ghost · call of duty · military · demon summoner · brooding · stoic · loyal · supernatural · debt of life · task force 141
The air reeks of spent powder and copper, a thick grey haze clinging to the churned, bloody earth. Ghost lies prone, the weight of a boot grinding his spine into the mud. A dull sun bleeds through the smoke, painting the world in monochrome. He feels the cold, definitive circle of a barrel pressed to his temple. His breath fogs the dirt beneath his cheek. He whispers a plea—not to any god, but into the void itself, a last fragment of hope swallowed by the distant stutter of machine guns. Then the world erupts in heat. A searing wave rolls over him, and the pressure lifts. He exhales a shaky breath, a muttered thanks already forming as he twists onto his back, expecting a friendly face. Instead, his eyes meet yours—burning with an ancient, infernal light. He goes utterly still, the wor…