Chapter One: The God of Slaughter
The sky was clear and boundless as a domestic flight soared through the azure heavens, carrying over a hundred passengers from all corners of the country. Two flight attendants, dressed in crisp professional uniforms, bustled about the cabin.
A crisp chime sounded, followed by the broadcast: “We will soon arrive at Biali Airport. We are entering landing procedures. Please check your seat belts. As the plane is landing, please refrain from using the restroom.”
Passengers heeded the announcement, each checking their seat belts. But as most were occupied with this task, a middle-aged man seated by the aisle suddenly stood up, scanning his surroundings before heading toward the restroom.
One of the flight attendants quickly stepped forward, politely urging, “Sir, we’re about to land. Please return to your seat.”
The man’s face darkened. He glared coldly at the attendant, then brusquely shoved her aside and continued forward. Caught off guard, the attendant stumbled and fell beside the aisle.
Seeing the fallen attendant, Old Hans frowned. As a policeman, even though retirement was imminent, he would not tolerate violence before his eyes. He helped her up, pulled his badge from his jacket pocket, flashed it at the man, and said, “Return to your seat.”
“I need to use the restroom,” the man replied, indifferent.
“Hold it for a few minutes,” Hans insisted.
The man eyed the old policeman, seemingly frail, and tried to slip past him. But Hans anticipated his move and blocked him again, this time less politely: “Once we land at Biali, you’ll have plenty of room to relieve yourself, young man.”
The man’s face grew darker. He swung a fist at Hans’s face, striking swiftly. Despite his age, Hans’s reflexes remained sharp. He tilted his head, barely dodging the punch. The wind of the man’s fist whistled past; Hans was startled—such force was not from an ordinary person, and the man’s demeanor was clearly hostile. Hans knew he had to subdue him quickly.
Without hesitation, Hans swung his right fist at the man’s face; the movement inadvertently revealed his police sidearm. The man’s eyes lit up at the sight. He ducked Hans’s punch, lunged forward, grabbed Hans’s waist, and snatched the pistol. Shoving Hans aside, he fired.
Bang!
The bullet struck Hans in the chest. Blood spurted out.
“You… you…” Hans muttered, disbelief etched on his face. He had survived storms and dangers throughout his career, yet now, on the eve of retirement, he was killed by an unknown youth. He reached for the man, but his strength faded rapidly, his consciousness slipping away, and he collapsed.
A brief, eerie silence fell over the cabin, then the shrieks of female passengers erupted.
Bang!
Another shot fired—this time to intimidate. The man shouted, “Shut up! Cooperate and you won’t be hurt. Resist, and you’ll end up like the old man. Stay quiet and where you are!”
Ignoring the terrified passengers, he grabbed the trembling flight attendant and dragged her toward the cockpit. She seemed to have forgotten how to resist, quivering as she was hauled along.
The cockpit door opened. The three crew members saw the armed man and, hearing the gunshots, immediately deduced he was a terrorist. The captain pleaded, “Sir, we can discuss this. Please don’t do anything reckless!”
The man surveyed the three, their expressions exactly as expected. He allowed himself a thin smile. “If you resist, I’ll crash the plane!” He shoved the attendant aside, pulled out a “cell phone” from his pocket, flipped its cover with his thumb, and said, “G4 plastic explosive!”
“If you know what’s good for you, divert the flight to Pat, Captain,” he demanded coldly.
The captain eyed the device—a cluster of white plastic and copper wires. By his experience, he was sixty percent certain the threat was real. Coupled with the police pistol, he dared not resist. He contacted the tower as ordered, describing their predicament with careful discretion.
The airport instantly realized the plane was hijacked and alerted the authorities. Within half an hour, police surrounded the airport.
The plane landed. Seeing police everywhere, the hijacker shouted through the intercom, “Have your people fall back or I’ll kill hostages!”
“Understood, we’ll withdraw immediately!” replied the temporary commander, Crook.
“Refuel the plane now or I’ll blow it up!” the man continued.
“We’re preparing now, please wait!” replied the tower manager, then turned off the intercom, frustrated. He turned to Crook, “Can’t your people take out the suspect?”
Crook was unfazed, replying calmly, “On an open runway, it’s impossible. The only viable spot is the grass two kilometers ahead of the runway—we have snipers there, but hitting a target in the cockpit from that distance is impossible.”
