I didn't know why, but from the moment we set out, a sense of unease nagged at me. Goosebumps rose and fell in waves, a constant, restless dread. Jasper tried to reassure me: "It's a normal physiological response. Humans instinctively feel fear in unfamiliar natural environments."
I nodded. Maybe I was overthinking it.
As we talked, we'd made it halfway when a sudden chill washed over me, making my whole body shudder. I was about to call a halt when—thwap, thwap—several nets ejected from the ground, yanking us up into the trees.
We'd walked into a trap!
Tangled in the nets like prey, we thrashed uselessly. Selene pulled out her blade and tried to cut the ropes, but a voice below called up: "Don't bother. These are old mountain hunting snares made from vines mixed with bark—you can't cut them."
I looked down. Of course—our enemies, right on cue. It was Tarkan and his four men.
My heart sank.
We'd calculated every possibility, and still run into them.
"In such a hurry to leave? I haven't had a chance to welcome you properly." Tarkan leered at me. "Good thing I finally caught up with you."
Tarkan had us bound hand and foot, kneeling in a row. Who knew what methods this pirate would use to torture us. One thing was certain—he wouldn't let us die quickly.
Jasper made a last-ditch effort: "Tarkan, you have a sister. You two grew up together in northern Myanmar, dependent on each other. Later, to survive, your sister was forced into prostitution..."
Tarkan stiffened—clearly Jasper had hit the mark. But he quickly waved his hand: "Go gag that mouth of his!"
One of his men stuffed rags into Jasper's mouth. Whatever he wanted to say came out as muffled grunts.
Tarkan found our lighter and cigarettes. He lit one, ordered his men to build a bonfire, and then carried out the woman's body—it looked like he meant to cremate her.
Holding the body, Tarkan was overcome with grief and wept: "Yana, we swore we'd never be apart. We said once we made enough money in this competition, we'd go back to Somalia, back to the Gulf of Aden—that was our home. We were going to form our own mercenary crew, make those Westerners piss themselves when they saw us. Yana, you said you'd rule the seas with me—how could you leave first..."
I said, "You can't blame us for her death. We were only—"
"Shut up!" Tarkan roared at me, veins bulging in his eyes, firelight twisting his face. "After I bury Yana, I'm going to skin the four of you and cure you in salt! You'll regret ever being born!"
My heart twisted violently. I knew he meant every word.
The woman's body crackled in the flames. Tarkan and his men wept openly around the bonfire. I used these last precious moments racking my brain for an escape, but nothing came.
Finally, I gave up and looked at Selene. "Selene, I want to ask you something."
"Go ahead." Selene looked back at me, her expression softened in the firelight. Perhaps knowing death was near, she'd dropped all her defenses.
"That night at White Ridge Mountain—did I fall asleep on your lap?"
"Yes. I held you while you slept."
"Why?"
"Because you gave me your jacket. I was afraid you'd catch cold." She paused, then added, "Besides my father, no man has ever covered me with his jacket."
Relief washed over me. "Selene, thank you."
On the brink of death, I suddenly felt a sense of liberation. Survival, truth, the world's dark web—let it all go. If I had the choice, I'd find a factory job and quietly work on an assembly line, never setting foot in this competition again.
I thought of Li Si on the day he was sentenced to be cut in half, weeping as he told his son: "I want to lead my yellow dog with you out the east gate of Shangcai to chase hares—how can I ever do that again?"
How I longed to go back, to take our big yellow dog and chase rabbits with you. But would it ever be possible?
No. Never again.
I couldn't stop my tears either. To think I'd leave the world in such an undignified manner. I said to Selene, "When they start skinning me, close your eyes. Don't look."
Selene smiled gently. "Ryan, don't be afraid. I'll be with you."
I turned to say goodbye to Lucas too—if not for us, he wouldn't have ended up like this.
But his expression was strange. In the firelight, his features twisted eerily, and he kept making a rapid "heh-heh" panting sound.
I hadn't imagined that someone's fear before death could reach such a level.
Suddenly a gust of wind swept through the forest. The bonfire burning the corpse flickered and swayed as if dancing. And then I saw with astonishment that Lucas had somehow freed himself from his ropes. He stood beside the fire, stepping in a strange rhythm that followed the dancing flames!
I stared, jaw dropped.
Tarkan and his men were equally stunned, unable to process the scene before them.
He balanced on one foot, knees bent, arms raised, body swaying gently as he traced a semicircular dance around the fire. Though the steps were bizarre beyond description, they held an inexplicable, mesmerizing beauty.
Selene's eyes widened. "Is this... the Tandava dance?"
Tandava? I searched my memory frantically—then it hit me: Tandava, the Brahmin dance of world destruction?
"Shiva!" I blurted out.
The bonfire seemed to respond to some unseen force, flaring wildly, crackling fiercely. Tarkan's men sensed danger and charged at Lucas together.
Lucas didn't stop his dance, but his body visibly transformed. Something seemed to writhe beneath his skin like a tiny mouse scurrying everywhere. His muscles surged in waves like the ocean.
Tarkan swung a punch, but the intricate dance steps carried Lucas clear. His eyes half-open, body swaying rhythmically, he evaded their coordinated attack. Then he extended his right palm—with a wet crunch, four fingers drove straight through one man's chest.
My god! I'd never seen a Spearhand like that!
Lucas shook the blood from his hand and continued his dance of destruction. Within a few exchanges, the four men lay brutally dead at his feet. Only Tarkan remained.
Tarkan was both terrified and grief-stricken, his face twisting into an indescribable expression. He grabbed a stone and hurled it with his usual technique—but Lucas simply swept his hand through the air and caught the bullet-fast pebble. It had been a feint—Tarkan's fearsome fist was already incoming.
Lucas didn't dodge. He caught Tarkan's punch with his other hand, yanked him in, and hurled the iron-tower of a man as if he weighed nothing. As Tarkan tumbled through the air, Lucas drove his knee upward—Tarkan's massive frame crashed down onto it.
A sickening crack—Tarkan's spine snapped in two, his body folded at an impossible angle. His compressed abdomen forced blood from his throat in a spray like a burst of fireworks.
I watched in stunned disbelief. In less than a minute, Tarkan's entire crew had been annihilated.
When Lucas stood before me, he was a completely different person. Firelight illuminated his powerful physique, muscles bulging, nothing like his earlier frail appearance. Even the freshly stitched wounds had healed, leaving raised scars. His body was drenched in blood, his searing body heat evaporating a faint red mist.
"Who... who are you?" I stammered.
"Shiva!" Selene shouted. "You're Shiva, aren't you?"
"Normally, for competitions with prize money under one million, you'd have no right to witness Shiva's true form," Lucas spoke, his voice carrying a magnetic rasp. "I was just going to coast through with you, but you're so useless you nearly got me killed."
So Lucas's other identity was Shiva!