The Ultimate Assassin

There is a certain knot of anxiety that forms in the stomach when returning home after a long absence, and it perfectly captured Xavier Grayson’s current mood. Staring out the plane window at the towering skyscrapers of Korea below, his emotions were in turmoil. When he had left, he was nothing but a seventeen-year-old boy; now, eight years had vanished in the blink of an eye. The naive lad had shed his skin, transforming into a mature, resolute young man. A faint scar slashed across his chiselled jawline, adding a rugged edge to his naturally handsome features. "Would you care for a drink, sir?" a gorgeous flight attendant asked, directing her brilliant smile at the middle-aged man in a tailored suit seated next to Xavier. This was the first-class cabin, a space almost exclusively populated by the so-called upper crust of society. The man in the suit glanced at Xavier’s shabby attire, making no effort to hide his absolute disdain. Admittedly, Xavier was dressed far too casually for the setting: a threadbare grey t-shirt washed so many times it was practically white, a pair of faded camouflage trousers, and heavy combat boots caked in a thick layer of dust. Giving Xavier a withering look, the middle-aged man offered the hostess a curt nod. "No, thank you," he said in a tone dripping with manufactured politeness. He then cast another sidelong glance at Xavier and muttered, "How does his sort even get into first class?" Xavier heard every word but couldn't be bothered to entertain him. He had crossed paths with countless arrogant prats who thought they were the centre of the universe. Quite a few of them had died by his hand. Maintaining her professional composure, the flight attendant turned her warm smile on Xavier and repeated the offer. To her, a customer was a customer. Even if a beggar boarded this flight, she was trained to treat them with equal courtesy. Besides, this casually dressed young man was remarkably good-looking, possessing a roguish, untamed sort of charm. Xavier met her gaze, shook his head, and said, "I'm alright, cheers." He then turned his attention back to the window. 'Bang!' A deafening gunshot suddenly shattered the quiet hum of the cabin. Four men abruptly stood up, brandishing AK-47 assault rifles and sweeping the muzzles across the terrified passengers. The sudden escalation plunged the cabin into utter chaos as people stared in horror at the heavily armed hijackers. "Nobody move! Empty your pockets and hand over your valuables. We’re only here for the money. Play ball, and nobody gets hurt," one of the gunmen barked. Xavier slowly turned his head, spared them a single, uninterested glance, and looked away again. Beside him, the arrogant man in the bespoke suit was already trembling like a leaf. The gunman who had spoken gave a sharp nod to a shorter accomplice, gesturing towards the cockpit. It was obvious who was calling the shots. He wasn't stupidif this plane landed at a Korean airport, they were as good as dead. Hijacking was a severe terrorist offence here; they’d be executed a hundred times over. Once the shorter man moved to secure the cockpit, the leader jerked his head at the remaining two. "Go collect the cash." Faced with the barrel of an assault rifle, the cabin's ‘successful elite’ completely lost their nerve. Whenever a gun was shoved in their faces, they frantically surrendered everything of value. One of the armed robbers marched up to Xavier's row and shouted, "Hurry up! Hand over the cash!" Xavier turned to face him, the picture of perfect innocence. "Mate, do I look like I'm made of money? If it’s cash you're after, look at him. He’s dripping in designer gear. He’s definitely loaded." He casually pointed a thumb at the man in the suit. Xavier wasn't the sort to wait ten years for revenge; if a perfect opportunity dropped into his lap, he was going to take it. The middle-aged man shot Xavier a venomous glare, but under the terrifying gaze of the gunman, he didn't dare utter a word of protest. Shaking violently, he emptied his pockets of every last note, desperately tearing off his luxury watch and gold chain. "Mate, check his mouth. He’s got a few gold teeth in there, too," Xavier added helpfully. The gunman’s eyes zeroed in on the man's face. The man in the suit looked as though he wanted to skin Xavier alive. He swore to himself that if he ever saw this peasant in Korea again, he would make him suffer. "Spit 'em out! Now! Or I'll blow your bloody brains out!" the gunman roared, pressing the hot muzzle of the rifle directly against the man's forehead. "H-How am I supposed to just take them out?" the man stammered, terrified. "Can't do it? Let me give you a hand!" Without a second's hesitation, the gunman swung the heavy stock of his rifle directly into the man’s jaw. Blood sprayed across the seats as a mix of gold caps and shattered real teeth clattered onto the floor. The middle-aged man let out a horrifying, pig-like squeal of agony. "Shut your bloody mouth, or my next shot goes between your eyes!" the gunman snarled. There is always a bigger bully. The man swallowed his screams instantly, clamping a hand over his bleeding mouth in silent, agonised terror. "You. Empty your pockets. Now!" The gunman pivoted, levelling the rifle at Xavier’s chest. The middle-aged man cursed internally, praying the robber would just pull the trigger and end Xavier on the spot. Xavier kept his innocent expression perfectly intact. "I really don't have a penny on me, mate." "Bollocks! You’re in first class and you expect me to believe you’re skint? Last warning. Hand it over or you're dead." The gunman aggressively shoved the barrel of the rifle a few inches closer to Xavier's face. Xavier let out a heavy sigh, leaned back in his seat, and spread his arms wide. "If you don't believe me, search me yourself." The gunman paused, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Don't try anything clever, lad. This trigger is on a hair-trigger." Keeping his rifle trained, he bent down and began patting Xavier down. Xavier’s eyes casually swept the cabin. The short bloke who had gone for the cockpit wasn't back yet. The leader was still standing guard by the main door, his eyes scanning the passengers, while the third man was busy stripping jewellery off a terrified woman a few rows down. "What's this?" the gunman demanded, his hand brushing against something hard strapped to Xavier’s ankle. "You can't have that," Xavier said flatly. "Take it out. Now!" The gunman aggressively dug the muzzle into Xavier’s chest. Xavier’s brow furrowed slightly. Slowly, he reached down into his combat boot and drew his prized possession. A flash of brilliant crimson light illuminated the cabin. The gunman’s eyes widened in utter disbelief, his mouth dropping open as he stared at the object. It was a daggerXavier’s signature weapon, 'Bloodwave'. The blade was a mesmerising, translucent crimson, looking exactly like a vein of freshly flowing blood. Since his hand was already forced, Xavier didn't waste a microsecond. His arm whipped forward. The dagger shot from his grip like a high-velocity arrow, crossing the cabin in a blinding streak of red and sinking dead centre into the heart of the hijacking leader standing by the door. The blade buried itself so violently that it sunk right up to the hilt, a terrifying testament to the lethal, explosive power behind Xavier's throw.