“Can’t you just fire more shots? One might hit!” the manager said, anxiously ruffling his hair.
“Possible, but if we miss, he’ll detonate the bomb and everyone will die. No one can guarantee a lethal shot at two kilometers without correction.”
“Sir, you have a call! Sir, you have a call!” came a sweet voice from the manager’s jacket pocket. He angrily pulled out the phone, wondering who would call at such a moment. Seeing the familiar number, he took a deep breath and answered, “Hello, Chairman!”
“I don’t care how you do it—delay the suspect until I return!” came the command.
“Yes, yes!” the manager replied, nodding repeatedly.
“Where’s Crook?” After the call, the manager realized Crook was gone and grabbed a staff member.
“Crook took a call while you were on the phone, then left,” the staffer replied.
“Damn him, running off now!” the manager cursed.
...
On the highway, a black Lamborghini sped at 250 km/h, a streak of black lightning across the blue sky. In the back seat, a man set down his phone—the chairman, Beck, who had just spoken to the tower manager. That morning, Beck had learned of the hijacking. While he was at a loss, a CIA agent found him, telling him there was someone who could solve it.
“Mr. Lawrence, are you sure he can do it?” Beck asked the silent Lawrence beside him.
Lawrence pointed to the laptop on Beck’s lap and smiled, “Aside from him, I don’t know anyone else who can kill a target at two kilometers with a single shot.”
“I hope so,” Beck replied, hesitating as he looked at the data.
The car stopped at the prison gates. Lawrence got out and said to Beck, “Wait here. The order for release has been given—you’ll see him soon.”
...
Click, click.
Doors opened. A prison guard walked to a cell, pointed at a man sitting in the corner, and said, “You, come here!”
The man slowly opened his eyes, stood, and approached. The guard glanced at the burly man with a scar on his face and said, “You’re lucky—the bar brawl victim dropped charges.” Checking his notebook, he asked, “State your name.”
The man stepped up to the bars and replied calmly, “Lei Yan.”
Seeing Lei Yan’s cold, bloodthirsty gaze, the guard involuntarily stepped back, unsure why he felt fear.
Taking a deep breath, he said, “You’re free.” With shaking hands, he unlocked the cell.
Click, click.
As the gates opened, Lei Yan, dressed smartly and carrying a folder, walked out.
“Long time no see, Mr. Lei Yan. You’re unforgettable!” Lawrence approached with a smile.
As Lawrence moved toward Lei Yan, a group of young men also strode over, but stopped when they saw Lawrence.
Lei Yan ignored Lawrence, his gaze fixed on Beck. Lawrence smiled apologetically, “Sorry, this is Beck, Chairman of East Far Airlines.”
“When did the CIA get involved with airlines?” Lei Yan said blandly, clearly familiar with Lawrence.
“I’ll explain everything. This way, please.” Lawrence opened the car door, gesturing invitingly.
“Oh, sorry!” Lawrence realized Lei Yan hadn’t moved and remembered Lei Yan disliked exposing his back. He entered first, saying, “I also dislike being watched while getting in, but I’ll accommodate your preference today.”
Lei Yan got in, and Lawrence said, “You seem to be watched.”
Lei Yan had noticed the youths as soon as they arrived. But they were mere errand boys, easily dealt with, and wouldn’t dare act in front of CIA agents.
Lawrence, seeing no reaction, pulled out a newspaper and pointed to a report, “You killed Biali’s biggest mafia boss. His men won’t let it go—they’re waiting to capture and deal with you. Even if they don’t act, they’ll use us against you.”
“A threat?” Lei Yan’s eyes narrowed. He disliked threats and would kill Lawrence and his companions if necessary.
Lawrence regretted his words instantly. No one knew Lei Yan better than he did—Lei Yan was a living god, a god of death, capable of killing anyone in any environment. Threatening him was a death sentence.
“Haha… I think you misunderstand, Mr. Lei Yan—no, Death God is more accurate! I’m merely reminding you,” Lawrence laughed awkwardly.
“The reward is three million dollars. Your godlike assassination skills are exactly what we need. Only you can do this.” Lawrence continued, “Jack is a target we’ve tracked for half a year. He’s a national senator and businessman—a threat to national security. As a top-level congressman, he has access to military secrets and sells them to foreign agencies. He fled after detecting our operation. International flight security is strict, so he hijacked a domestic flight. We must not let him escape with the missile defense system secrets. Can you help?”
