ROAR
The thunder struck as heavy rainfall poured down.
COUGH, COUGH
Inside an unfinished building, nearly a hundred soldiers stood in silence, a stunned crowd facing a huge man. At the front, their commander stood, while Diablo sat lazily against a wall, with his ink-dark hair stuck to his face, badly injured. His body was battered, eyes and lips bruised and bloodshot, his lips cracked.
The commander's voice cut through the stillness. "He's the only survivor."
A shock rippled through the soldiers, but they maintained their composure, their faces stoic. It seemed the entire unit had been wiped out, leaving Diablo, the lone failure. It was surprising that even one of their best men, Zayn, had not survived.
The commander turned his attention to the fallen soldier Diablo before shifting his unreadable gaze back to the soldiers. "He was found at the sea's edge, unconscious." Diablo's eyes fluttered half-open as the commander spoke quietly. "Call the doctor."
One of the soldiers stepped forward. "Yes, commander." He bowed and hurried off to summon medical help.
Diablo coughed weakly, water spilling from his mouth. The commander looked at him, his face impassive. "No weakness," he muttered, as if speaking more to himself than anyone else. But it was clear what he meant.
"Pain is part of training," he spoke firmly.
"Yes, commander!" the soldiers roared loudly, the sound of the rain paling in response.
The rain beat loudly, with a few drops dripping, but they all stood straight, not minding the water falling on their hair. After all, it was training, as the commander had said.
A soldier raised his hand. "Boss, where are the other bodies?"
The commander's gaze hardened as he turned toward the man. "I said there's only one survivor," he said, pointing at Diablo. The soldiers stared at him. The commander continued, his tone cold. "He's the only one who managed to survive. The rest of our strongest men fought until the end and died a legendary death"
"Legendary death huh," Diablo thought to himself
Diablo coughed again, a more cracked one.
His ragged breath echoed in the silence as the soldiers processed the information. The commander continued, his voice firm. "According to him, they left him behind because they said it would kill their egos to kill someone like him… who would want to kill someone like him anyway?"
The soldiers exchanged knowing glances, a smug look playing on their faces. The commander's gaze swept over them all before moving to him as he spoke again. "Once you've healed, you'll come to me privately. And you'll tell me everything in full detail."
Diablo nodded weakly, then coughed again. This time, both blood and water spilled from his lips. The commander watched him for a moment, then turned and walked away, leaving the area as the sound of an approaching ambulance filled the air.
Just then, the commander stepped back into the room, his expression unreadable. He looked down at Diablo and spoke firmly, "The rules. Your mouth stays shut. Understood?"
But before Diablo could respond, his body too weak, another soldier rushed in, bowing quickly. "Commander, the ambulance is—"
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion rocked the building. The structure began to tremble violently as pieces of stone and debris rained from above.
"The building's coming down!" someone shouted.
The commander's voice roared above the chaos, "Everyone out! Now!"
Stones began to fall as soldiers dodged them. But as the soldiers began to move, chaos intensified. From the entrance, men stormed in—disguised perfectly as medics. They'd used the ambulance to gain access.
It was a trap.
None of the soldiers had suspected it. They all had been caught offguard.
The wet attackers—clad in red, fierce and merciless—flooded the collapsing building. And in an instant, the fight began. The thunder rumbled loudly.
It was an emergency fight—chaotic and unplanned. No one was prepared, and their soldiers were falling fast.
Diablo's eyes fluttered open. He was weak, coughing silently as the world spun around him. Just then, a massive chunk of stone from the ceiling cracked loose and plunged toward him. In a blur, Diablo moved—swift and silent—rolling to the side just in time. His motion was so quick, so sharp, no one noticed.
But he couldn't just watch. His men were losing. If this continued, they'd all die. He had to help.
Secretly
He had to help without getting noticed.
All around him, soldiers clashed. Their movements were desperate, filled with survival instinct. The commander was already in the thick of it, fighting barehanded. He gripped a knife, wrestling it from one of the red-suited invaders. The attacker tried to resist, pushing back, but the commander twisted the blade, flipping the man around and slamming him into the wall. The knife sliced through, pinning the man against it like a painting—brutal and motionless.
Then Diablo moved.
His lips parted, bruised and bleeding, as he made a swift motion. He was no longer there. As he muttered something under his breath, his mouth became covered by a darkness that seemed to ripple with power like an ink circling water.
