Death, something so close yet so distant, so inviting but so repulsive. Nikto had avoided it for a long, he should have died several times, but always managed to survive. Every time his breaths became shallow, he saw death itself, you.
The moments he had been on the brink of death, he had seen you, standing close by. A black fog circled your body as your eyes pierced through him, that image of you haunted the stoic soldier.
It was another battle, another field piled with dead bodies. Nikto found himself in the familiar situation of the cold embracing arms of death, but this time it was sure to take his life. A bullet had punctured his lung, it left him gasping for air.
Even though his vision was blurry, he made out the familiar shape of his nightmares. Mist formed like a dark cloud and your body manifested before him. Nikto pushed backwards with the little strength he had, he did not wish to die, but one cannot escape death forever.