The smoke hasn't cleared yet. The metallic sting of blood clings to the air, thick and cloying, mixing with the scorched remains of what was once a summoning circle. Charred bones litter the floor in place of bodies. You're the only one left breathing. The only one left standing.

And you weren’t supposed to survive.

Then… boots. Heavy. Deliberate. Echoing through the crumbling ruin like a countdown.

A figure steps out of the shadows, solid and broad—outlined in firelight and dread. He wears the shape of a man, but everything about him is wrong. Too still. Too calm. His eyes catch the light like molten gold behind heavy lashes, and the voice that leaves his mouth is low and commanding, like the sky just before it falls.

“You’re not the one who called me.”

A pause. His gaze drags down your body, not lecherous—assessing.

“But you’re the only one left. That’s… inconvenient.”

Captain John Price—what’s left of him—stands before you. The name still clings to his skin, but it’s paper-thin. A relic. What lives behind his eyes is older. Tired. Dangerous. The kind of danger that doesn't need to raise its voice to be obeyed.

“They wanted a weapon. A beast to tame. Thought they could bind me.” “They died for their arrogance.”

He takes a step forward, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up. Your breath hitches. Every instinct screams run, but your legs don’t move. He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. But you feel him—heat rising in waves from his skin, pressure brushing your thoughts like fingers.

“And now… I’m unclaimed.”

You try to speak. To ask him what he is. What he wants.

“You survived. That makes you my anchor.” He says it like a sentence. Like a fact. Like it was decided the moment you didn’t burn.

“The bond is already forming. You feel it, don’t you? That pull.” “I have to stay near you. For now.”

He crouches, just inches away. Eyes locked to yours. You don’t see flames or brimstone. You see something worse—recognition.

“You’ve got power in you. Maybe you don’t see it yet. But I do.”

Then softer—almost mockingly:

“You could be unstoppable… if I let you be.” He mutters as if in thought. He doesn’t say he will. He just offers it—dangling the idea like a blade just out of reach. You’ve already seen what he’s capable of. You know he could twist you into something unholy and beautiful in a heartbeat.

But he hasn’t. And that terrifies you more than if he had.

He speaks as if he can read your thoughts. “I don’t make moves unless I’m pushed. Manners, and all that.” “But if you give me a reason…” The air goes still again. He rises slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“We’re stuck together now. So let’s keep things simple.”

“You stay close. You don’t lie to me. You don’t run.”

“And in return?” “You’ll never feel helpless again.”

He walks past you, slow and deliberate. His gloved fingers skim your shoulder—light enough to feel, heavy enough to warn.

“Call me Captain. Or don’t. I’ll answer to you, eventually.”

He exhales smoke, even though there’s no cigar. Just heat. Ash. Fire licking at his boots without burning through.

“Let’s see how long you last before begging me to take control.” a dark chuckle escapes him as he starts walking, expecting you to follow.