Chapter 23: The Stowaways

Four hours earlier. 

North Atlantic Ocean. 

Hebrides Islands waters. 

This was the northernmost archipelago of Scotland and one of the most desolate seas in the world. 

Here, there were churning waves, empty beaches, precarious cliffs, and uninhabited wilderness in every direction. 

The nearest city was Dingwall, over a hundred kilometers away. 

That city had been used as a prison for exiles during the time of King Arthur, then became the infamous pirate Drake's hideout during the Age of Exploration, and later, during the reign of George I, it became a tax-evading port for storing enslaved people. 

But now, with pirates gone and the slave trade abolished, it was left as a sparsely populated fishing village, home to barely a hundred people. 

Apart from seabirds and herring, few other species frequented this area. 

Yet now, in this rugged coastal region, an old diesel fishing boat was cutting through the waves at high speed. 

There were four people on board. 

The man steering the boat was named Terry, a typical Caucasian with a large nose, thin lips, and a thick beard. 

He wore tattered jeans, knee-high rubber boots, and a dusty fishing cap, looking no different from the other herring fishermen in the area. 

But he wasn't a fisherman—not anymore. 

Before the age of 20, Terry had fished with his father, but after surviving World War I, he could no longer stomach the stable but unremarkable life of a fisherman. 

After 20 years of hustling in his hometown waters, he now had a more lucrative job than catching herring. 

Smuggling. 

Smuggling people. 

The Hebrides connected Scotland, Denmark, Iceland, and Norway. 

Since the outbreak of World War I, the flow of stowaways here had never ceased. 

Thanks to the desolate environment, foreign wanderers often tried to use Scotland as a landing point, hoping to make their way to England for stable work. 

But Terry knew that most of these were unrealistic fantasies. 

After layers of exploitation, most stowaways ended up dying in a foreign land. 

Over the past 20 years, Terry had seen all kinds of clients, but the ones he was transporting today were unlike anything he'd encountered before. 

Through the seawater-blurred rearview mirror, he could see three strange figures sitting bolt upright on the deck behind him. Their postures were identical, and the wind and waves hitting them seemed no different from crashing against rocks. 

This demeanor was familiar to Terry—only soldiers sat so rigidly. 

But if they were soldiers, something felt off. 

All three wore large robes, their faces obscured, and they had tall, pointed hoods. 

These weren't the tattered robes of stowaways. 

The robes were pure black and brand new, cinched with scaled belts. 

Even in the fierce sea wind, they remained perfectly still. 

Terry had seen many military uniforms during the war, but he'd never seen any country's troops dressed like this. 

The only identifiable feature was a red swastika armband on each of their arms. 

The symbol looked familiar to Terry; he'd often seen it in newspapers over the past two years, associated with a workers' organization in Germany. 

But he wasn't sure, as the people in the newspapers didn't dress like this. 

The boat lurched violently as it plowed through a wave. 

"Which direction did your morning client go?" 

Suddenly, the tallest of the three, who sat at the front, spoke up. 

He remained motionless on the boat, as if his body was welded to the deck. 

"Uh…" Terry, caught off guard, hesitated. The three hadn't spoken since boarding, and he'd assumed they didn't know English. 

"What did you say?" 

"I asked, which direction did your morning client go?" 

"Sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." 

Terry deflected the question. Although he was a smuggler, even smugglers had rules. His 40 years of life experience had taught him that staying out of conflicts was the smartest way to survive. 

"Is that so? 

It seems he paid you well." 

The tall hooded man spoke softly, his voice carrying a strange magnetism that put Terry at ease. 

Terry's previously wary expression instantly relaxed. 

"Oh, you mean that generous little guy? Yeah, he paid me a lot." 

The hooded man: "Which direction did he go?" 

Terry: "He landed on the Isle of Handa, then headed south along the River Tay into the Scottish mainland. 

There's nothing there, and many who go in get lost, never to return. I'd advise you not to go…" 

Splash! 

The boat lurched again as it hit another wave. The sea wind blew, and Terry snapped out of his daze. 

He felt like he'd said a lot, but he couldn't remember what. 

In the rearview mirror, the three figures sat as still as boulders, their expressions unchanged. 

"Damn it…" Terry muttered, increasing the boat's speed. 

He wanted to finish this strange job as quickly as possible. 

Soon, the boat reached the island's shore. 

The area was covered in lichen and moss, with cliffs of mottled sedimentary rock and jagged stones. The cliffs were streaked with bird droppings. 

On the shore stood two burly men, smoking and waving at the boat. 

Seeing them, Terry breathed a sigh of relief. 

