He was just a child when it all began—ten years old, twenty missions completed.
His hands, which had barely held a toy in childhood, now wielded a blade bathed in the blood of men who never even understood what had struck them.
The army had created him to be a soldier, but instead, they forged a monster.
His first executions were surgical.
Clean assassinations, without commotion.
A cartel leader found lifeless in his office, a traitorous general silenced in his own home.
Then came the infiltration and sabotage operations.
Entire bases reduced to silent graveyards.
Government agents vanishing without a trace.
The first to take notice were foreign special forces.
Something was wrong—behind the scenes of clandestine operations, reports began to surface of an assassin who didn't kill like the others.
He didn't use sniper rifles, didn't plant explosives, didn't leave a trail.
He used a katana.
At first, no one took it seriously.
A sword? In the modern world? But then, the bodies started piling up.
Cuts so clean that severed limbs looked like the work of a surgeon.
Decapitations at angles impossible for any ordinary combatant to achieve.
Precise thrusts, striking vital organs without wasting a single movement.
Operations that were meant to be covert became stained with fear.
Drug lords hid in panic, mercenaries refused contracts, even professional killers—trained to murder without hesitation—began wondering if they were being hunted.
What started as a rumor soon became legend.
And the legend turned into a nightmare.
Those who worked in the underworld whispered about a shadow that moved like the wind.
A faceless warrior who emerged from darkness and disappeared before anyone could even draw a weapon.
"He leaves no footprints.""He makes no sound.""He has no scent."
The stories became absurd. They said bullets couldn't touch him, that his eyes could see in the dark, that his blade sliced through steel like paper.
But the most terrifying thing was the doubt.
Did he truly exist?
Or was he just a nightmare shared by those who lived off blood and crime?
Until the reports became too frequent to ignore.
In Russia, an entire Spetsnaz squad eliminated before dawn.
In Japan, Yakuza bosses found dead in their locked offices.
In the Middle East, a terrorist training camp wiped out in a single night.
Fear spread.
Conversations in the dark alleys of condemned cities always carried the same tone of despair.
The whispers grew—of a shadow that walked among criminals, that stalked the world's deadliest assassins, that eliminated anyone without warning.
And that's how the name was born.
At first, they said he was an American secret agent, an ultra-classified war project.
But there were no photos, no names, no records—only silence.
And fear.
Then, among those who knew too much, a dark belief took hold.
He wasn't a soldier.He wasn't a spy.He wasn't a man.
He was a Ghost.