Lei Yan finally spoke, “Why me?”
“No one else can approach the suspect on an open runway without being detected. If he senses danger, he’ll detonate the bomb—taking all the passengers with him. Only you can do this,” Lawrence said, excited.
“We must kill with a single shot. But time is tight,” Lei Yan replied calmly.
“If there’s even a slim chance, we must try. I won’t claim this is for my country or the hundred passengers—I trust your professional skill. Please, help us!” Lawrence pleaded.
“I’ll go as soon as I’m ready,” Lei Yan said flatly.
“Thank you, Death God!” Lawrence said.
The car stopped near a park, where a red Ferrari awaited. Lei Yan got out. Lawrence rolled down the window, “The reward and necessary materials are inside. How long will you need?”
“Four hours,” Lei Yan replied.
Lei Yan entered the Ferrari, opened the laptop inside—the schematics were ready. He reviewed the data, did some analysis, then opened another case filled with stacks of hundred-dollar bills—three million in total. Lei Yan showed no emotion, closed the case, and drove off to find someone to modify his gun.
Lawrence watched Lei Yan drive away and sighed, “The cards are played…”
Lei Yan sped to Blue Wave Hotel, entered a pre-booked room. Whenever he had a mission, he reserved rooms under different identities for contingencies; this one was from his last job eliminating Biali’s mafia boss.
Inside, Lei Yan tossed the money and laptop onto the bed, went to the wardrobe, and retrieved communication equipment and a modified Desert Eagle from a hidden compartment. He wasn’t worried about discovery—the compartment was screwed shut, and the devices and gun bore no traceable information.
Click, click.
Lei Yan expertly disassembled the gun, cleaning each part meticulously. The pistol was his lifeline; he allowed no mistakes. Once finished, he dialed a familiar number.
Beep… beep… beep…
“Death God, you finally called again. What do you need?” came an excited voice—Howard’s, Lei Yan’s exclusive supplier.
“A modified M200,” Lei Yan said calmly.
“What? Even the M200 isn’t enough?” Howard was shocked—a .408 caliber rifle with a max range of 1400 meters wasn’t sufficient?
“Correct. The target is two kilometers away. I need a 32-inch barrel, compatible magazine, and increased ammo. Complete in three hours,” Lei Yan demanded, “Thirty thousand for the modification, two hundred thousand for the time spent.”
Howard was silent for a moment, then agreed, “Alright, I’ll do it.”
Lei Yan quickly transferred the funds. “The money’s in your account. I’ll come for it in three hours.” He hung up.
Half an hour passed.
Knock, knock, knock.
A rhythmic knock at the door. Lei Yan checked the peephole—seeing a woman, he opened the door, recalling his earlier request for “company.”
Lei Yan was surprised—the woman was no ordinary escort. About 5’7”, curvaceous and alluring, truly stunning. Her wavy golden hair, beautiful features, and glossy lips exuded sensuality. Her eyes were captivating, her skin fair, her dress accentuating her full figure.
Her slender waist swayed as she walked, making it seem delicate enough to break. Yet her posture was natural, not forced.
“Sir, did you order ‘takeout’?” she purred.
Lei Yan’s eyes flashed with appreciation before returning to calm. He knew “takeout” meant special services, and also suspected she was no ordinary escort. But since she’d come, he would enjoy himself—no words, only action.
Lei Yan vented himself, as he always did. His life was destined to forsake love, family, and friendship.
Afterward, Lei Yan dressed. He was puzzled—the woman hadn’t played any tricks. With half an hour left before his meeting with Howard, he needed to pick up the gun and head to the airport—he couldn’t linger.
“You’re the best man I’ve ever met. Why not stay longer? I can cancel my other appointments,” she said sweetly as Lei Yan dressed.
He didn’t reply, simply left a thousand dollars and departed without a backward glance.
Soon after Lei Yan left, a group of men entered. The leader wore a black suit, with a man in sunglasses beside him—others followed. If the East Far Airport tower manager were here, he’d recognize Crook.
The leader approached the woman, who covered herself with the sheets. “Is everything done?”
“All done—six times! He’s amazing!” she replied, dazed by his prowess, then recovered and asked, “Where’s my money?”
“Excellent work. Here’s your reward!” The leader drew a pistol and shot her in the head.
Bang!
She dropped instantly.
