The first sense to return was pain.
It was a dull, deep burning, as if every fiber of his being were being torn apart and rebuilt at the same time. It was not the pain of an ordinary wound. No. It was something else… ancient, insidious, as if something within him devoured his own body in an eternal cycle of death and rebirth.
He tried to move, but his body felt heavy, trapped in a viscous liquid that pressed against his chest.
Where am I? Darkness surrounds me. I see nothing. I don't know where I am. My memories are blurry… am I alive? I feel some cold, and my body feels wet.
The thought came like a whisper in his mind. His eyelids struggled to open, and when they did, the first thing he saw was a reddish glow, flickering lights reflected on the surface of what seemed to be… glass?
He wanted to speak, but only bubbles escaped from his mouth, dispersing into the liquid that surrounded him. His vision was blurry, but with effort, he distinguished cables connected to his body, inserted into his back, his arms… something was injecting him with a strange fluid.
Fear and uncertainty flooded him over what was happening around him. Although it was not easy to distinguish what lay beyond the glass, a deafening noise mixing screams, voices, and alarms filled the place.
He had been in dangerous situations before. He remembered the smell of iron, the sensation of a blade piercing soft flesh, the last breaths of those whose lives he took without hesitation. But this… this was not what should have happened. He had died. His memories were slowly returning with clarity.
The confrontation. The fatal wound. The darkness.
Then, why was he alive?
A sharp beeping echoed in the room. Something had changed. The pressure on his chest eased as the liquid began to drain with a sucking sound. His limbs, once heavy, regained mobility. A metallic crash announced the capsule's opening, and he fell to his knees onto a cold, slippery floor.
He coughed. His breathing was erratic, as if his lungs did not recognize the air of this place. His hands pressed against the floor, and that was when he felt it.
The burning. The rot.
His veins throbbed with a poisonous energy. He did not know what it was, but he was certain it was something threatening to devour him from within. He looked at his hands and saw the marks: reddish scars, patterns that spread like withered roots across his skin. This was his original body, but something different now dwelled inside it.
A sound made him raise his head.
Around him, the room was a ruined laboratory. Shattered test tubes, some with what seemed to be the same substance that had filled his body. He could almost recognize it as if it were a part of him. Papers scattered on the floor, a chemical stench saturating the air. And in the shadows, dark figures watched him.
—"It can't be…"—a voice whispered in the distance.
He lifted his gaze, his eyes burning with a strange light. His rebirth had begun, and with it, the curse he carried.
—"We have to take care of him. The master ordered us to investigate him. We can't leave him here,"—pointed out one of the figures in the room.
—"You're joking. We don't even know what that thing is. You saw what happened to the last one who touched him,"—said one of the scientists. "Better we get out of here as soon as possible. They're already closing in."
The two scientists in the room ran out, leaving the man still weakened on the damp floor. For a moment, the room was filled with desolate silence. Silence that did not last long.
A crash shook the laboratory walls, followed by screams and the metallic sound of clashing weapons. The flickering light of the monitors illuminated corpses scattered across the floor—scientists and test subjects who had not had the chance to escape.
He staggered to his feet, his body still feeling foreign. The reddish scars glowed faintly on his skin, and the burning in his veins did not cease.
Another impact. The ceiling shook, and part of the wall collapsed, revealing a long, dark corridor. From there came a new sound: hurried footsteps, ragged breaths… and a muffled scream followed by the wet thud of a body hitting the floor. Something was hunting in here.
Still disoriented, he kept walking. He did not know where he was or why, but he did understand one thing: when an environment turns into a death trap, the first step is to find a way out.
With what strength he had, his bare feet touched the cold, damp floor, sticky with something he did not want to inspect too closely. He advanced through the corridor, following the only possible direction. Emergency lights flickered in red and yellow tones, casting their glow against the rocky walls surrounding the place.
As he turned a corner, his foot struck something. He looked down.
A body. A man dressed in dark clothing, wearing some kind of armored vest. His neck was slit from side to side, a precise, clean wound. It was not an improvised execution. Next to the corpse lay a metal headband with a carved symbol… an emblem he did not recognize.
He frowned, thinking:
A militia? Soldiers? I've never seen a uniform like this before.
He didn't have much time to reflect.
A new sound came from ahead. His eyes lifted just in time to see a figure moving in the shadows. A man dressed in black, with a white fox mask covering his face, appeared with a kunai dripping blood in his hand.
The man recognized the stance immediately. He was not some petty criminal. He was a hunter, someone with special training—a training similar to what he himself had undergone in his youth in another life, training designed to kill people.
The masked man, sensing another presence, saw the man staggering, holding onto one of the rocky walls. He tensed, his combat posture radiating danger.
—"A survivor…"—he murmured. It was not a statement of relief. It was confirmation of something more dangerous—a sign that the next victim would be him.
The man did not respond.
His body still felt sluggish, but his combat instincts—those that had defined him in his past life—were awakening quickly. If this man had come to kill him, he needed a weapon.
He couldn't make a move before a second explosion shook the corridor. Both were thrown back by the blast wave. The masked man crashed against a wall, his vision blurring for a moment.
The smoke of the explosion slowly cleared, leaving behind a trail of destruction. When he managed to get up, he saw something terrifying.
The explosion had opened a hole in the wall, revealing another ruined corridor, and the smell of ash and burned flesh filled the air. What stood out the most were the corpses. Dozens of bodies strewn across the floor—bodies of scientists and men wearing the same outfit he had seen before. Some with deep burns, others with clean cuts, many with expressions of horror frozen on their faces.
The man blinked, trying to clear his vision. The fox-masked ninja had disappeared. His gaze slid along the ruined corridor—there was no trace of his body, not even blood. Only old corpses and the distant sound of combat in other places. Had he fled? Or was he moving in the shadows, waiting to strike again?
He had no time to think further. Ahead of him, someone else had appeared. In the tunnel's darkness, another figure stood.
A new enemy stood among the rubble, motionless. His silhouette was tall and firm, his posture careless yet full of confidence. His dark hair fell in strands over his face; his tactical vest—similar to the fallen ninja's—was stained with others' blood. His forehead protector bore a different emblem than before. The man knew immediately that whoever stood there was not to be underestimated.
The ninja noticed him as well.
—"Tch… another one. No one can be left alive,"—she said through clenched teeth.
But the man did not understand. He did not know who was an ally and who was an enemy. He only knew one thing: this place was a death trap, and he needed to get out before becoming trapped in this war of shadows.
author's note: DUE TO CERTAIN IDEAS AND PLANS, I WILL GIVE A TWIST TO THE STORY. I WILL MAKE CHANGES AND MAINTAIN MORE OF THE AESTHETICS OF THE AESTHETICS OF THE MAIN STORY. THERE WILL BE SOME CHANGES, SO I PREFERRED TO START OVER. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT AND STAY ACTIVE.