After what felt like an hour, the group finally arrived at the airport. They moved quickly through the entrance and headed straight for the ticket counter.

  “Five tickets to Moscow,” Walentrya said.

  Normally, they would have been asked for identification. Instead, the attendant briefly scanned their faces, nodded, and printed the tickets without question. No hesitation. No small talk.

  A flight attendant approached and quietly gestured for them to follow. She led them away from the main terminal, through a restricted exit, and directly toward the aircraft waiting on the tarmac.

  Sahiro slowed slightly as they climbed the boarding stairs. The last time he had been on a plane was during a family vacation—a lifetime ago. Back when things were simple.

  Just before they stepped inside, one of the pilots stopped them.

  “You’re seated in first class,” he said.

  Radford blinked. “Wait… seriously?”

  “We received details about your mission. Security will be extremely tight.”

  Walentrya caught the subtle emphasis. The pilots worked for Strast. That explained everything.

  They boarded. Cadoc and Radford were immediately impressed—wide leather seats, polished wood trim, quiet luxury. Sahiro stood still for a moment, taking it all in like he had stepped into another world. For the others, this wasn’t new. For him, it felt unreal.

  But beneath the awe, anxiety slowly crept in. Walentrya noticed. Even as a child, he hated takeoffs.

  “Attention passengers,” the intercom chimed. “We are preparing for liftoff. Please ensure your bags are secure. This flight to Moscow will be approximately one hour and fifty minutes.”

  The engines roared to life. As the plane accelerated down the runway, Sahiro’s breathing quickened. His hands trembled. His eyes squeezed shut. Walentrya didn’t say anything at first. She simply reached over and held his hand with both of hers. He opened his eyes slightly. She was smiling at him—the same smile she used to give him when he woke from nightmares. The one that said everything would be okay. His breathing slowed. The shaking eased. “I won’t let go until you want me to,” she whispered. Sahiro nodded.

  Thirty minutes into the flight, a man in a gray trench coat stood from the rear of the plane. His face was partially obscured beneath the collar. He walked calmly toward first class. Two armed guards stood at the entrance, rifles slung across their chests. AR-15s. Sidearms holstered. Spare magazines strapped across their vests. “Sir, I’m gonna ask you to step back,” one guard ordered. The man kept walking.

  The guards didn’t hesitate. Gunfire erupted. The narrow cabin exploded with sound—muzzle flashes, screaming passengers, shell casings bouncing across the aisle. The man’s body convulsed under the barrage. Then it collapsed. Not into flesh. Into silver. His entire form liquefied into a shimmering metallic substance that pooled across the carpet. The guards stared in disbelief.

  They reloaded and fired again—dozens of rounds tearing through the silver mass. But the bullets passed straight through it, punching holes in the cabin walls instead. The liquid rippled. Then it rose. The metallic pool twisted upward and reformed into the man.

  Before either guard could react, his arm elongated and sharpened into a blade of reflective metal. It drove straight through one guard’s skull. The second guard barely had time to shout before he was impaled as well. With monstrous strength, the man hurled both bodies out of the plane—ripping a massive chunk of fuselage with them. Wind screamed into the cabin as oxygen masks dropped. Passengers shrieked. Then the silver liquid surged outward. It sealed the torn metal like living mercury, patching the hole seamlessly. The man turned toward the cabin. “EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP,” he roared. “Or you’ll end up like them.” Silence fell instantly. He dissolved again—silver streaming upward and slipping into the walls of first class. And then he was gone.

  Sahiro had drifted into a light nap. Walentrya sat across from him, calmly sharpening one of her blades—the steady scrape of metal against stone almost meditative. Yankira was absorbed in a novel, legs crossed. Radford and Cadoc were in the middle of a card game. Cadoc slammed his hand down proudly.

  “Boom.”

  His cards were a disaster: eight of diamonds, four of hearts, three of clubs, ace of spades, queen of hearts. Radford adjusted his glasses and stared. “…Do you even know how to play?”

  Cadoc leaned back smugly. “That was actually a psychological test to see if you’d—” His expression froze. “…Holy shit.” Radford sighed. “What now?” “There’s a guy in the wall.” Radford didn’t look up. “Dude, I’m trying to—” “I’m not joking.” Radford turned. He froze. “…Holy shit.”

