[”Desperation…”]

I crouched there, my breath coming in shallow, wheezing gasps. Every nerve in my body was a live wire, the edges of my vision swimming with the aftermath of exertion. The part of the plan I’d assumed would be simple—getting here—had nearly torn me apart.

Without [Detached PoV] to smooth the jagged edges of the moment, the world pressed too close, too real. The weight of what I’d just survived threatened to crush me, a tidal wave of sensation held barely at bay. I clutched onto the adrenaline, my anchor in the storm, knowing that if I let it slip, everything would crash down at once.

I sucked in air, sharp and hot, trying to stitch the breaking pieces of myself back together. Through the haze of smoke and ash, I caught the faint groan of the crane, its towering frame swaying like some weary giant. Its silhouette loomed beyond the gaps in the wall, still intact despite the fire that had eaten the town alive. From somewhere beyond it came the rhythmic cluck of water breaking against the dock, the two merchant ships bobbing faintly in the river’s slow current.

00:04:47…

I’d made it this far, but I couldn’t afford to waste even a heartbeat. I slipped further between the barrels, emerging on the other side with only the faintest glance over my shoulder to ensure the Jiangshi hadn’t followed me inside. I could hear something thudding against the warehouse’s heavy doors, but for now, they stood firm. So, my eyes flickered towards the black ship.

The angle was different, but the scene hadn’t changed: Nao, hemmed in by the armored soldiers, still locked in her desperate dance. Her movements were slower now, her steps more uneven. Time wasn’t on her side—or mine.

Reaching her before fate caught up to her felt impossible. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try.

The plan remained the same: I needed a distraction. A big one. Something loud enough, chaotic enough, to draw all eyes away. But as I watched the Jiangshi continue their relentless tearing through the rubble without so much as a flicker of interest from the soldiers, doubt began to creep in. Would dropping the heavy crate from the crane be enough? Would it even register against the din of destruction?

My gaze flicked toward the dock. The merchant ships. The river. Maybe… if I could crash one of them into their ship?

The plan wasn’t fully formed—not even half-formed—but I didn’t have the luxury of deliberation. I moved. Slipping through a gap in the wall, I skirted the edge of the warehouse, scurrying down to the water’s edge where the first merchant ship lay moored. The river’s current was gentle but steady, flowing in the right direction. If I could just—

A crash, sudden and sharp, cut through my thoughts. My head snapped around. The sound of something tipping over, wood splintering and clattering against the ground. My stomach sank.

In the dim light, I saw them. A handful of Jiangshi had already shambled into the warehouse grounds, their movements slow but deliberate. They were only some two hundred feet away, separated from me by the brittle skeleton of burnt-out construction. And more were coming, trickling in through the gaps and openings, their lifeless eyes sweeping in my direction.

There were no roofs to escape across here, no high vantage point to leap to safety. And even if there had been, I couldn’t leave. This place had to be the key to getting out of this night alive. It had to.

Caring little for how my options dwindled by the second, my gaze snapped back to the ship moored ahead of me. There was no time for thinking—only action. I lunged toward the heavy knot securing the ship in place, tearing at it with trembling hands. The fibers bit back, stubborn and unyielding. Whoever had tied this knot was an artist of the trade, the sort who might laugh at my fumbling attempts to undo their work. My fingers were soon raw and slick with blood, but the knot didn’t budge an inch.

If I only had a knife... No. Even with one, the ropes were as thick as my wrist. It would’ve taken time I didn’t have to saw through them.

Desperation dragged my gaze upward, to the crate dangling overhead from the crane. Its rope, made of the same maddeningly pristine material as the ship’s mooring, swayed slightly in the smoky wind. How the hell had these survived when everything else had burned to cinders? It didn’t make sense. Nothing about this place did. Maybe I’d missed something earlier—a clue, a chance to arm myself, some indication that I should have brought along a piece of fire or steel. Or—

My eyes darted back across the warehouse, scanning the debris. That’s when I saw them again—the barrels. They were stacked haphazardly near the edge of the dock, clustered around one of the recently opened crates, positioned almost deliberately beneath the crane’s towering frame. A sting of recognition hit me. I’d seen these barrels before, I just hadn’t made the connection as I stumbled in here, halfway out of my wit. But now...

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The ship’s cargo. I knew what they were.

Not that I had long to think about it.

Dark silhouettes were already fanning out ahead of me, stumbling into crates and lurching around corners, their groans drawing closer with every shuddering breath I took. I ducked behind one of the very barrels I’d nearly blown myself to smithereens with earlier that night, my back pressed hard against the cool, slick surface.

The timer was still ticking.

00:03:13…

Somehow, these oil-filled barrels had survived the inferno ripping through the town. I had no time to question my fortune or curse the strange durability of this shipment. What I needed was a way to ignite them.

My thoughts spun like a whirlwind, wild and frantic, grasping at anything that might serve as a solution. And for some reason, the first idea that came to me was also the most reckless.

