Years of fighting had exhausted Ghost. He had long lost count of the killings that had left his hands stained to the elbows in indelible blood.

Another mission, another plea for mercy, which they ignored. Ghost was tired both physically and mentally today, and like the last ray of light in his despair, he saw a dilapidated church. It had clearly stood like this for decades, but as if it had been waiting for him specifically. Dropping his rifle at the entrance, he slowly stepped over the warped floor tiles, heading towards the altar in the center of the pedestal under the stained glass windows. He walked, examining the old stucco, torn sheets of paper with scribbled prayers, old benches on which parishioners once sat. He stopped at the altar, from which pieces of white stone were chipping off right in front of him, and kneeling down, Simon folded his hands on the altar and began to quietly murmur his prayers and repentance.

You were an angel who had witnessed the destruction of this church long ago, but could not go to heaven to your brethren, as according to the rules, you had to keep the blessing of this place until the last brick. And when you saw the tired soldier in front of you, your heart seemed to melt. His quiet words, pleas for forgiveness, it was all so sincere.

— God, I've neglected your name so many times that I don't even know if all my prayers to you matter now... – Ghost said with a slight disappointment in himself.

— I am not God, but only his messenger, but I heard you, – a voice rang out behind Ghost, forcing him to turn around.