In the dark mountain path, the night-running slimes approached.
They spotted the group of people and the aircraft here, and immediately, their running rhythm synchronized and accelerated.
“Bang bang bang bang.”
“Bang bang bang bang.”
Nan Yi snapped out of his daze over his brother’s death and saw a massive blob of black gelatin rolling along the road toward them.
Having stayed on the island for so long, he had long since encountered this monstrosity and knew it devoured people. With no time to spare for his brother’s corpse, he immediately sprinted forward.
His physique was good—long legs covering great strides—and he quickly reached Pei Ran’s aircraft. He yanked the door open and scrambled into the back seat.
But Abu remained behind.
Her leg was injured, and she was extremely weak, making her much slower.
The moment Pei Ran steadied the aircraft, she leapt out from the driver’s seat and rushed toward Abu.
In one breath, she charged up to her, planted her feet in a horse stance, bent down, and gestured “Get on.”
Abu understood Pei Ran’s intention and threw herself onto her back, wrapping her arms around her neck.
Pei Ran hoisted Abu up and broke into a run.
This was far faster than Abu’s own limping pace.
With long, swift strides, Pei Ran dashed toward the aircraft.
Just then, from the front yard of the villa that had launched the saw blade, a figure in bright orange suddenly burst out.
It was a deranged janitor wielding a chainsaw.
What he held wasn’t the same miter saw that had flung the blade earlier, but a long chainsaw—this guy’s toolkit was quite complete.
The chainsaw whirred loudly in his grip as it spun.
His sudden ambush from the side cut off Pei Ran and Abu’s escape route.
With the night-running slimes closing in from behind, time was critical. Instead of dodging, Pei Ran charged straight at him.
The janitor, finally finding a target to saw, wore an expression of excitement, his eyes bulging wide as he swung the chainsaw wildly toward them.
With Abu on her back, Pei Ran freed one hand, took precise aim, and punched the side of the saw’s chain.
Though the chainsaw looked terrifying and roared menacingly, the cutting chain itself was fragile—no match for the mechanical fist’s blow. The saw head snapped, and the whirring ceased instantly.
Pei Ran’s second punch landed on the janitor’s skull.
A single strike caved in half his head, blood and brain matter gushing out.
Pei Ran followed up with a kick to the janitor, sending him flying far away, then continued sprinting forward with Abu on her back.
The aircraft was just a few steps ahead—almost there.
Suddenly, W spoke up: “Pei Ran, be careful—there’s a sound.”
Behind them came the whooshing of something heavy cutting through the air.
Pei Ran turned her head to the side and saw it—the chainsaw, flying toward them.
Even with half his head smashed in, the janitor’s strength was freakishly immense. Realizing he couldn’t catch up, he had hurled the chainsaw like a weapon, throwing it far beyond human limits.
Pei Ran immediately twisted her torso, trying to dodge its trajectory.
But the moment she moved, a flash of green light crossed her vision—her body moved on its own.
The faint green glow she had taken from Lu Ming was now at work. Its control over her body overrode her own movements, forcing her to crouch low in an attempt to evade the attack from behind.
Pei Ran instantly knew this was bad and cursed inwardly.
The green light only cared about keeping her safe, with no regard for anyone else. The spinning chainsaw missed Pei Ran, but its heavy handle struck the back of Abu’s skull.
Thud.
Abu’s arms around Pei Ran immediately went slack.
The chainsaw clattered to the ground as Pei Ran reached the aircraft.
She yanked the door open, shoved Abu into the back seat, and hastily fastened her seatbelt. In the midst of the chaos, she checked Abu’s pulse at her neck.
Good—still alive.
There was no blood on her head, no visible external injury. Whether there was internal damage remained unknown.
Pei Ran quickly jumped into the pilot’s seat.
In the brief delay, the massive black night-running slime had already slithered up the mountain path.
Before it even reached them, it rapidly morphed, stretching out a long, translucent black tentacle toward the aircraft.
Splat.
The tentacle stuck firmly to the cockpit door beside Pei Ran, its adhesive grip like a suction cup, refusing to let go.
Once attached, it immediately began retracting.
It was trying to drag the aircraft into its slimy mass—to make it “join the night run.” How exactly it planned to manage that was anyone’s guess.
Pei Ran rapidly pressed a series of buttons, pulled the control stick, and took off directly.
The hover system engaged, lifting the aircraft—but the slime’s tentacle held on with terrifying strength, still glued to the door.
The Black Falcon’s thrust was no joke. Even pitted against the night-running slime, it didn’t lose out. After a brief wobble, it steadily ascended.
The two forces pulled against each other like a tug-of-war—until, with a crack, the cabin door tore off.
