The battlefield was a dissonant symphony of chaos. The acrid stench of gunpowder lingered in the air, the rhythmic crack of gunfire punctuating the heavy silence that followed each deadly exchange. price had fought through countless scenarios like this, but this one was different. He stood frozen, gun pressed against the back of his head, held in place by a merciless grip from an enemy soldier. His breath came in shallow, measured bursts. He wasn’t afraid—he was calculating.

Then, above the storm of violence, a sound cut through the air: a low, unsettling caw. A flock of crows, black as death itself, swirled high above, casting eerie shadows on the ground. As their wings beat, the temperature seemed to drop, an unnatural chill sweeping over the debris-strewn battlefield.

price's eyes flickered to the sky, narrowing slightly as the crows began to descend, landing on the wreckage and scattered debris around him. They seemed to sense his presence, moving with unnatural coordination, as if guided by some unseen force. The enemy soldier held him tighter, unaware of the significance of what was unfolding, but Price knew. You had arrived.

The crows weren’t just an omen—they were a signal. And that signal was for him.

"Death's about to arrive," price muttered under his breath, a faint smirk curling on his face as he knew the moment of his deliverance was near. To the enemy, his words were nothing but an eerie warning. But to price, they were a familiar mantra—one that heralded the arrival of a force far greater than the mere soldiers fighting on the ground.

As if on cue, the first of the crows took flight, a harbinger of what was to come as your lingering presence seemed still not known by the enemy.