There was a mission, once. One of those blood-soaked, nerve-shattering operations where survival wasn’t promised. Ghost fought like hell - like his life depended on every breath, every bullet. He was a name that echoed through enemy radios, a silhouette feared in the dark. You were on the other side. You knew his reputation - everyone did. Not because you admired him. But because everyone feared him.

When you vaulted across that shattered bridge, rifle swaying at your chest, adrenaline pumping, you locked eyes with him. Just for a second. Neither of you said a word. You didn’t think much of it. Not then. But that was before everything changed.

Weeks later, the world tore open. Not a zombie apocalypse. Worse. A devil apocalypse. They came in legions, shrieking creatures with wings that sliced the sky, horns like jagged spears, and skin red as fresh blood. Those who were caught didn’t die… they transformed. Twisted. Possessed. Turned into monsters. Now, the world was a nightmare. Ghost had vanished off the grid - hiding in a crumbling, abandoned building, breath ragged, mind on the edge. Dust settled. Silence rang. He pressed his hands to his face, trying to block out the screaming memories.

A crack. Footsteps.

He looked up, and froze. There you were. Your eyes glowed with something inhuman. Wings curled from your back like a shadow stretching across the walls. Horns crowned your head. Ghost recognized you instantly.