Night Raid

He was forced backward, his body compressed by the impact.

The muscle-bound man’s fist crashed violently against the fuselage, unleashing a sudden burst of silvery light and a thunderous boom.

A hole was blasted open in the cabin, torn apart by sheer force.

Howling wind roared inside, the immense pressure creating a suction force that yanked Xiunan straight out, the muscle-man following close behind—both plummeting from thousands of meters above the earth.

Xiunan faced the wind head-on, his black trench coat billowing wildly, snapping in the gale. He tried to twist his body, but a sharp pain struck the back of his head, and in an instant, he lost consciousness.

The sound of water, a relentless, splashing rhythm—what was it?

Xiunan’s eyes cracked open, dazed and unfocused. Before he could regain his senses, he felt a chill run over half his body. Glancing down, he saw seawater lapping at his waist.

With effort, he pulled himself upright and surveyed his surroundings.

Golden sand stretched beneath him, white waves ceaselessly surging and retreating upon the shore. White seabirds circled overhead, and a few towering coconut trees stood at a distance. He was stranded on an island, miraculously alive, washed ashore by the sea.

“Could this be Bone Island?” Xiunan muttered, scanning the landscape. “It doesn’t look any different from other tropical islands…” He turned to look behind him, where a dark, dense forest covered most of the island, the thick canopy blocking out the sunlight and casting the interior in cool shade.

“First, I need to find water…” His throat was parched.

The sun hung low, stretching the coconut trees’ shadows long across the sand. Xiunan broke into a run, agilely scaling a tree in moments. He easily plucked two young coconuts from the top.

Unfortunately, he had lost his equipment when he awoke—no knives or military tools remained, only the innermost layer of his shirt.

He did still have two pistols, safely stored and ready to be summoned from his arsenal, but to waste bullets opening coconuts would be foolish, and Xiunan was not that imprudent.

During his fifteen days of self-discipline, he had honed his survival skills. Many tools could be fashioned by hand, though it took time.

He began to search for suitable implements, finding stones by a rocky outcrop and sharpening them against the cliff face. Using these, he painstakingly chipped open the coconuts.

After so many days, the taste of fresh coconut water was a rare delight for Xiunan, though a bit astringent.

Dusk approached; the sun was nearly set.

Entering the forest to gather materials for a shelter was no longer feasible, but starting a fire was still possible if he moved quickly enough.

Before darkness fell, he hurried into the woods. Luck favored him—within half an hour, he gathered all he needed and returned to the beach, gaining a rough sense of the forest’s layout.

This appeared to be a subtropical island, with flora and fauna much like those in his fifteen-day self-discipline survival experience.

Back on the shore, guided by the faint afterglow on the sea, Xiunan swiftly built a fire. Flames rose, illuminating his face, the crackle of burning wood spreading warmth into the night.

With this campfire, he would at least not need to fear catching cold overnight. Though Xiunan was strong, it was always wise to take precautions.

The fire flickered red and bright. Xiunan lay on the sand beside it, gazing at the glittering stars above.

He had never seen a night sky so clear. Not a single cloud marred the heavens, only a scattering of stars blinking like countless eyes.

The sea breeze caressed him gently, the waves murmured and retreated.

A strange sense of contentment crept over Xiunan. He even found himself wishing to live here for a while.

He could, if he chose—after all, Xiunan was nearly a master of wilderness survival now. Drawing from the best of three disciplines, he could endure on this deserted island for quite some time—perhaps not a year or two, but half a year at the very least.

Staring at the starlit sky, Xiunan let his mind drift into emptiness.

Suddenly, a heat flared in his chest, as if his heart had skipped a beat—the Jessica pendant was warning him.

Danger!

Xiunan rolled sharply across the sand.

Whoosh!

A wooden arrow shot through the air, slicing the night and striking deep into the sand where he had just lain.

“Who’s there?” he shouted, springing to his feet and peering into the forest.

A shadowy figure stood among the trees, bow drawn, tall and imposing, but their features obscured.

Whoosh!

The figure fired another arrow without hesitation.

Xiunan dodged instantly, retreating from the firelight and melting into the darkness where he could not be seen.

Once he stopped, the figure had vanished. Xiunan couldn’t tell if his assailant had truly left.

He remained still, hidden in the dark, not daring to act rashly. With a flick of his wrists, two Violet Rose pistols appeared in his hands, ready for any sudden attack.

Half an hour passed in tense silence. The forest’s edge stayed quiet—the shadow seemed to have gone.

Cautiously, Xiunan edged back toward the fire. Still, nothing happened. He moved faster.

Suddenly, his chest burned again.

He dove backward—at his intended landing spot, a bone arrow was deeply embedded in the sand.

“A tiger doesn’t bare its fangs and I’m mistaken for a sick cat, is that it?”

Xiunan crouched, forming a V-shape with his arms for a gun rest, his right hand raising the Violet Rose pistol and firing from afar.

Bang!

The bullet shot out, but its aim was slightly off—likely to graze the figure at best.

With a thought, Xiunan willed the bullet to change course.

It struck the shadow’s arm directly.

A muffled groan echoed in the distance, followed by the sounds of a hasty retreat. Xiunan immediately gave chase, snatching a burning stick from the fire as a torch.

He followed, illuminating the ground—there were signs of movement and drops of blood spattered on the leaves.

Kneeling closer, Xiunan narrowed his eyes. The blood was golden, like molten gold.

That figure was likely not human.

Unfortunately, his meditation time had been exhausted during the earlier fight with the muscle-bound man. Otherwise, Xiunan would have caught the attacker immediately and uncovered the truth.

Returning to the beach, Xiunan collected the arrows left by his assailant—two wooden arrows and one pure white bone arrow. Examining them by the fire, he noticed a small mark.

A crude five-pointed star.

“It must mean something…” Xiunan mused, though he had no idea what and little interest in the matter.

He lay back by the fire as if the night attack had never occurred.

As for whether his enemy would return, Xiunan didn’t care. If he woke to find himself back on the airplane, so be it.

That would give him another chance to fight the muscle-man. Xiunan refused to believe that man’s superpowers were without flaw.

To challenge a scripted death, one must begin with oneself.