"Made it to the enemy's location. Commencing mission."
Red whispered into the comm, mud clinging to his gloves as he crouched on the ridge. The fortress ahead was steel and concrete carved into the mountain, no banners or symbols, built only to survive. Inside was the master console that linked to warheads across the globe.
If the codes remained, cities would burn. If he erased them, the arsenal would be useless. That was the mission: break in, delete the codes, and stop the war.
At nineteen, he was young enough to throw away and old enough to understand why. His frame fit crawlspaces, his reflexes outran cameras, and his handler had carved hesitation out of him. She had raised him from the orphanage, and now he moved like the weapon she had made.
"Abort," her voice pressed into his ear. "Extraction is closed. You will not make it out."
"There is no other way," Red murmured as he counted the floodlight sweep. Guards rotated every ninety seconds, drones every sixty, and the timing played through his mind like a song.
"You will die in there."
"Better me than everyone else."
He pressed into the mud and slipped into a crawlspace, metal scraping his back. Inside, vents rattled and generators hummed. One neck broke, one knife thrust, bodies dragged from sight.
A shaft dropped him above a stairwell where two soldiers lingered. He waited, then fell, crushing a throat and driving steel through ribs. Silence returned just as alarms blared and red lights swept the hall.
"You're compromised," his handler cried. "Get out now. Please, I can still guide you."
He pressed on. "You once told me the world needs someone willing to give everything. That is me."
"Do not do this. You do not have to prove it."
He cut the channel.
The reinforced door loomed ahead. He set the codebreaker and steadied his breathing as the ninety-second counter ran down. The lock clicked open, and the control room unfolded before him.
Six men turned in shock. He moved first. Three shots, two knives, one spine snapped. The console was his.
He plugged in the device.
[Progress: 30%]
Boots thundered. A squad burst in. He killed them all, but a bullet tore through his thigh.
[Progress: 50%]
Blood pooled beneath him as his hands stayed locked on the keys.
"Extraction window reopened," his handler returned, her voice cracking. "Stop this. I'm ordering you to retreat."
[Progress: 70%]
Another squad crashed through. He fought slower, every move heavier, ribs cracking under a strike before silence returned.
[Progress: 80%]
A bullet grazed his shoulder. Vision blurred. Fingers still worked.
[Progress: 90%]
"This buys futures," he whispered. "Children who never hear gunfire. Families that stay whole."
More soldiers stormed the door. He met them with a stolen rifle, four down before the rest closed in. One slammed him against the console, and Red forced a knife through his throat.
[Progress: 95%]
Blood poured from him, unstoppable. His fingers clung to the console.
[Progress: 98%]
"This is all I can give. It is enough."
[Progress: 100%]
The console beeped. Codes erased. Missiles dead.
The door blew apart. Dozens stormed the room. Gunfire filled him with heat and pain, and then came the fall into darkness.
Weightless. The fortress was gone, the blood gone. In the dark, he saw the orphanage, the children sleeping warm, and his handler's smile as her hand rested on her stomach. A child yet to be born now had a future.
He smiled even though he can no longer feel his face in the void.
[Warning: Soul Integrity… 41%][Mission Data: Purged][Subject: Terminated]
His being flickered at the edge of nothing. If this was the end, it was enough.
Time stretched until a voice broke through.
"You saved one world. I want a soul like yours to save mine. Live again, or dissolve into nothing."
Not a plea. A command.
Regret pressed in, heavy and sharp. His life had ended too early, with too much undone.
"Yes."
The void rippled. Warmth filled his body. Air rushed into his lungs.
[Artifact Protocol: Light Spear Arside – Fragment Detected][Requirement: Bond with Spirit Vessels (0/6)][Condition: Trust and Affection Threshold Required]
Light seared behind his eyes.
He woke choking on lavender air. A marble ceiling arched high above, trimmed with gold. The room was polished stone, more temple than bunker.
His hands were wrong. Longer fingers, smoother skin, scars gone. His body bore no wounds, and his clothing was ceremonial white and gold, not combat fatigues.
A mirror stood nearby. White hair. Crimson eyes. A stranger's face.
This was not his body.
The door opened. A blonde woman in robes embroidered with faint stars stepped inside. Her eyes widened.
"Alzein," she whispered.
Red studied her tone, her posture, the careful way she moved. She carried no weapon, but she carried something else.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"I… brought you back. You are safe now."
Outside, whispers echoed through the hall. The disgraced prince walks again.
The system pulsed.
[Status Window – Prince Alzein (Codename: Red)]
Level: 1 – World JumperClass: Light Prince / Spy (Hybrid)Weapon: Light Spear Arside (Fragment)
Attributes
Strength: 8
Agility: 9
Endurance: 7
Intelligence: 10
Wisdom: 8
Charisma: 18
Luck: 6
Unique Traits
Spy's Mind: Years of training left him with sharp instincts and the habit of reading people like open books.
Fragment of Arside: Can call forth a ghostlike spear. The weapon is incomplete, unstable, and burns out after use.
Bond of Hearts [Locked]: The spear can only reach its true form by syncing with Spirit Vessels. Condition: earn their trust and affection. Progress: 0/6.
He stared at the glowing window until the marble walls seemed to close in. His body was strange, his face a stranger's, and none of it matched the battlefield he knew. Disorientation pressed hard, threatening to drag him under.
Then another thought rose. Nights at the orphanage, stealing time on strategy sims and reflex trainers. Games had sharpened his instincts long before real missions demanded them.
Now the world around him looked like one. Stats, classes, quests.
This wasn't hell or nothingness. It was a system.
It was a game.
The fear in his chest eased, replaced by a smile that came slow but steady. Whether dream, afterlife, or something else entirely, it didn't matter. He intended to adapt, survive, and win again.