Death
The swampy battlefield stank of mud and blood. Gunshots cracked through the humid air. Occasional blasts left craters in the earth and body parts scattered among the reeds.
I led my elite squad toward the extraction aircraft, lungs burning. This was supposed to be a secret mission—a surgical strike to destroy terrorist strongholds in the northern region. We'd planned for weeks. Memorized every building, every escape route.
Someone sold us out.
"Contact rear! They're everywhere!" someone screamed behind me.
I spun around. Hooded figures poured from the tree line like a dark tide. Dozens. No—hundreds. Their masked faces revealed nothing but eyes, and those eyes burned with hatred.
"Someone sold us out!" I screamed over the chaos. "Head to the evacuation ground! Legs strong! No matter what, do not stop! Don't you dare die on me—that's an order!"
We ran. Boots splashed through stagnant water. Men cursed and fired behind them. The aircraft waited on a flat patch of dry ground three hundred meters ahead. Three hundred meters might as well have been three thousand.
"CORPORAL DOWN!"
I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. "Someone grab him! Keep moving!"
A young soldier—couldn't have been more than twenty—sprinted past me dragging his wounded brother. The brother's leg was shredded below the knee, leaving a trail of crimson in the murky water.
The terrorists were fast. Faster than intelligence suggested. These weren't ragtag insurgents—they moved like trained soldiers, flanking, advancing in coordinated waves.
"Agh! I'm hit!"
I whipped around. Three of my men crumpled, clutching their stomachs. Blood pulsed between their fingers.
"Damn it!" I pointed at four soldiers nearby. "You—you—you—you! Support the wounded! Get them to the carrier! Wolf Squad, with me!"
Seven soldiers with wolf claw tags on their shoulders peeled away from the main group and formed a line behind me. We turned as one and opened fire, walking backward to maintain pace with the retreat.
"Wolf Squad, suppressing fire! Don't let them advance!"
Kelvin appeared at my elbow, his rifle barking. "Captain, there's too many! We need to—"
"I know what we need!" I cut him off. "Just keep shooting!"
The extraction point grew closer. Fifty meters. Thirty. The carrier's ramp yawned open, medics waving frantically.
"Wounded first! GO!" I bellowed.
Soldiers half-carried, half-dragged their brothers up the ramp. The wolf squad formed a semicircle at the base, firing nonstop. Empty magazines clattered to the ground. Fresh ones clicked into place.
Twenty meters. Ten.
"Captain." Kelvin's voice was calm. Too calm. I knew that tone. "They're closing too fast. We can't all make it. Take the squad and go. I'll hold them."
I looked at him. Sergeant Kelvin. Six years at my side. We'd bled together in a dozen countries. I was supposed to be his best man next spring.
"I'm the leader here, Kelvin." My voice cracked. "And the captain dies with the ship. You people are my ship."
He stared at me for one heartbeat. Then he laughed—a wild, desperate sound—and fired another burst into the oncoming horde.
"All wounded onboard! Aircraft artillery ready! READY TO LEAVE!" the pilot's voice blared from the carrier.
"Wolf Squad, onboard! NOW!"
We ran. Kelvin at my side. Leo covering our six. Messi and Beth and the others sprinting flat out. We hit the ramp and kept running as it began to rise.
Then the world lurched.
"We've been hit! Artillery gun on the right is disabled! Taking heavy fire—extraction may be impossible!"
Through the shrinking gap in the ramp, I watched the terrorists mass below. They'd stopped advancing. They were just watching. Waiting. And firing.
Our right side was exposed. Rounds punched through the hull. Someone screamed inside.
I looked at my wolf squad. Kelvin, leaning against the wall, reloading. Leo, clutching his arm where a bullet had grazed him. Messi and Beth, pale but steady. Others—too many others—lay on stretchers, medics working frantically over missing limbs and gaping wounds.
This was supposed to be our last mission. Retirement. Peace.
"I have failed you all."
The words came out before I could stop them. The squad looked at me.
"Task Force Zero. I promised you safety. I promised we'd reclaim our lands. I asked you to join me, and you came because you believed in the cause—in the motherland. We took back eighty percent of what the terrorists stole. We lost good people along the way. This was supposed to be the last fight."
I stripped the bombs from my vest. One. Two. Three. Four.
Kelvin's eyes widened. "Captain. No."
"I am proud of you all." I looked at each face—burning them into memory. "Live well."
I jumped.
The wind screamed past me. The ground rushed up. I hit hard, rolled, came up firing.
Bullets tore through me almost immediately. Chest. Leg. Shoulder. The pain was blinding, but my fingers kept pulling the trigger. I emptied magazine after magazine into their flank, drawing their fire, pulling their attention away from the climbing aircraft.
My legs gave out. I knelt in the mud, still shooting.
Then arms wrapped around my shoulders, lifting me.