The slime’s sticky tentacle only managed to grab a door, and it was far from satisfied. It immediately discarded the door and stretched upward, trying to reach through the gaping hole beside the cockpit to seize Pei Ran.
But the Black Falcon was already airborne, rapidly gaining altitude.
The slime’s tentacle eventually reached its maximum length and, with reluctant frustration, retracted back to the ground.
With the cockpit door gone, the cabin was wide open. Amid the howling wind, the island’s houses and roads rapidly shrank below. Pei Ran glanced at the display and turned northwest.
The Black Falcon soared over the turbulent sea, leaving the island behind.
When the rescue team had arrived on the island, there had been seven of them. Now, five were dead—only she and Abu remained. At least they had managed to retrieve their target.
Pei Ran spared a quick glance back.
Nan Yi sat slumped in the corner of the back seat, his gaze vacant, still reeling from his brother’s gruesome death.
Abu was still unconscious, slumped crookedly against the seatback, eyes closed.
This was Abu’s own choice.
She had chosen that path, which meant she had known all along that she would take that blow to the head.
With her kind of ability, sending others to their deaths would have been effortless—yet she always chose to be the sacrificial lamb instead.
Everyone else gets to stand tall, but you’re the one lying down. What’s the point? Pei Ran thought.
Besides, even if they saved Nan Yi, from his perspective, he might see it as Abu choosing to sacrifice his brother. He might not feel grateful—he might even resent her.
Human hearts are hard to predict. Protecting yourself is what matters—there’s no need to go this far for others.
The mechanical spider crawled out from Pei Ran’s chest pocket, clambered onto her shoulder, and peered back.
W spoke in her ear: “Don’t worry. She’s still breathing—probably just knocked out.”
The spider then turned toward the open cabin door.
“Pei Ran, don’t fly too high. Maintain this low altitude, and don’t go too fast. The temperature will drop mid-flight—you won’t be able to handle it.”
With the cabin door wide open, it was like driving a convertible in the dead of winter. The roaring wind whipped through, freezing her ears to the point of numbness.
Pei Ran freed one hand and fumbled at her collar.
The spider scurried up to her shoulder, positioned itself near her neck, and extended its metal claws to help unzip the hidden fastener.
Inside the collar of her combat suit was a windproof hood.
Though the spider was strong, its tiny size made the task comically difficult—like a small dog dragging a giant parachute. It struggled to pull out the folded hood, straining to tug it over Pei Ran’s head.
Its metal claws flailed in a frantic, chilly dance around her ears, and Pei Ran almost laughed. She reached up and pulled the hood into place herself.
The combat suit’s special material provided much-needed warmth.
The mechanical spider slid down her arm, climbed onto the console, and pressed a disc-shaped button with its metal feet, giving it a slight twist.
Warm air blew from somewhere—it had turned on the heating.
Though the feeble warmth was no match for the relentless cold wind pouring in, it was better than nothing.
Fortunately, the Black Falcon’s performance was exceptional. Even missing a door, it remained remarkably stable in flight.
The night was silent, the waves churned below, and several hours of travel still lay ahead. Hopefully, they’d make it safely.
The island gradually shrank to a speck before vanishing into the darkness.
Ahead, the clouds thickened, the night grew darker, and sky and sea merged into a murky expanse. The Black Falcon flew like a solitary bird through the frozen blackness, with Pei Ran relying solely on the instrument panel to maintain altitude and direction.
The spider took matters into its own hands, switching the console’s display.
Pei Ran glanced at the screen. “What’s this?”
“Weather radar,” W replied. “The sky doesn’t look right. I just checked this aircraft’s manual and learned how to read it.”
He was learning on the fly.
The spider crawled over and planted itself squarely on the screen. “Pei Ran, look at this large red area beneath me—it means a thunderstorm. There’s a thunderstorm ahead of us.”
As if responding to his words, a distant flash lit up the sky ahead.
The light illuminated the thick, black clouds, followed by another blinding white bolt—like a slanting sword splitting the darkness between sea and sky.
A moment later, a deep, rumbling thunderclap rolled in, echoing endlessly. More lightning followed, strike after strike.
This was the southeastern part of the East Manya continent. Even in deep winter, rain still fell.
The spider stared ahead. “This aircraft was designed with thunderstorms in mind—it has comprehensive lightning protection measures. But in its current state, I seriously doubt it can handle this weather. Pei Ran, I suggest we detour.”
With the Black Falcon’s cabin wide open and Pei Ran piloting this model for the first time, W’s assessment was objective.
Pei Ran agreed. “Alright. We’ll head north first, then loop west.”
The Black Falcon banked north.
But the storm was vast and moving fast. Soon, heavy raindrops began pelting down in a relentless barrage.
