The black Gulfstream G550 was like a steel Ferocious Beast breaking free of its restraints. Its engines let out an eardrum-shattering roar as it violently tore through the clouds, carving a savage flight path across the night sky.
Above, the Milky Way poured down, the starlight cold; below, the pitch-black sea lay silent like the spine of some colossal beast. It lurked within the ink-dark sea of clouds. The clouds were its hunting ground, and it was a tiger shark that had caught the scent of blood, launching into a lethal sprint—ferocious and efficient.
This business aircraft, which should have been the pinnacle of quiet luxury, had been pushed to the complete opposite extreme after being modified by those lunatics in Kassel College's Equipment Department.
Extreme speed was its only creed... its terrifying performance exceeded Mach 2, at the cost of turning the cabin into the site of a nonstop explosion.
Sitting inside, one could not only clearly feel every inch of metal in the fuselage violently trembling, but also hear the piercing shriek-like noise made by the wings tearing through the air.
In the eyes of the maniacs from the Equipment Department, dragon-slaying weapons needed only ultimate performance. Comfort? That was an insult to the weapon itself.
This design philosophy made one wonder whether the person overseeing the modifications had been some Soviet weapons designer from the Cold War era, someone who firmly believed that people ought to adapt to machines.
Amon leaned back against the cold-textured airline seat, his brows slightly furrowed by the sharp, pervasive noise. The entire cabin was empty, with only two passengers. The other sat to his right, separated from him by a seat.
He was a tall, burly young man. His messy light-blond hair looked like a bird's nest blown apart by the