"My brother. We are here to help."
Kelvin. And Leo. And Messi. And Beth. Had jumped.
"YOU IDIOTS!" I screamed, but I was laughing. Crying. Both.
"Hahaha! My brother! This is our last stand!" Kelvin fired over my shoulder. "I was supposed to be your best man!"
"I guess we all die virgins now!" Leo shouted, blood streaming from his nose.
We formed a circle, backs to each other, firing outward. The aircraft was a speck in the sky now. Safe.
"Kel." I coughed blood. "The old men sold us out. Will my people be safe? I thought you'd guide them."
"I ordered the squad east. If we don't return in a month—" He took a round to the shoulder, grunted, kept firing. "—they activate Ground Zero."
Ground Zero. The final protocol. If our entire command was wiped out by betrayal, the survivors would rise. Overthrow the corrupt leaders who sent us to die. Take control. Make the motherland a military rule. If the old men wanted us dead, they'd learn what wolves did to shepherds who sold the pack.
The shooting stopped.
"Kel?"
Silence.
"Leo? Messi? Beth?"
Nothing.
They were still standing. Their bodies hadn't fallen. They formed a ring around me, shadows covering me from the harsh sun even in death.
Footsteps squelched through the mud. Dozens of them. Hundreds.
I couldn't move. Could barely breathe. But my hand found the detonator.
"Hahahaha!"
They stopped. Probably thought I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had.
"There's one alive! Open fire! GET BACK!"
My thumb pressed down.
Blame
Where am I?
I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't even open my eyes at first. Slowly, painfully, my vision cleared.
A courtroom. But not like any courtroom on Earth.
The ceiling swirled with galaxies—the Milky Way in miniature, stars being born and dying in accelerated time. The floor was polished obsidian, reflecting the cosmic display above.
I was on my knees. Arms tied behind my back, bound to a stone pillar. I strained against the ropes. Nothing.
In front of me, elevated on a dais of raw elemental matter, sat a three-headed being. A goat head on the left, with eyes that burned like dying suns. A human head in the center, beautiful and terrible. A dove head on the right, feathers shimmering with iridescent light. All three were draped in garments that seemed woven from starlight.
To my left and right, filling the vast chamber, were beings I couldn't begin to categorize. Humans in ancient robes. Creatures with wolf heads and serpent bodies. Figures of living flame and flowing water. Translucent spirits that flickered in and out of existence. Stone giants with mountains growing on their shoulders. They watched me with ancient, knowing eyes.
"QUIET!"
The three-headed being struck a gavel. The sound vibrated through my bones, through the floor, through the very fabric of the space around me. Silence fell instantly.
"We are here to judge this soul." The three heads spoke in terrifying unison, their voices layered like a choir. "Ramsey Hagan, son of Raymond Hagan. Captain of the special elite ops team of the country Lestoland. Origin: Earth-25 of the Milky Way. Type: Human."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"As you know, we gods of the Milky Way only convene for matters of cosmic significance." The human head now spoke alone, though the others remained alert. "This soul caused destruction to half life on Earth-25. His fate requires collective judgment."
The chamber erupted.
"MURDERER!"
"DEATH TO HIM!"
"BRAVO! MAKE HIM A GOD!"
"DESTROY HIS SOUL!"
"HERO!"
A snake-woman to my left hissed approval, her forked tongue flickering toward me. A being of living flame leaned forward, heatless fire crackling with interest. A stone giant rumbled something in a language that made the floor vibrate.
What madness is this? I strained against my bonds. Me? A murderer? I saved lives! I—
"Ramsey here stopped a genocide in his country and turned one of the deadliest places on Earth-25 into a peaceful land," the dove head said, its voice soft as falling feathers.
The crowd murmured. Some nodded. Others looked unconvinced.
"But he loved war." The goat head's voice was gravel and fire. "And even in his death, he caused Earth-25 to lose half its population."
The chamber gasped. Half? I felt my soul—whatever form it took—grow cold.
"He is only human, after all," the human head added. "Flawed. Contradictory. Like all his kind."
Something snapped inside me. The fear vanished, replaced by white-hot fury.
"YOU ARE THE MURDERERS!"
The words exploded from me. I didn't know I could speak. Neither did the crowd—shock rippled through them. A wolf-headed figure bared its teeth. A translucent spirit recoiled. The being of living flame pulsed brighter.
The three heads turned to face me directly. The weight of their attention was physical—I felt my soul compress under it.
"If you beings—supreme, gods, whatever you claim to be—actually exist, then why didn't you intervene? Why didn't you stop the wars? The genocides? The children dying of starvation while politicians feasted?" I was shaking now, tears streaming down my spectral face. "I was ONE MAN! One man with no special powers, no divine gifts, and I still brought peace to my corner of the world! What's YOUR excuse?"
