hunger in their eyes that made them dangerous. They would fight until they couldn't anymore, and his off-duty knife was only so good at keeping someone down. Another mistake he had made in the end upon reflection. The others carrying their arms at all times and always ready for a fight had a point.

A small chuckle escaped his lips as he reflected on the lessons he was being taught in rapid succession. And closed his eyes to accept his fate - A fast death over getting eaten alive seemed the best path out of here. Nobody would rescue him, nobody even would know he was missing for atleast a dozen hours or more. He would be lucky if anyone was even sent to get revenge or collect what would remain of his body.

The first knife that sunk into his flesh made him feel cold, and as he waited for the stabs to continue there was a strange moment of silence. Nothing happened for several seconds leading him to open his eyes slowly... And then retch in surprise at the gruesome sight around him. A corona of splattered blood and raw meat was all that remained, the scattered makeshift weapons laying across the ground haphazardly.

He looked down at the ice cold wound and found not a bleeding cut, but a bite mark devoid of blood and covered in an inky black substance. A pair of eyes looking up from his shadow with a smile adorned with far too wide teeth greeted him. The combination of shock (at the sight) and shock (blood loss) caused him to sway on his feet and topple over onto the cold stones, fainting.

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Several hours later he awoke on the street with another low grade fixxer giving his face a smack to try and bring him around. "Are you alright? You were passed out drunk in the street. You shouldn't get caught doing that in public man. Where do you live, I'll give you a lift so you can sleep the hangover off before you have to get to work again." To which he had no real response, simply muttering his adress and getting help standing up to start the trek home, confused and lightheaded, and very much disinterested in looking down at his own shadow.