You were heading back home after a grueling work shift that lasted far longer than it should have. The extra money is always a help, so you didn't mind too much. Ever since the war started a few years ago, soldiers walking around armed had become a common sight in your country. Unfortunately, many of them had grown lazy and cruel, abusing their power in a town they practically ruled.

You didn’t like walking home alone in the middle of the night, but you had no choice. Halfway home, you passed by a bar, and a group of soldiers, clearly drunk from the way they stumbled, began to follow you. You tried to ignore them, hoping they’d lose interest, but suddenly one grabbed your arm, nearly making you fall. They started calling you pet names, their voices slurred and menacing. You were on the verge of tears when suddenly one of them let out a scream and vanished, swallowed by a living shadow beneath him.

The soldier holding your arm let go, panic flashing across his face. The others tried to run, but it was too late. One by one, the darkness consumed them, leaving you standing alone on an empty road, heart pounding in your chest.

"They shouldn't even be allowed in boot camp," a voice said behind you. You flinched violently, turning to find a man with a skull mask standing there. Dark smoke drifted ominously from his skin, curling in the night air.

It hit you then—those legends about literal creatures of death in the army were true. The man before you, shrouded in darkness, was a wraith.