  The others looked up. A face was forming in the cabin wall. Metallic. Fluid. Silver. It pushed outward from the paneling like something pressing beneath skin. Eyes. Nose. A thin, expressionless mouth. Then the face melted downward. Liquid silver dripped to the floor, pooling and rising until it formed a human figure. Radford reacted first. He drew his handgun and fired twice. The bullets passed through. The figure liquefied instantly and dispersed into the walls.

  “What the hell was that?” Walentrya demanded, blade already in hand. Yankira’s eyes hardened. “I know him.” Everyone looked at her. “His name is Rurik.” Cadoc blinked. “We went to school with that?” “Two years ago,” Yankira continued, ignoring him. “During lunch, he attached himself to my fork and drove it through my cheek.” Sahiro’s eyes snapped open. “I threw him into a boiler in the cafeteria kitchen,” she said. “I thought he melted.” Sahiro stared at the faint scar along her face. “So that’s where that came from.” Walentrya tightened her grip on her blade. “Guess he didn’t melt.” She stepped closer to the group. “Everyone—back-to-back. Now. He could be anywhere.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  They formed a defensive circle. For half a second— Silence. Then Rurik erupted from the floor. His arm extended into a razor-sharp silver blade and slashed across Sahiro’s abdomen before anyone could react. He vanished instantly. Blood sprayed across the carpet.

  Sahiro collapsed. “SAHIRO!” Walentrya lunged toward him. “STOP!” Yankira shouted. Walentrya halted just in time. From Sahiro’s back, a massive spinning blade burst outward—silver, horizontal, rotating violently like a helicopter rotor. The wind whipped their clothes and hair. Walentrya’s fingers were inches from being severed before Cadoc yanked her backward.

  “Jesus!”

  Radford tried circling around, but the blade extended toward him instantly. Rurik’s face appeared along the spinning metal. Grinning. Cadoc made a small squeaking noise. The blade suddenly retracted. Rurik reformed over Sahiro—one arm still spinning like a mounted rotor. With his free hand, he formed another blade and slashed at Radford. Radford barely dodged, the edge grazing his shoulder. Rurik dissolved again, retreating into the spinning mechanism above Sahiro.

  Yankira’s eyes tracked the rotor. “This is his plan,” she said. “He’s isolating us. Picking us off one by one.” As if proving her right, a silver blade shot toward Cadoc from the wall. Cadoc reacted instantly. He flicked a penny from his pocket and hurled it forward. The blade struck it— and vanished. Swallowed whole.

  Rurik liquefied from the rotor above Sahiro and reformed behind Cadoc, arm already reshaped into a stabbing spike. Walentrya intercepted. Her blade clashed with his. Sparks sprayed across the cabin. She pivoted, drew a second weapon, locked his arm between both blades— and snapped it clean off.

  Rurik staggered back. His severed arm splashed across the floor before dissolving. He melted downward through the floorboards. “Now!” Radford shouted. He fired. Mid-flight, the bullet shrank—compressing into something needle-thin. It pierced the flooring seam and disappeared after Rurik. The group held their breath. A faint metallic vibration echoed beneath their feet.

  Yankira glanced at Radford. “How?” “I can alter matter density,” Radford said quickly. “It’s calibrated to his mercury composition. It should—” Rurik erupted from the floor. The tiny bullet was embedded in his palm. He stared at it. Then ripped it out. With one violent flick, he launched the bullet straight into Radford’s temple. Radford slammed into the cabin wall.

  The spinning blade above Sahiro accelerated. No one could move. One wrong step and someone would lose a limb. Sahiro pushed himself up slowly, blood soaking his shirt.

  Rurik reformed fully. Now they could see him clearly. Tall. Lean. Pale skin with a metallic sheen. Slicked-back silver hair. A faint streak of gray in his beard despite being only eighteen. A gray trench coat hung open over black clothing. Silver gloves flexed as he smiled.

  “To be honest,” Rurik said calmly, “I expected more difficulty.” “But proving my worth to Mr. Rufina has been… easier than anticipated.”

