The wooden dragon soared through the alien sky with impossible grace, its passengers riding in tense silence as the island's twisted landscape passed beneath them. Marcus found himself studying the creature's construction—thousands of wooden spears held together by will and energy, defying every law of physics he understood.
"I've spotted a few more," a voice said from behind them.
Marcus and Takashi spun around, startled. A third figure sat at the dragon's tail—slight, unremarkable, wearing the same orange jumpsuit as the rest of them. But where his eyes should have been, cloth bandages wrapped around his skull. And in the center of his forehead, a third eye stared out at the world with unnatural intensity.
"Were you there the whole time?" Marcus asked, his skin crawling at the sight of that alien gaze.
"Oh yeah," the figure said casually, as if materializing from thin air was perfectly normal. "That explains a bit."
Thunder glanced back at them. "Meet Eyes. Best tracker on the island. He sees everything worth seeing."
The third eye rotated independently of the man's head, scanning the horizon with mechanical precision. "Coordinates 15.7 degrees northeast, distance approximately 2.3 kilometers. Four subjects, one injured, moving northwest along the shoreline."
Wood responded without hesitation, his hands weaving through the air like a conductor directing an orchestra. A wooden spear materialized beside Thunder, crackling with potential energy as it shaped itself into the perfect aerodynamic form.
Thunder caught the projectile, electricity dancing along his fingers as he charged it with lethal power. The wooden spear transformed into something that belonged in Zeus's arsenal—a bolt of pure destructive force.
Marcus felt his retinal structure shift automatically, his vision telescoping to follow the bolt's trajectory. Far below, he could make out four tiny figures stumbling along a beach—survivors from another capsule, injured and desperate.
Thunder's throw was perfect. The electrified spear struck the lead figure with surgical precision, the man's body convulsing as electricity coursed through him before he collapsed into the sand.
"Target eliminated," Eyes reported clinically. "Remaining subjects scattering."
Wood launched three more spears in rapid succession, each one finding its mark with devastating accuracy. Within seconds, four more human beings had been reduced to smoking corpses on an alien beach.
"Why?" Marcus's voice cracked with horror. "Why did you just murder them?"
Thunder holstered his hands, the electrical discharge fading. "First reason—mercy. This island's got things that make death look like a blessing. We save them from suffering."
"Second reason," Wood added, his wooden constructs dissolving back into harmless timber, "is practical. Every survivor is a potential threat. Better to eliminate competition before they get strong enough to challenge us."
Eyes's third eye swiveled to focus on Marcus. "Strategic targeting is essential. We identify the strongest member of each group and eliminate them first. Remove the leader, and the followers become manageable."
The implication hit Takashi like a physical blow. They considered Marcus the strongest, the leader. Which meant in any conflict, he would be their primary target.
Takashi's hand drifted toward his sidearm, his mind calculating angles and distances. Enhanced or not, these were still just men. A bullet in the right place would end their reign of terror permanently.
But Marcus caught his movement, shooting him a warning look that said *wait*. Takashi forced himself to remain still, though his disgust was so overwhelming he spat over the dragon's side in revulsion.
---
**Los Angeles - Klaus's Penthouse**
Elena spat sperm into the marble sink, the taste of the previous night still bitter in her mouth. She'd found Klaus's toothbrush—German engineering, naturally—and was scrubbing away the cum, evidence of her degradation with mechanical precision.
The bathroom mirror reflected a woman who looked like she'd been through a war. Bruises painted her skin in shades of purple and blue, testament to Klaus's strength and her own vulnerability. But despite everything, despite the pain and humiliation, she couldn't deny the flush in her cheeks, the way her body had responded to his dominance.
*Stockholm syndrome,* she told herself. *Psychological adaptation to trauma.*
But the lie felt hollow even to her.
Her phone buzzed on the marble countertop. Unknown number.
"Hello?" she answered, forcing her voice into its professional, seductive register.
