[Third POV]
An unnatural fog, thick and impenetrable, swallowed the coast of Koko Island. A rare phenomenon in this region—some would call it a miracle. Others, a curse.
Three hundred meters offshore, a monstrous ship loomed in the mist. Four towering masts, enormous sails, and a black flag—a symbol that sent shivers through the spine of any seasoned sailor. The Jolly Roger, a mark of death.
The ship's cannons had rained hell on the island for what felt like an eternity. But now, the barrage had stopped. Not out of mercy, but necessity. Four boats of cutthroats had been sent toward the shore. None had returned.
The fog had been their salvation and their damnation. It cloaked them from sight, but it also swallowed their men whole. Now, lost in the swirling gray abyss of evening, the pirates had no clear path forward.
Yet, hesitation was not in their nature. Guided by the scent of smoke and the distant echoes of panicked screams, they pushed inland.
Koko Island was not home to just one village—there were four. The invaders split into groups, each disappearing down separate roads, hungry for blood and plunder.
Joe, ignoring the urge to look back, headed toward the neighboring village. Not because of his miserable ex-wife—he could live without her complaints—but because his son was there.
Hana stood in the treeline, crouched in a shallow trench, gripping a rusted rifle. Her breath was slow, controlled, her eyes scanning the shifting shadows that danced within the mist.
Something was coming.
And it wasn't friendly.
[Hana POV]
Damn this fog. Why today of all days? Did the ocean itself side with these filthy bastards?
Mig—the 22-year-old cheerful guy whom I have known since childhood—, crouched beside me in the trench, gripping his rifle tight. His breathing was steady, but I could see the tension in his jaw. He wasn't afraid—just focused.
"Two coming in," I muttered.
He nodded. "Take the left."
I raised my rifle, aligning the sights with the shadowy figure emerging from the mist. Slow breath in. Hold.
Bang.
The shot cracked through the night. One of the figures crumpled instantly, hitting the dirt without a sound.
A scream rang out.
Mig wasted no time. He fired a second shot, but the target twisted at the last second—the bullet tore through his shoulder instead of his chest.
Bad luck.
I sent the sight to finish off the second one but suddenly I noticed. More movements.
Two. No, three… five… seven.
Eight in total.
They sprinted forward, charging with howls of rage.
I fired again.
Bang. Another one down.
Mig pulled the bolt on his rifle, aiming at the next—
Bang.
Great.
Then I tried to kill the next one. And everything was fine. I aimed clearly, my breathing was even, I pulled the trigger but—
Crack.
No shot. No recoil. Just that dead, empty click.
Damn it!
I dropped low, yanking the rifle onto my lap, my fingers struggling to clear the jammed part.
Mig continued to aim and fire at the pirates.
"Come on, come on," I muttered.
I could hear them closing in. Their boots slamming against the dirt. Their voices, wild with bloodlust.
Almost there. Just a little more—
A deafening shot rang out.
But it wasn't ours.
Mig's body jerked violently.
My head snapped toward him.
For a second, he just sat there, perfectly still.
Then, his rifle slipped from his fingers. His body tilted sideways, and he collapsed into the dirt. A dark, gaping hole had replaced half of his skull.
My breath caught in my throat.
No.
No, no, no.
Mig was dead.
My hands trembled as I stared at him, at the warm blood pooling around his face, soaking into the mud. Just a second ago, he had been here. Right here.
And now—
Heavy footsteps. Close.
I tore my eyes away from Mig's lifeless form and reached for his belt. My fingers closed around the hilt of his knife.
They were almost on me.
I stood, gripping the blade tight.
The first pirate came into view.
His face was twisted in a cruel grin, his teeth rotten, his skin smeared with dirt and sweat. A machete hung loosely in his grip, swinging as he ran. His wild eyes locked onto me, gleaming with the kind of hunger that made my blood turn cold.
I braced myself.
He lunged.
I ducked, twisting to the side. The blade whistled past my ear, so close I felt the air shift. I lashed out with the dagger, carving a line across his forearm. He howled, staggering back, but he wasn't down. Not even close.
And the others—
They were already here.
A second one grabbed me from behind, thick arms wrapping around my torso, crushing the air from my lungs. I kicked wildly, my heel slamming into his shin. He cursed, loosening his grip just enough for me to slip free.
But then a fist met my stomach.
The world blurred. My body folded in half, a choked gasp ripping from my throat as pain exploded through me. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the damp earth.
Fuck. No. no.
A rough hand tangled in my hair and yanked my head up. My vision swam. The pirate loomed over me, his face barely visible through the suffocating fog. His breath was hot and rancid as he chuckled.
"Got some fight in ya, girl," he sneered. "That's cute."
I gritted my teeth and clawed at his wrist, but his grip only tightened. Around us, the others were closing in, their laughter sharp and cruel. One of them looked at the corpse lying nearby - Mick - and then came up to me, grabbing my jaw with his dirty hands.
"You put down three," he said but another one interrupted him.
"Four."
"It doesn't matter, but it's more than just this one kid. So we should get compensation," he continued, speaking in a nasty tone.
"That little bitch has a great face."
"Yeah," another growled.
The one holding me dragged me to my feet. My legs trembled, refusing to support my weight. I wasn't done fighting. I couldn't be. But my body was failing me.
They surrounded me now. Circling. Waiting.
For what?
My breath hitched as realization set in.
They weren't going to kill me. Not yet.
They wanted to play first.
Panic crashed over me like a tidal wave, drowning every thought, every strategy, every share of hope I had left. My fingers clenched around my dagger, slick with sweat. I could fight. I could take one down, maybe two.
But there were too many.
Too strong.
And I was alone.
The pirate's grip on my hair tightened, forcing my head back as he leaned in, his lips twisting into a sick grin.
"Hope you're ready, girlie."
I wasn't.
But none of that mattered now.
The last thing I heard before my world spun into chaos was the sound of my own ragged breathing—
And the distant, desperate thought that I was going to die here.