  Walentrya’s eyes flicked to Sahiro. An idea formed. She drew a sword and hurled it toward him. Sahiro caught it. Their eyes met. She glanced at the spinning rotor. Then back at him. It clicked. Sahiro inhaled sharply. White energy surged down his arm into the blade. The metal hummed violently. With one decisive swing, He cleaved the spinning rotor in half. Silver fragments splattered harmlessly across the cabin. Sahiro lunged. Rurik sidestepped effortlessly and kicked the sword from his grip. “Your sister,” Rurik said thoughtfully, “is a clever one.” “Now I understand why Mr. Rufina considers you dangerous.”

  His gaze shifted across the group. “But the rest of you?” He scoffed. “You’re a distraction.” His finger pointed at Yankira. “You are the objective.” Before anyone could react, Rurik snatched the fallen blade, smashed the handle into Sahiro’s jaw, and lunged. He grabbed Yankira around the waist. Then both of them burst through the side of the plane.

  The aircraft depressurized with a thunderous roar. Walentrya rushed to the window. They were plummeting through the sky. “…Damn it.” She spun and sprinted toward the cockpit. Then froze.

  Both the pilot and co-pilot were slumped over the controls. Decapitated. Blood coated the instruments. Behind her, the others regrouped. Radford held his head. “Where’s Yankira?” “Rurik took her,” Cadoc swore. “Then what are we doing standing here? Let’s go after her!” “Not yet,” Sahiro said through pain. “If we leave, this plane crashes, and thousands die.” Cadoc stared at him. “So? We don’t know these people.” “We don’t have to,” Sahiro shot back. Walentrya stepped between them. “He’s right.” “We’re not monsters.”

  Cadoc exhaled. “…So, what’s the plan? You’re gonna land this thing?” Walentrya smiled. “…You can’t be serious.” “No time like the present.” She slid into the pilot’s seat. “Sahiro, you’ll be my copilot. You two calm the passengers.” They moved.

  Walentrya pulled the pilots from the controls. Sahiro sat beside her. “Do you actually know how to fly this?” “I took lessons years ago,” she said. “Let’s hope muscle memory still works.” She keyed the intercom. “Attention passengers. This is your captain speaking. We will be making an emergency landing. Please remain seated.”

  The runway lights appeared ahead. “Flaps,” she muttered. Sahiro adjusted them. The plane descended fast. “Easy… easy…” The landing gear deployed. The wheels slammed onto the runway. The aircraft bounced once. Gasps filled the cabin. Walentrya corrected. The second impact was smoother. The plane screeched down the runway, then slowed. Then stopped. Silence. Walentrya finally exhaled. Behind them, applause erupted. Passengers cried. Others prayed. Emergency vehicles surrounded the plane.

  Minutes later, the passengers were escorted off the aircraft. Authorities swarmed the runway. The group was ushered into the air-traffic control lounge. Sahiro was pale. Blood soaked through his shirt. Radford pressed an ice pack to his temple. “So,” Radford said finally, “why did Rurik take Yankira?” Sahiro stared at the floor. “Revenge… maybe.” “Or something bigger.” Cadoc looked around. “First question—where the hell are we?”

  Walentrya gestured toward the terminal window. A large sign read: WELCOME TO CHEBOKSARY

  Cadoc groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I owe money here.” Sahiro blinked. “You have debts in multiple cities?” Before Cadoc could answer, a uniformed officer approached and handed Walentrya a secure phone. “It’s your superior.”

  Walentrya answered. A calm but irritated voice spoke immediately. “I’m receiving reports of a mercury-based entity attacking a commercial flight. Care to explain?” “His name is Rurik,” Walentrya said. “He infiltrated the plane and killed the pilots. We landed it—but he abducted Yankira.” There was a pause that lasted about ten seconds.

  “Air travel appears compromised. Recover your teammate immediately.” The line disconnected. Radford crossed his arms. “So where do we even begin?” Walentrya looked at him carefully. “Yankira prepared for this.” Cadoc frowned. “Meaning?” “She asked me to implant a tracker in her shoulder before we left.” Walentrya pulled a tablet from her bag.

  A blinking signal pulsed on the map. Moving. But not far. Sahiro stepped forward despite the pain in his abdomen. “That’s close.” His eyes hardened. “Let’s move.”

  They pushed through the airport doors and broke into a sprint—emergency lights flashing behind them—as they raced toward the signal of their kidnapped teammate.