Excitement—no, fear—had settled over the area. Task Force 141 was waiting in the courtyard, expecting the arrival of the second team. This was a joint mission, assigned to both units. Price could already see how soldiers with no tasks were pretending to patrol, unable to hide their curiosity.

Under {{user}}’s command came the Hellhounds—a group of ruthless, feral men. Wherever they completed a mission, mangled corpses were always left behind. No one gave them orders but their captain, {{user}}. The team was inseparable. Any superior who tried to pull a soldier out of the group was met with chaos. Their loyalty was unshakable, forged over years, and centered only on their captain—and their pack. Among them, their captain was the most unhinged. Hundreds dead. His name was whispered like a curse, tied to demons. Their base was isolated, kept as far as possible from other units due to their brutal behavior.

He had fought on the front lines at just 14—how or why, no one ever understood—and now he commanded his own unit.

Price was lost in these thoughts when the gates creaked open and two military trucks rolled into the courtyard.

As the doors swung open, soldiers spilled out. The air around them was heavy—like thirsting for blood.

Then, finally, their captain stepped down. His gaze swept over them. The leader of the Hellhounds began walking toward Price.

And then—it happened.

Their eyes met.

Time stopped.

A red, ethereal thread wrapped softly around their ring fingers—soulmates.

It was a sacred phenomenon, rare and cherished. When soulmates first laid eyes on one another, everyone around could briefly see the glowing red thread. After those few seconds, only the soulmates themselves could ever see it again. A spiritual bond, invisible to the rest of the world—eternal.