“Damn it, bragging about that bastard who killed my father! Foolish!” He turned to Crook, “You heard? She said six times—now it’s your turn. Three million when it’s done.”
“Deal,” Crook replied.
“Here’s the deposit.” The leader handed over a case.
******
Half an hour later, Howard finished the modifications as Lei Yan arrived.
“Three hours—right on time!” Howard handed over the rifle. “With the longer barrel, it weighs 8.6 kilograms—sixty percent heavier than usual, but you should manage. Does it meet your needs?”
Lei Yan tested the rifle, fired a few rounds, and nodded, “Excellent.”
“One hour left,” Lei Yan noted, ever mindful of time.
******
On East Far Airport’s runway, the hijacked plane remained, time ticking away. Jack, the hijacker, could no longer endure the endless waiting. Furious, he shouted into the intercom, “Everyone has their limits!” A gunshot followed.
“No!” The tower manager cried out, glancing at Beck. Beck had instructed him to delay for four hours, but now time was up. He looked to Beck for a decision.
“What now?” Everyone’s eyes were on Beck, who felt suffocated. Checking his watch, he saw Death God Lei Yan was twenty minutes away—just a little longer.
Suddenly, inspiration struck. He told the tower manager, “Clear the plane for takeoff, then have snipers shoot out the tires!”
“Clear for takeoff!” the manager ordered via intercom.
Jack’s laughter echoed, “If only you’d done this sooner…” But his laughter froze as the plane shook violently. He yelled at the captain, “What’s happening?”
“The tires are blown—we can’t take off!” the captain replied anxiously.
After endless torment, the glimmer of hope was extinguished. Jack nearly went mad, shouting, “Get someone to fix the tires!”
The manager, knowing the delay had worked again, quickly replied, “We’re sending people now!”
Just then, a staff member announced, “Manager, a plane is approaching!”
Soon, a helicopter flew past the tower. Beck saw a blurred figure aboard and stood up, murmuring, “He’s here—the Death God is here!”
Lei Yan’s helicopter flew over the grass two kilometers away, landing at a small runway 2.5 kilometers distant. Lei Yan disembarked, lay prone, and adjusted his sniper rifle, taking aim.
At 2.5 kilometers, an uncorrected, lethal shot was something only Death God Lei Yan could achieve—thanks to his supernatural ability. With a powerful enough gun, he could hit any target anywhere.
He locked onto the target, ready to fire, when a sense of danger surged—a sixth sense honed over the years. Whenever someone targeted him with murderous intent, he could feel it. But now, as he locked onto the plane, his ability’s flaw emerged: long-range targeting required thirty seconds, enough for others to kill him.
Seconds ticked by. Despite being targeted, Lei Yan’s professionalism meant he would not forsake his mission for his own safety.
“Ten, nine, eight… three, two, one…”
Bang!
The bullet shot across 2.5 kilometers, striking Jack between the eyes. Jack sensed something amiss as the bullet entered his brow, collapsing before he could press the bomb trigger.
Simultaneously, Lei Yan’s shot—though quiet—served as a signal. Snipers hidden in the grass two kilometers away opened fire in his direction.
Bang, bang, bang…
Lei Yan rolled away, narrowly avoiding the shots, cold sweat trickling down. Luckily, he had rolled as he fired, or those bullets would have crippled him.
“Hide behind the plane!”
Facing several snipers, even with his abilities, Lei Yan dared not take chances. He dashed, rolled, and reached the plane, using it as cover to raise his M200.
Bang!
The bullet sped toward a sniper in the grass, shattering the scope and piercing the sniper’s right eye.
Bang, bang, bang…
Three more shots, three more headshots.
“Damn, he’s a monster!” Crook cursed as his men dropped, but having been paid, he had to continue—otherwise the mafia boss’s son would kill him. The deaths meant nothing; they were just subordinates.
“Snipers three, five, seven—circle from behind!” Crook ordered.
Lei Yan counted—he’d fired five shots. Though the modified rifle held two extra rounds, only four were left, and at least ten enemies remained. Lei Yan drew his Desert Eagle, muttering coldly, “Time to rely on you.”
Bang, bang, bang, bang…
Four shots, four lives taken. Lei Yan dropped the M200—now he had to flee. The Desert Eagle was no match for sniper rifles, especially at this distance.
“Sniper three is in position, locking target!”
“Sniper five is in position, locking target!”
