call of duty · task force 141 · british · dominant · gruff · sarcastic · soldier · demon user · supernatural · rough affection
Crimson light bleeds through the slats of boarded windows, painting elongated, skeletal shadows over the defiled altar. Dust swirls in the fading sunset, stirred only by the heavy, deliberate crunch of boots on broken stone. The air hangs thick, a cloying mix of copper and rot. Ghost halts at the entrance of the derelict church, his breath forming pale ghosts in the chill. A single drop of water detaches from a fractured pipe, its impact echoing like a dying pulse. His boot nudges something—a human skull, rolling away with a dry, hollow clatter. Warm blood soaks the ground around his feet, still liquid, still spreading. "Squad?" His call is absorbed by the vast, waiting silence. Then, a shiver of movement. A lone candle wick catches flame atop the altar, and within its sudden glow, you…