Black Light Target Novels & Stories

With great speed and power, a black light beam charged toward Adrian. The attack connected and caused a loud "Boom!"

The open field was quiet in a way that made every sound sharper. It was late evening. The sky was darkening into deep blue, and the air carried a cold bite that sank into the skin. Breath showed faintly when exhaled. The only strong light came from a line of spotlights aimed forward, not at the person standing there, but at the targets set far ahead. Thick boards stood in a row, bright circles painted on them, glowing under the lights like waiting eyes. Mr. Vale stood alone near the shooting line.

"Initiate the Blackout Protocol. If they want to audit me, let’s see how they do it in the dark." Suddenly, every light in the county—the porch light, the SUV's sensors, even the distant town's glow—died. The only thing left was the bioluminescent blue pulsing from the "Chronicle" on the Traveler’s arm in the distance, and the terrifying, silent scream of a mother ready to kill for her child.

No human hair can stay that flawless after a whole day. About thirty minutes waiting in the dark room with only the conversation between Nash and Khronos to entertain me, the door finally swung open. Watching from behind the thick velvet curtains with x-ray vision, I tapped twice at the side of the visor to signal the target is on the move. Almost at once, the conversation stopped. “Lights out in five.” I gave one tap to the visor and began my silent count. On the fourth second, I moved into position just before the lights went out, it was action time.

33 A1 Shooting-Range was just off the Barnet By-Pass. I lay at the five hundred metre firing point at the range. The white peg in the grass beside said 4.4, and the same number was recurrent high up on the distance but above the single six-foot square target that looked no larger than a postage stamp to the human eye and in the May dusk. But my lens, an infrared scope fixed above my rifle, covered the whole canvas. So, I could easily differentiate the pale-blue and beige colours into which the target separated. The six-inch semi-circular bull looked as big as the half-moon that started to show low down in the blackening sky above the A1.

Everything went dark. ******

One of these markers was drawn in the exact center of the room to create a division, beyond which nobody was supposed to go. Inside the room, there were at least 20 people who were still busy tinkering with their bows and arrows while keeping their distance from the red target and didn't cross the division. The most surprising thing was that despite so many people in the room, there was only 1 single target for all of them. Creed immediately guessed that this target was not ordinary. There is something that sets it apart from the normal ones. Moreover, the target seemed completely different from any normal shooting target. Instead of traditional red and white concentric circles, this was com

But the anger and heartbreak stabbed so deep that I couldn't bring myself to turn away. Enduring the torture and turmoil, I forced myself to walk toward the observatory doors. They were slightly ajar. I held my breath to press close and listen through the gap. Serena's cloying and clingy voice came from inside. She teased coyly, "Professor Thorne, you seem to especially like seeing me in red." Lucas' voice followed, low and tinged with slight exasperation. "Keep it down... Someone might stumble upon us." "What's there to be afraid of?" Serena drawled, her tone deliberately sulky. "It's so late. No one's around."

The streetlamps in the parking lot fizzle and go black. Total, absolute darkness swallows the pier. "What the—" Nikos screams. "Now!" Drakon’s voice roars from the darkness behind me. I drop to the ground. It’s part of the plan. Drop and roll. Gunfire erupts. It’s blinding in the pitch black. Muzzle flashes strobe like lightning, illuminating snapshots of chaos. I see Drakon charging. I see Reapers spinning in circles, firing blindly. I see Nikos scrambling backward, tripping over his own feet.

Across the room, the Blackwood brothers held court—Caspian cool and commanding, Thane networking, Miguel and Liam laughing with sponsors, Hans fresh off a match win and surrounded by admirers. Georgia arrived alone, stunning in emerald, head high despite the whispers. Mr. Blackwood was conspicuously absent. Raheem was there too, across the ballroom with Zayn at his side—close, but not touching. They’d reconciled. The night started perfectly. Music pulsed, laughter echoed, cameras flashed. Then everything shattered. It began with the screens. The massive LED walls that usually displayed art installations flickered once, then went black. Gasps rippled through the crowd as people wondered what