"Don't," the voice on the other end cut her off immediately. "We both know you fucked up last night. Your cover is blown, your mission is compromised, and you're probably dead within forty-eight hours."
Elena's blood turned to ice. The voice was electronically distorted, impossible to identify, but the knowledge it displayed was terrifyingly accurate.
"But," the voice continued, "what if I told you there was a way to get closer to the island than you ever thought possible? What if your failure could become your greatest success?"
The line went dead, leaving Elena staring at her reflection and wondering who else was playing games she didn't understand.
---
**The Wooden Dragon**
The dragon began its descent toward what looked like a military encampment carved from the jungle itself. Marcus could see defensive positions, supply caches, and at least thirty people moving with the organized efficiency of a functioning community.
But his mind wasn't on their destination. For the first time since arriving on this nightmare island, he was truly thinking about what had happened to him. The healing. The impossible strength. The telescopic vision that had just activated without conscious thought.
*What else can I do?*
He'd spent his entire adult life dedicating himself to preserving life, but these people were making him consider darker applications of his newfound abilities. If he could harden his skin, could he punch through steel? If he could enhance his muscles, could he move fast enough to dodge lightning?
His medical training kicked in automatically. *What would be the physiological requirements for surviving a direct electrical attack? Increased electrical resistance in the skin, rerouting of neural pathways to prevent cardiac arrest, enhanced cellular repair to handle the tissue damage...*
As he thought, his eyes began to change—the familiar blue glow of his power activating as his body prepared for theoretical combat applications. The pupils dilated and contracted in rapid succession, his iris taking on an almost metallic sheen.
Across from him, Takashi noticed the transformation. *What is he thinking about? What's he planning?*
The golden veins in Takashi's arms pulsed as he reached out to that familiar white void, seeking answers from his mysterious benefactor.
"I need to know what he's thinking," he whispered to the empty air. "Can I borrow telepathic abilities? Just for a few minutes?"
**"Mind reading, basic package. Duration: five minutes. Cost: 75 credits. Acceptable?"**
"Do it."
**CREDITS REMAINING: 675**
Suddenly, Marcus's thoughts flooded into Takashi's consciousness like a torrent of clinical analysis and tactical planning:
*Wood dies first. He's the support—take him out and the dragon collapses. Thunder is the real threat, but without aerial advantage, he's just another enhanced human. Approach from below during the fall, use cellular reinforcement to survive the electrical discharge. Strike at the solar plexus where the electrical field is weakest, then follow up with enhanced-strength blows to disable...*
The plan was detailed, methodical, perfectly calculated. Marcus had analyzed their captors like a surgeon studying an operation, identifying weak points and contingencies with terrifying precision.
But it was too perfect. Too complete. Too ready to execute.
And Takashi, pumped full of borrowed power and seeing his companion's ruthless efficiency, believed every word of it.
This was their chance. Their only chance.
Takashi stood slowly, his movement casual and unthreatening. His hand found his sidearm—the weapon Thunder had somehow failed to confiscate during their "recruitment."
Wood was focused on piloting the dragon, his attention on the approaching landing zone. Thunder was discussing territory boundaries with Eyes. None of them were watching their newest recruits.
Takashi raised the pistol with mechanical precision, aimed at the base of Wood's skull, and squeezed the trigger.
The gunshot cracked across the sky like thunder.
Wood's head snapped forward, blood spraying across his wooden constructs as the bullet found its mark. His control over the dragon wavered, then collapsed entirely.
The massive creature began to disintegrate in mid-air, its wooden components scattering like leaves in a hurricane.
"What the fuck—" Thunder spun around, electricity already crackling between his fingers.
But Marcus was staring at Takashi in absolute horror. "What did you do? I wasn't—that was just theoretical—"
"Too late for theory," Takashi said grimly, already reaching for another target as they began their fatal plummet toward the jungle below.
The real war had finally begun.
---
*End of Chapter 8*