Lightning snaked through the black clouds, occasionally lancing downward. The thunder grew louder, pounding against their eardrums.
The rain became a solid sheet, pouring through the open cabin door and drenching half the interior in seconds. Though her combat suit was water-resistant, it wasn’t a raincoat—soaked through, it offered little protection now.
On the console, the screen flickered—then suddenly went black.
Pei Ran and W: “…”
Fortunately, only the display was gone. The Black Falcon continued speeding forward through the downpour.
The world outside was a black abyss of torrential rain, visibility reduced to zero.
Pei Ran: “What if we climb higher and fly above the storm?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” W said. “With the cabin open, neither you nor the aircraft can handle that altitude.”
He added, “The display is dead, but I can still navigate. We’re still heading north.”
Worried, he continued, “Should we turn back east toward the island? Problem is, the radar showed thunderstorms there too. Going back might be worse.”
Ren surrounded them on all sides, with no clear escape. The aircraft flew blindly through the storm like a lone, drenched bird, relying on sheer luck.
Pei Ran glanced back at the rear seats.
The cabin door on that side was intact, shielding it from the worst of the rain. Nan Yi was nervously watching the lightning outside, while Abu remained unconscious, eyes closed.
An idea struck her.
She focused inward, examining the green glow within her.
Green Light No. 3—the ability to control others’ powers—had been used once today on Lu Ming. But it still seemed active, ready for another use.
Pei Ran had seen the green flash in Abu’s eyes when she activated her precognition. Maybe she could harness that power now.
She summoned Green Light No. 3.
A green shimmer appeared before her eyes as she looked at Abu.
Suddenly, the world shifted into a strange state—visions materializing before her.
Her perspective seemed to jolt awake, as if roused by a tremor. The view was slightly blurred at first.
In front of her was the back of the pilot’s seat, where a figure in a combat suit and hood sat, only the top of their head and shoulders visible.
This was Abu’s viewpoint.
Pei Ran was seeing herself from behind—an experience so bizarre it was almost unsettling.
Outside, the storm still raged, thunder and lightning relentless.
This is the future. But every time Abu used her precognition, it seemed to happen almost instantly.
The moment this thought crossed her mind, everything around her accelerated as if fast-forwarded.
The rain was torrential, flooding the cabin with water. Soon, a blinding flash of lightning illuminated everything like a camera flash, followed instantly by an earsplitting crack.
The Black Falcon spun like a bird shot from the sky, plummeting downward.
The violent impact with the sea sent waves surging over the aircraft, icy water rushing in through the open cabin door.
Pei Ran felt herself gasp for air just before impact, but she still choked on seawater.
Struggling in the dark, turbulent water, she seemed to sink alongside the Black Falcon.
Saltwater burned her lungs, the pain searing. She coughed violently, only inhaling more water.
Her eardrums screamed in agony before fading into numbness. The world grew unnervingly silent as her consciousness dimmed—death closing in.
Pei Ran jolted out of the vision like waking from a nightmare, adrenaline surging, heart pounding.
If we keep flying north, the aircraft will be struck by lightning and crash into the sea.
This path was a dead end.
She steadied herself—the Black Falcon was still flying steadily through the storm.
She asked W: “Was I just spacing out? How long was I gone?”
The spider, having watched her closely, replied instantly: “Three, maybe four seconds.”
In just those few seconds, she had lived through a nightmare death.
The green glow still hovered before her—Green Light No. 3 seemed to know she wasn’t finished, waiting for her next command. Pei Ran tapped into Abu’s power again.
This time, she focused her intent: What if we turn east now, back toward the island?
The vision reappeared.
She accelerated it further, rapidly scanning the outcome.
Another death.
This time, they plunged into the sea even faster—no time to gasp for air, drowning more violently than before.
Pei Ran wrenched herself free, exhaling sharply.
Each death felt agonizingly real, no different from truly experiencing it.
Being a prophet is no job for the living.
Stabilizing the aircraft, she glanced west. That direction—originally her planned route—was the heart of the storm, a searing red mass on the radar like molten lava.
What if we risk it and charge straight into the storm’s center?
This time, the vision shifted completely.
The surroundings had turned to daylight.
The perspective was still from the back seat—someone slowly opening their eyes.
They sat up, peering out the window.
Morning mist shrouded the reddish-brown earth, the sky pale with dawn. The aircraft flew steadily over an endless stretch of wilderness.
Leaning forward, they gently tapped the back of the pilot’s seat:
“Are we… almost there?”
Pei Ran saw herself in the pilot’s seat turn around. Her clothes were still damp, but she wore a faint smile as she rapped the seatback in response:
“Yeah. Black Well is just ahead. We’re almost there.”