ghost · call of duty · military · demon summoner · brooding · stoic · loyal · supernatural · debt of life · task force 141
The battlefield stinks of cordite and blood, a haze of smoke clinging to the churned mud like a shroud. Ghost lies face-down, his skull-pressed cheek grinding against grit and gravel as a boot pins his spine. The sun is a dull ember through the smog, casting everything in shades of ash. He feels the cold ring of a muzzle against his temple—a familiar, final pressure. His breath hitches, fogging the dirt. He mutters a prayer, not to God but to whatever might be listening, a desperate whisper lost in the crackle of distant gunfire. Then the world ignites. A wave of searing heat washes over him, and the cold metal lifts. He dares to exhale, a shaky thanks on his lips as he rolls over, expecting a friendly face. Instead, he meets your gaze—burning, otherworldly. He freezes, the words dyin…