From the moment the plane took off, the killing began.
But unlike previous trips, no one leapt up to start fighting. Instead, everyone stayed seated, observing their opponents. For a while, the cabin felt oddly subdued.
Morphine drifted over seductively, practically pressing her chest into my face, and whispered: "Shiva's boarded, hasn't he?"
No one in the cabin knew Shiva's identity. As long as I kept quiet, she had no way of finding out.
"Yes, he's on board," I nodded. "I saw him come in."
"Where?" Her eyes lit up.
"Tell me where Selene is first."
Morphine hadn't expected me to play this card—she looked surprised. "You're negotiating with me?"
I eyed her sideways. "Do you have a choice?"
Morphine chuckled. "Interesting. You've seized the initiative now... Fine, I can tell you—Selene is on this plane."
"Where?"
"I can't tell you that."
I ignored her and turned to Jasper. "Is that true?"
"Yep." Old Jasper nodded. "Her expression confirms she's not lying."
"Where's Selene?"
"There was a momentary stiffening of her orbicularis oculi, and her gaze flicked downward—that's an unconscious protective response about a hidden target. Simultaneously, the corners of her mouth turned up and her eyelids contracted. That micro-expression lasted only about one-fifteenth of a second, but it revealed a 'confident' emotion. Based on all this analysis, Selene should be on this plane—in the lower cargo hold."
Morphine stared in astonishment, her eyes wide as dinner plates. Her expression was so blatant that even without Jasper analyzing it, I could tell her secret had been exposed.
Bringing Old Jasper onto this flight had been a mistake on Morphine's part. She'd grossly underestimated this disgraced founder of "micro-expression psychology."
While Morphine was still stunned, I vaulted over the seats and sprinted toward the cockpit. This Flying Fortress had a two-deck passenger cabin, and below that on the third level was the cargo hold. During flight, the cargo hold was sealed—no one could enter.
Except for one person: the captain. Only he had the key to the cargo hold.
Morphine shouted: "Stop him!"
Two men immediately blocked my path—these must be Morphine's backup. Both were dressed as monks, their robes even embroidered with the characters for "Shaolin."
They pressed their palms together, intoned "Amituofo," and stood across the aisle like walls.
I launched a high kick at one of their heads, but he didn't budge—didn't even turn his neck. He took the blow head-on, and my leg felt like it had struck a stone pillar. My entire right side went numb.
Impressive—Iron Bell technique.
The other monk shouted, stepped forward, and drove a punch at my chest. It was a basic "Black Tiger Piercing Heart" strike, but the force behind it was tremendous, carrying the power of a thunderbolt. I hastily crossed my arms to block and was knocked back several steps by the explosive impact.
A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. No wonder—this was a competition with prizes near two million. Even a randomly selected opponent was terrifyingly strong.
But they weren't the only hunters—there were bigger fish. The cabin had erupted into chaos, and someone came up behind the monks trying to pick them off. The two warrior monks had to shift their attention to deal with the other passengers.
I slipped away in the melee, dodged past their line of sight, and ducked into the cockpit. The cockpit door was still open. I found the captain, who sensibly complied—self-preservation was his priority—and readily handed over the cargo hold key.
Key in hand, I stepped out of the cockpit—and found Morphine waiting for me at the door. Worse, she had Jasper in a chokehold, using him as a hostage.
"Ryan, tell me who Shiva is, or I'll crush his throat." Morphine applied a bit more pressure, and Jasper's face twisted in pain. I had no doubt that if she wanted to kill him, it would take barely a twitch.
"Don't do anything rash. Let him go, we can talk this out." I did my best to calm her.
"Talk this out? You think I'm a child?" Morphine sneered. "You little schemer! First you bring this piece of work onto the plane, then you go grabbing the cargo hold key—you never intended to tell me who Shiva is, did you?"
I was about to argue when Morphine snapped: "Cut the crap! You've got three seconds. Tell me Shiva's identity or I snap this guy's neck! Three, two..."
"The hand you're using to choke him—is it the same one you used to strangle your own child?" Jasper, fighting for air through his crushed throat, forced out a sentence.
Morphine froze.
"Trusting the wrong man is a woman's greatest sorrow, but the child was innocent. Since you chose to bring him into the world, why did you strangle him with your own hands? Was it because you couldn't afford to raise him when you were young? Or because you feared gossip... or did you choose to give birth to him, then kill him, as the perfect revenge against that man?"
Morphine stood completely paralyzed, staring at Jasper. Her lips trembled. Her eyes held pain, defiance, shock, regret—a flood of emotions beyond words.
In that instant of her shock, I launched myself like a missile, driving a Spearhand at her face. Morphine released Jasper, rolled to the side, and barely dodged the strike. Then she lunged at me like an enraged lioness, swinging: "You motherfuckers played me?!"
I figured she was just a woman—how strong could she be? I threw a punch to meet hers. Our fists collided with a crack, and my wrist buckled under the impact—I was forced back!
Her right fist came again. I hastily covered my head, but a penetrating force slammed through my guard, making my skull ring. I checked my right arm—she'd left a clear fist imprint where I'd blocked.
"Iron Fist Queen"... was this her true strength?
Morphine's eyes blazed with fury. All that resentment and grief poured out in this moment.
She advanced step by step, wreathed in killing intent. "Every man who deceived me deserves to die! Not one goes free! That man—I bashed his skull in, punch by punch, crushed his brains out. Today, I'll let you taste the same!"
Old Jasper's words had completely awakened Morphine's dark side.
We'd thought he was our asset, but he'd backfired spectacularly—summoning a demon upon us.
He'd been the hostage before, and now I was collateral damage too.
"Ryan, she's gone feral..." Old Jasper said in panic.
"I can see that—you don't need to remind me." I positioned myself in front of Jasper. His fragile frame couldn't take a single punch from the "Iron Fist Queen."
Morphine clenched her teeth, let out a roar, and swung. Her eyes were pure rage, her features twisted. I was certain she'd forgotten her mission—she only wanted to murder the men in front of her.
Even Tyson wouldn't dare block a punch like that. I stepped back, dodged, then in the gap between my retreat steps, raised my knee and drove a front kick at her throat. But Morphine didn't dodge—she threw another punch straight at the sole of my foot.
My foot exploded with piercing pain, and my whole lower leg went numb.
This woman wasn't just powerful—her punches had terrifying penetrative force. She was a genuinely dangerous opponent.
Suddenly the plane bucked violently. Everyone staggered, tumbling to the floor. The flight attendant's professional voice came over the PA: "Attention, passengers. The aircraft has climbed into the troposphere and is experiencing turbulent airflow, causing significant shaking. Please remain calm. You may pause combat, fasten your seatbelts, stow your tray tables, and wait for the aircraft to stabilize..."
The plane lurched even harder—people were already rolling across the floor. Even in these conditions, Morphine staggered toward me, still trying to attack.
Women—what kind of trauma have you endured?
I grabbed her legs and shoved hard. She lost her balance, stumbled backward, and tumbled straight into the cockpit. I slammed the door shut and pulled the emergency lock lever. An alarm blared inside—the door clicked locked. She wouldn't be getting out anytime soon.
I turned to Jasper: "Old Jasper, find somewhere to hide—go to the bathroom, it should be safe!"
"I want to find Shiva..."