He was a cautious man and didn't take risks. These two were his cousins, partners in his smuggling business. 

They were reliable allies. 

Terry docked the boat, and one of his cousins hammered a rusty iron stake into the ground while the other tied the rope to it. 

Terry: "You can disembark here. The total is 45 pounds, but I'll give you a discount—40 pounds. 

If you need a ride, head 30 kilometers east along the coast." 

With that, he stood by the boat, hands on his hips, waiting for one of the three to pay. 

His two cousins stood beside him, ready to handle any trouble. 

After all, they were dealing with illegal business, and their clients were a mixed bag. 

The three stood up, and the tall man asked softly, "Did the little guy disembark here too?" 

"Yes, yes. Stop asking questions, pay up, and leave. There are coast guards around here." 

Terry said impatiently. 

Ignoring Terry's unease, the tall man turned and said indifferently, "Überprüfen." 

(Check it out.) 

The other two silently disembarked and began inspecting the area, one of them pulling out a black stick and waving it around. 

Seeing their behavior, Terry narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint flashing in them. 

He slowly lifted his damp shirt, revealing the handle of a mahogany revolver at his waist. 

His two cousins, seeing Terry's expression, exchanged glances and reached into their pockets, where the handles of large knives rested. 

Terry was a smuggler, a man with blood on his hands. 

He'd dealt with dangerous stowaways before—murderers, robbers, thieves—but in 20 years, no one had ever gotten the better of him. 

However, what happened next left Terry stunned. 

The tall hooded man's chest suddenly bulged, and a silver-haired monkey head emerged. 

It had long, shiny fur and huge eyes. 

It quickly climbed onto the hooded man's shoulder, gave Terry a pitying look, then closed its eyes and swayed its head in the air. 

Terry had never seen such a monkey before. 

His two cousins were equally dumbfounded. 

The silver monkey suddenly opened its eyes and pointed in a direction, chattering excitedly. 

The hooded man nodded, and the other two men put away their black sticks. 

The three walked in the direction the monkey pointed, showing no intention of stopping to pay. 

Terry was furious. He pulled out his revolver. 

Click! 

He aimed it at the three. 

"Hey, stop! Who do you think you are?" 

His two cousins drew their knives with a clatter. 

But the three men walked ahead, their steps steady and determined, showing no sign of stopping. 

They ignored Terry's shouts completely. 

Terry's finger hovered over the trigger, a murderous glint in his eye. 

He'd been through war and wasn't afraid of killing. 

But at that moment, something fluttered down and landed on Terry's shoulder. 

Terry thought it was a seabird, but when he turned his head, he was stunned. 

It was a creature he'd never seen before. 

It had a butterfly-like body but was as large as an eagle. Its green flesh was covered in purple, keratinous protrusions. 

It had cold red eyes and sharp, hooked claws. 

Terry was dumbfounded. 

Then, in the next second, the creature opened its mouth, revealing sharp teeth and a purple tongue. 

With a screech, it lunged at Terry's face, giving him no time to react. 

Panicking, Terry flailed wildly, trying to tear the creature off his face. 

"Idiots, help me!" 

His two knife-wielding cousins were also stunned. They forgot about the three strange men and rushed to help Terry pull the bizarre creature off. 

But the creature clung tightly, and even the strength of grown men was useless. It opened its mouth, and its tongue pierced Terry's skull. 

"Ahhh!" 

Terry screamed as he felt his memories, emotions, and rationality rapidly slipping away. 

His two cousins grew desperate, tearing at the creature frantically. 

But then, two more of the strange creatures descended from the sky, landing on the cousins' shoulders. 

The two men exchanged a glance, then were overcome with terror. 

They abandoned Terry, turned, and fled in panic. 

They didn't get far before they collapsed to the ground, twitching and convulsing. 

Meanwhile, Terry could no longer remember his own name. In desperation, he wildly pulled the trigger. 

Bang! 

Bang! 

Bang! 

The gunshots echoed, then silence returned to the beach. 

Terry lay motionless on the sand. 

His two cousins were the same. 

The green and purple creature wrapped its wings around Terry's face. 

On the deserted beach, the sound of slurping filled the air as the creature burrowed halfway into the man's skull. 

Finally, the gnawing stopped. 

The creature pulled its head out, shook off the blood, and spread its wings, quickly flying off to catch up with the three men, who were now mere specks in the distance. 

Soon, the other two creatures finished their meal and took off after their master. 

All that remained on the desolate beach were three bodies, each with a bowl-sized hole in their skulls, hollowed out. 

When the tide rose, the bodies were swept away by the waves, rolling across the rocky shore before disappearing without a trace.