Morning came quietly.
No sirens.
No explosions.
Just light—thin and pale—slipping through the cracks of a broken world.
I woke up and sat on the edge of my bed for a long time, staring at the floor. No dreams. No nightmares either. Just a strange stillness inside my chest, like something had already ended but my body hadn't caught up yet.
I pulled on a plain T-shirt and pants.
No armor.
No rifle.
No weight.
That alone felt wrong.
I brushed my teeth, splashed cold water on my face, and looked at myself in the mirror. For a second, I didn't recognize the man staring back. No blood. No dirt. No smoke in his eyes.
Just… a man.
When I stepped into the mess hall, everything stopped.
Forks paused mid-air.
Voices died halfway through sentences.
Chairs creaked as people leaned back slightly, instinctively creating distance.
Everyone was staring at me.
I was used to fear—but this was different. Not battlefield fear. Not panic.
Reverence.
I knew why.
I never talked much. Never laughed. Never joined conversations. People said I carried death with me, that the air felt heavier when I walked past.
Even officers feared me.
My code name wasn't given lightly.
Death.
Every mission I was sent on succeeded. Every time I returned, I came back soaked in blood—enemy blood, sometimes mixed with my own. Everyone knew how I killed. Up close. Personal. Final.
That's why they named me that.
Not because I wanted it.
Because they needed something to blame.
I took a tray and sat alone.
The stares didn't stop.
Something felt… off.
Then a young soldier approached me carefully, like he was stepping toward a wild animal.
"Sir," he said softly, "are you okay?"
I looked up.
"Why?" I asked.
He swallowed. "Your name… it's not on today's deployment list."
That made me pause.
"That's never happened," he added quickly. "Ever."
I stayed silent.
He tried to smile. "I… I even made a bet, sir. That you'd get at least ten kills today."
I almost laughed.
The memories from last night surfaced—the hill, the stars, the general, the deal.
My flight.
I looked at the boy.
"How much did you bet?" I asked.
"Th-thousand euros," he replied nervously.
I stood up.
"Go to my room," I said. "Bring fifteen thousand euros. My leather jacket. And my katana."
His eyes widened. "Sir…?"
"Now."
He ran.
When he returned, breathless, I took the bundle from his shaking hands. I counted the money once, then pushed it back into his chest.
"All of it is yours," I said.
He froze. "S-sir?"
"Bet's cancelled," I added. "Live well."
He couldn't speak. Just stared.
I turned and walked away.
I went to inform the commanding officer.
But when I entered his office, he wasn't surprised.
He didn't even look up from his desk.
"There's a jeep waiting outside," he said calmly. "You're clear to go."
That almost made me laugh.
"So that's it?" I asked.
He finally looked at me. "That's it."
As I turned to leave, he said quietly, "Don't die."
I smiled.
"Never," I replied.
I climbed into the jeep.
The base disappeared behind me without ceremony.
At the airport, a woman was waiting.
She handed me a passport.
I opened it.
The name was strange. Unfamiliar. Not mine. Not Death either.
A clean identity.
A fresh ghost.
I checked the destination.
And laughed.
Brazil.
Rio.
Beaches. Sun. Music. A place that felt illegal in a world like this.
The flight felt unreal. No gunfire. No screams. Just engines humming and clouds drifting past.
When we landed, a black Mercedes-Benz was waiting.
Luxury.
Too much luxury.
The car took me far from the city, away from noise and light, deep into forests where roads narrowed and shadows thickened. Eventually, the trees parted.
And I saw it.
A castle.
Old. Massive. Cracked stone walls wrapped in vines. It looked abandoned—haunted even. Perfect.
The car stopped.
I stepped out.
"This is where I am?" I muttered.
I walked inside.
And froze.
The inside was not old.
It was alive.
High-tech screens covered walls from floor to ceiling. LED lights glowed softly. Maps shifted in real time. Data streamed endlessly. Researchers moved between stations. Officers spoke into headsets. Generals—real ones—from different countries stood together like this war had never divided them.
The world's shadow heartbeat.
My instincts kicked in.
I drew my gun and fired a single round into the floor.
BANG.
Everything stopped.
Dozens of weapons turned toward me instantly.
I raised my voice calmly.
"I received an invitation," I said. "To join a group. Can someone tell me where I'm supposed to go?"
A woman stepped forward.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Death."
The room stirred.
"From where?"
"Russian Army."
The tension spiked.
Eyes locked onto me from every corner.
I didn't understand why.
Then the woman approached me slowly.
"Come," she said. "I'll show you."
As we walked through corridors, she glanced at me.
"I didn't know you could be… handsome," she said casually.
I blinked. "Are you talking to me?"
She smiled. "Yes. You're famous. The whole world knows your name."
I didn't know what to say.
She stopped at a large door and opened it.
Inside, thirty people sat around a table.
The moment I stepped in, every eye turned toward me.
A man standing at the head of the table smiled.
"Well," he said, "you're finally here, Death."
He spread his arms.
"We've been waiting for you."
And in that moment, I understood—
I hadn't left the war.
I had stepped into its deepest shadow.