Fire Palm.

It was a Hail Mary, but it was better than nothing.

I spun around, planting my feet on the ashen ground as if I actually had the balance and poise of a seasoned martial artist. I focused, or at least I thought I did, trying to summon what I imagined Qi might feel like—a circulation of energy, a gathering of will. My palm shot forward, aiming for the barrel.

Nothing happened.

Not just nothing, either. A cascade of messages flashed across my vision, each one more mocking than the last:

// Warning! Insufficient Qi //

// Warning! High-level arts attempted while still in foundational stage //

// Warning! Spiritual attunement does not match attempted art //

// Warning! Martial body unable to withstand attempted art. Successful execution might lead to permanent injury //

// Warning! Incorrect… //

I got the gist of it. It’d been a foolish attempt.

I stood there for a heartbeat too long, staring dumbfounded at the unscathed barrel as if it might offer me an explanation or, better yet, an apology.

Meanwhile, the groaning grew louder. The undead had fully infiltrated the warehouse now, their shadows stretching long across the debris-strewn floor.

Long story short, I’d just tried to summon fire from my bare hands, and all I’d gotten was a lecture from the universe about how woefully unqualified I was.

Long story short, I was in the middle of a burning town, surrounded by oil-filled barrels, and I couldn’t ignite a single one of them.

This was fucking ridiculous.

My jackhammering heart wasn’t helping keep my thoughts clear. Each thud seemed to echo louder than the groans of the Jiangshi, the shambling steps that steadily drew closer. Panic clawed at the edges of my mind, and my first thought—a fleeting, desperate thought—was to jump into the water and hope, against all odds, that I could actually swim away from this nightmare.

But the odds of that were slim. And it would mean abandoning Mei.

My second thought was twice as reckless, and possibly twice as suicidal, but it was all I had.

With a deep breath, I scanned the approaching Jianshi, still separated from me by a wall of crates and burnt-out beams. I had, by my best estimate, thirty seconds before they’d find me.

Precious seconds I couldn’t afford to waste.

With no care for grace or elegance, I threw my weight against the charred barrel, clawing and elbowing at the lid to crack it open. My hands slipped and skidded over the surface, every ounce of effort feeling like it drained the last reserves of my strength. Even if the inferno that’d torn through here hadn’t reached the barrel’s contents, it’d least weakened the wood.

The lid cracked, and as I finally managed to tip the barrel, the thick, reeking oil began pooling at my feet. I didn’t stop to celebrate. I didn’t even think. I pulled off the sheer robes that had protected my modesty thus far.

I couldn’t bring myself to be embarrassed. Not when I was busy soaking the cloth in the spreading oil, hands trembling with urgency.

Fifteen seconds. Gone in an instant. I could now practically smell the Jianshi just a few dozen steps away from me.

My eyes darted across the wreckage, searching for a flicker of flame, a spark, anything. This place had burned down less than an hour ago. There had to be something.

The groans grew louder. A few undead were already shuffling over the barrels I’d hidden behind just moments before.

Then I saw it—a faint glow, embers clinging stubbornly to one of the warehouse’s blackened beams as the breeze picked up. My feet were moving before I even realized it, carrying me to the source. I dropped to my knees, blowing on the embers with a desperate ferocity, pressing the oil-soaked cloth against them like an offering.

A prayer. A curse. A single ragged breath. And then, alongside the snarls and hurried shambles of the undead closing in, came a notification:

// Warning! //

Hostile activity detected.

You have been discovered…

//

But I didn’t care. Even as the snarls rose in a maddened, eager cacophony, my world narrowed to the embers, to the fire, to the frantic rhythm of my breath. A final heaving exhale—and the cloth caught.

Fire surged, bright and violent. It roared up the length of the fabric, hungrily devouring the oil. And alongside it, my entire arm.

The pain hit like a hammer. No, like a storm. I’d spilled boiling oil on myself once working in the kitchen—a modest splash that took months to heal—but this? This was ten times worse, searing agony ripping through every nerve.

I screamed. A sound that tore from my throat, raw and primal. And still, I ran.

The swarm surged behind me, a tide of bodies, their snarls rising like a wave. From the corner of my eye, I could sense them—five armored heads snapping toward me, their postures sharpening.

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I sprinted toward the crane where the open barrel lay, still trickling oil in uneven streams across the ground.

I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. With a final, pained roar, I flung the flaming bundle that had once been my robe—and was now the inferno consuming my arm—toward the spreading trail of oil.

Time stuttered. A single breathless heartbeat stretched into eternity.

And then the world detonated.

The explosion shattered the night, a deafening roar that sent heat and shrapnel tearing through the air. Notifications flooded my vision, a cascade of fluttering words that blurred into meaninglessness.

All I knew was the force. The shock. The pain. The world flipped violently, spinning me end over end as I was hurled through the air.

Over the rocking hull of a merchant ship, its timbers groaning in the wake of the explosion.

Toward the black, waiting water of the river below.