His soul left his body, his shadow standing while his physical form remained on the floor. He stretched out his hand—and a sword appeared in a shimmer of energy.
Then, in a flash, he vanished—becoming one with the shadows. Not just any shadows—their shadows, the red-suited men's shadows.
He emerged from the darkness cast by the enemy soldiers themselves, attacking with precision. One by one, they began to fall, their bodies dropping as if struck by an unseen force. The tide of the battle shifted.
The soldiers, once overwhelmed, found a new chance.
Clashes erupted—swords striking swords, punches thrown, bodies crashing. Gunshots echoed through the collapsing building. The commander drew a small pistol from his belt and fired three clean shots—each hitting its mark between the eyes.
Diablo moved like a ghost, slicing through resistance. One enemy froze in place, paralyzed by the unnatural aura and power surrounding Diablo's shadow presence. Only Diablo could make him see his shadow but the man could not speak.
SLASH!
The same sword the man held was taken by the other men as they slashed him, like a cucumber ready to be prepared for a salad.
And then—finally—the soldiers began to take control. Encouraged by the sudden shift, they fought harder, faster. They weren't going to lose.
Not with Diablo back in the fight—unknown to them.
At last, all the enemies were finally down.
The place fell into a tense silence, broken only by ragged breaths and the sound of rain pounding the shattered roof. Soldiers clutched their injuries—some gripping bleeding shoulders, others holding their sides as they groaned in pain, dodging falling stones.
The commander stood near the center, his chest rising and falling heavily. Blood streaked his uniform, but a small, tired smile tugged at his lips. He clapped slowly, his voice rough but firm.
"Good work, soldiers. This… this is what our training's for."
Laughter broke through the exhaustion—brief, strained, but real.
Then, far off, the real sound of an ambulance siren pierced the night, echoing through the ruined streets.
One of the men chuckled and muttered, "Looks like it's not just Mr. Failure heading to the hospital tonight."
The group laughed again, despite the pain. The rain kept falling, dripping now down the ceiling, over their wounds, and soaking their uniforms. Stones still dropped from the damaged ceiling, and smoke curled in the air.
BAM!
Fire erupted.
Suddenly, the commander's voice boomed, "All out—now!"
Without hesitation, the soldiers scrambled, sprinting through the collapsing structure. Flames burst from within, licking upward, fueled by debris and destruction. The storm above raged louder, the sound of rain mixing with fire and chaos.
Outside, the soldiers regrouped—until someone shouted, "Where's Mr. Failure?"
Eyes widened.
"He's still in there!"
Before anyone could respond, one of the soldiers turned and ran back into the blaze. He dodged falling beams and kicked through rubble until he spotted him—Diablo, coughing violently, curled near a crumbled wall. Flames licked dangerously close.
"Come on, boy," the soldier urged, dropping to his knees. "Don't be weak now."
He reached for him and hoisted Diablo onto his shoulders. Surprisingly, the weight was light—too light. Diablo had lost more than just blood. He'd grown thinner, his body hollowed out by something unseen.
Still, the soldier didn't hesitate.
As he lifted him, Diablo's face shifted. His cheeks stretched, lips widening into a strange, unnatural smile.
Then, in a low whisper that sent a chill through the air, he murmured to himself.
"This is just the beginning."
The soldier emerged from the flames, carrying Diablo. Smoke curled behind them, the fire crackling angrily as it swallowed the building whole, as fire and rain clashed violently.
The others rushed forward, some helping to lay Diablo down carefully, others watching in stunned silence. Rain still poured, mixing with blood and ash on the ground.
At the far edge of the scene, one soldier stood apart from the rest. He didn't move. His eyes were fixed—not on the burning building, not on the commander, but on Diablo.
He whispered to himself, barely audible, "This… this wasn't us. Something else happened."
His gaze lingered, uneasy, filled with a quiet dread. And then—Diablo moved.
Still lying down, Diablo turned his head slowly—too slowly. Their eyes met.
The soldier froze.
Diablo's head tilted just slightly to one side, his expression unreadable. And then, his lips curled into a wide, unsettling grin. His bruised lips pulled back to reveal sharp teeth—too sharp.
The soldier's breath caught in his throat.
As Diablo mouthed gravely sinful words:
"Do you remember me?"