Silence. Absolute, crushing silence.
Then the three heads spoke as one, their voices vibrating through existence itself.
"Ramsey. We gods are the substance of the living's creations. We are their will, their cries, their hopes, their despair. Humans imagine we exist to take care of you—but you are wrong. We created you, and you created us. It is a complexity even we struggle to understand."
The human head continued alone: "I am Life, Death, and Hope. When beings receive life, they receive hope—a purpose that keeps them alive until death inevitably comes."
The goat head: "You caused the deaths of billions—directly and indirectly—through your endless battles. You were sent to wars and never questioned orders. You led your men to their deaths. You knew the mission was a trap, yet you led them anyway."
The dove head: "You loved the fight. The brotherhood. The purpose. War gave your life meaning, and that hunger shaped everything you touched."
The human head again: "After your death, Ground Zero was activated. Your elite squad rose up against the leaders who betrayed you. But their vengeance didn't stop there. Civil war consumed Lestoland. Then the continent. Then the world. Nuclear fire. Biological weapons. Famine. Disease. Half your planet's population—gone. Because of the dominoes you set in motion."
Images flashed before me. Not shown—felt. Cities burning. Children weeping. Oceans boiling. The Earth-25 I'd fought to protect, reduced to ash.
"No," I whispered. "I didn't—I couldn't—"
"A being like you, left unchecked, would eventually wage war even against us." The goat head's eyes blazed. "Your soul has ascended to semi-god level through sheer will and the weight of lives you've touched. The fact that you can speak in this court proves it."
"So we condemn you." The three heads merged into one—a human face with goat horns curving from its temples and a dove's beak where the mouth should be. "Total destruction. Your soul will never be reborn, never wander, never exist again. You are erased."
The face opened its beak.
I felt myself flying toward the abyss—a void of absolute nothing, worse than death, worse than any hell imaginable. I screamed but made no sound. I fought but had no body. The darkness reached for me—
"Dear Pan. Grant me this soul."
A hand caught me. Not a physical hand—something older, wilder, made of possibility and chaos. The abyss receded. The courtroom vanished.
I stood before a figure shaped like a woman, but with no face. Her body flickered between forms—now solid, now smoke, now a thousand colors at once. Edges of her being dissolved into static and starlight. Behind her, I glimpsed a universe different from any I'd known—skies of violet, twin moons, cities carved into living rock.
"Little Chaos," she said, her voice coming from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. "I've been watching. You argued with gods. You refused to break. You interest me."
I tried to speak. Couldn't.
"Hmm. Let me fix that." She waved a hand. "There. You can talk now. Don't thank me."
"Who are you?" My voice sounded strange—echoing, distant.
"I am what your kind would call a goddess. Of this universe. Of chaos, change, second chances. And you, Ramsey Hagan, are my newest project."
"Project?"
"How would you like to live again? A second chance. Fresh start. New body, new world." She leaned forward—or rather, her presence leaned; she had no face to lean with. "In exchange, you do what you were always meant to do. Stop the wars. Bring peace to my universe."
"What universe? What wars?"
"This one." She gestured behind her. "My children have been fighting for centuries. Occasional wars, we call them—because they're never-ending. One stops, another starts. Generations born, raised, and buried in conflict. I'm tired of it. They're tired of it. They just don't know how to stop."
"And you think I do?"
"You stopped wars on your world. For a time." She tilted her formless head. "You also started them. You understand conflict—how it breeds, how it feeds, how it ends. That's rare. That's valuable."
"What's the catch?"
"Catch?" She laughed—a sound like breaking glass and wind chimes. "Oh, little Chaos. Always expecting traps. Fine. Here's your catch: fail, and little Chaos becomes dinner for big Chaos." Her form rippled hungrily. "I will consume your soul myself. Slowly. With appreciation for the flavor."
"And if I succeed?"
"Then you live. Really live. However long your new body lasts, however many years you earn. Maybe more. We'll see." She raised her hands. "Do we have a deal?"
I didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Hahahaha! Good answer!"
She smashed her hands together, clapping me between them.
Chance
"WAAAH! WAAAAH!"
What—why am I—why can't I—
My eyes wouldn't open properly. Everything was blurry. Cold air on wet skin. Hands—huge hands—holding me.
Where's my body? Why can't I move my arms?
Sound rushed in. Voices. A woman's voice, exhausted and joyful.
"My lady... it is a boy!"
I forced my eyes open. Blinking. Focusing.
A face loomed above me. Young woman. Maybe twenty. Exhausted, sweating, but staring at me with those watery eyes. Behind her, a window showed a sky I'd never seen—violet fading to deep orange as twin suns set behind jagged mountains.
No. No, no, no—
"I was reborn, but as a baby."
The curses on Chaos came out as a wail. Because that's all infants can do.