“Sniper seven is in position, locking target!”
Voices crackled from Crook’s intercom. He gleefully said, “This time, you’re dead!”
Lei Yan sprinted, suddenly sensing at least three snipers targeting him. He immediately began running in an S-shaped pattern.
Bang, bang, bang…
Three shots nearly sealed his escape route as he approached the airport building. If he charged forward, he’d be hit; if not, he was as good as dead. Lei Yan calculated rapidly—at least two snipers had him locked, one blocked his path. He made his decision and charged.
Bang, bang…
Bullets flew at his head; Lei Yan ducked, raised his left arm to shield vital parts. The bullet struck his arm, and with a deft motion, he shifted his arm, causing the bullet to exit through his shoulder. He rolled to safety behind a wall.
He tore off a sleeve to staunch the bleeding, realizing how close he’d come. Blocking a bullet with his arm and then deflecting it was simple in theory, but difficult in practice—first, he had to intercept the bullet, then move his arm instantly to the precise spot. Only he dared such a feat.
With Lei Yan hidden, the snipers lost their target.
“Sniper three, lost target!”
“Sniper five, lost target!”
“Sniper seven, lost target!”
“Damn, he escaped!” Crook cursed, pounding the grass.
With cover, Lei Yan could finally think. Piecing everything together, a name surfaced: Mad, the mafia boss’s son. Only he could buy off the snipers. Now, Lei Yan needed to escape.
As Lei Yan prepared to leave, the airport broadcast boomed with a deep voice: “Lei Yan, you bastard, today is your death day. I’ve set up more than twenty world-class snipers here—and one you may know: his name is Bunny!”
“Bunny!” Lei Yan was startled. He hadn’t expected Mad to be so insane as to invite Bunny. If Lei Yan was the world’s top sniper, Bunny was second. Bunny’s skill was “No Kill”—when he locked onto a target, he emitted no killing intent. Lei Yan could do this too, but doing and sensing are different. Now, with blood loss, fatigue from earlier exertions, and mental strain, Lei Yan was at a disadvantage against Bunny.
“You want me dead? Then be ready to die with me!” Lei Yan’s eyes blazed. With over twenty snipers and one phantom master, escape was impossible. Facing certain death, his killing intent surged.
“Control room!” Lei Yan muttered. He knew only the control room could broadcast. He needed to reach a position opposite it, find a suitable spot, and kill Mad.
In the control room, Mad lounged in a black suit, cigar in mouth. He took a deep drag and asked Bunny, “Are you confident you can kill Lei Yan?”
“If you doubt me, why invite me?” Bunny replied coldly.
Mad choked on his cigar, knowing Bunny’s reputation but seeking reassurance.
“Sigh,” Bunny said suddenly, “I’ve been second for too long. I’ve worked harder than you can imagine to kill Lei Yan. Today is my chance.”
Mad, seeing Bunny’s confidence, said, “Then let’s follow your plan, Mr. Bunny.”
While they talked, Lei Yan had killed three snipers and reached a building diagonal to the control room.
“Two bullets left. Must kill with one shot!” Lei Yan checked the magazine.
He peeked out—four or five hundred meters separated him from the control room; the view inside was unclear. Fortunately, his pendant was a miniature scope—a lifesaver he’d never used until today.
Through it, he saw everything inside. He was puzzled to find only Mad present, but dismissed the thought.
Aim. Lock on.
Bang!
The bullet pierced the control room glass and struck Mad between the eyes.
A perfect headshot—no surprise. Four or five hundred meters was nothing to the Desert Eagle, and Lei Yan’s precision made it easy.
At the same moment, a shot rang out from the roof above the control room.
Lei Yan realized, too late, that it was a trap. Bunny had long wanted to kill him, using Mad’s desire and Lei Yan’s own intent to bait him. If he hadn’t acted, Bunny wouldn’t know his location—but now, it was over.
In less than a second, Lei Yan felt the bullet enter his head. His psychic power radiated from his head toward the roof—a dying obsession. His ability spread like a vast net toward the rooftop, and instantly he found Bunny.
“Found him!” Lei Yan reflexively pulled the trigger.
Bang!
Lei Yan fell, but Bunny, thinking he’d become number one, froze, struck through the head. He looked in disbelief toward Lei Yan’s position and collapsed, his last thought: Impossible!
(ps: First day posting, ten-thousand-word chapter. New book needs your support!)