Faced off against the enemy manipulator, Mark immediately stretched his conscience and instilled an unbearable terror. His opponent trembled and with shaking legs fell to the floor.
He drew his gun and pointed it between the widened eyes of the soldier, his expression was similar to the faces of all the other people he had killed in his life, reduced to a state of helplessness in front of a savage predator.
They didn't deserve to die. It was simply that they were caught in a terrible world, and ultimately met a terrible person, a hypocrite who ended up as shameful as the people he had once scorned. Mark was a terrible person.
Maybe he should stop with the killing, let this soldier live, and perhaps that man would return to the family he has. It's not like Mark had anywhere good to come back to. Nobody would care for him, and the brunette... why did he spend so much time with her again?
His thoughts paused for a moment as his finger remained on the trigger. For the first time in a while, his face showed emotion before eventually settling down into calmness.
'Stop thinking about all that unnecessary stuff. Focus on what is in front of me. Morality? Guilt? Empathy? These aren't my feelings. It's because of that man's ability.'
He pulled the trigger and a bullet flew from the barrel of his gun, flew across the opening amidst the battlefield, and right into the abdomen of his enemy. The man cried out in unmistakable agony and fell onto his back, writhing in clenched pain.
But before Mark could shoot again, a flash fell from the sky and an explosion suddenly obscured his vision, covering the distance between him and his enemy in a smoke illuminated by scarlet haze.
With his vision obscured by the dust, he patiently waited while keeping watch of his surroundings so that nothing would suddenly attack him.
'Is he going to run away?'
Within his chest, he felt his heart start to pulsate treacherously at the idea of letting such a potentially dangerous enemy live. What if it led to the development of his ability, and Mark would have to face someone of his match?
No, that simply can't happen.
He ran through the scarlet dust without hesitation, the barrel of his Luger raised so that he could fire at first glance. His rush was taken out with deadly speed.
A shot echoed from beyond the obscuring red as a bullet suddenly parted the dust. Mark watched in horror as the spiraling flash crashed into his knee, and he felt an explosion of agony as something seemed to rupture in his leg, and all balance was lost.
'Fuck! He got me!'
In the midst of his fall, he retained a cool mind despite the nearly unbearable pain and made an effort to calculate where the shot had come from, shooting in quick succession until his chamber emptied.
His desperate shots only served to clear up the dust which revealed the Blessed of the enemy side - a man clutching his abdomen which was pouring out a river of blood.
'Yeah, there is no way he was going to survive that.'
He was played into hastily running forward without a second thought, and now his mind shivered in dread as he watched the imposing figure of his enemy approach him with a rifle drawn. The dread wasn't his own.
In desperation, Mark threw his Luger at the man, who looked at his futile effort with contempt and disdain. The enemy continued forward with absolute confidence as Mark writhed in a position that hid the actions of his right hand which was now digging into his uniform.
The feeling of warm metal graced his hand as his pale-black eyes moved decisively. He drew his Colt - a gift from his boss from the Hounds, the person who betrayed him when he was vulnerable.
Mark used his ability and saw the face of his enemy abruptly transform from giddy arrogance to unbridled horror. The soldier tried to raise his rifle and fired just as a bullet engraved itself on his skull.
As if to avenge the death of its originator, the remaining bullet from the rifle avoided Mark's vitals, instead going down to his other leg, shattering his heel into countless splinters.
'Shit. Ow. That's bad.'
All other influences on Mark's emotional state left. The only thing he could feel was pain, its blinding influence making him lose hold of his ability as the soldiers from his side suddenly broke from the trance he instilled in them.
That was all it took to break the state of the battle.
No longer driven by a maddening hatred, Mark's allies were pushed back to the trench as the enemies advanced.
Footsteps rumbled in the dusk as the opposing side rushed forward.
He could only look on emotionlessly as the horde approached in maddened pursuit, not sparing a single glance to what was being trampled on. Corpses and weapons were kicked around and defiled in the soldiers' wake, and soon, Mark was victim to the incessant advance.
Boots mercilessly trampled and wrung his body, leaving him sprawled on the dusklit earth, without help, without hope.
...
Ultimately, no territorial changes were made.
Mark's allies fought off the invaders, and the two armies remained in the same positions as before.
He, however, was struck.
In the ashes of the war, he was amidst corpses, blood, weapons, and pests.
His legs were broken beyond repair, his throat had been nearly crushed, and while he could still breathe, it was nearly impossible for him to talk, or cry for help.
He was a silent voice.
Most painfully, the area between his legs was not spared, the resulting agony making it impossible to tell what exactly was crushed.
With that state, he laid upward and looked at the reddened sky that profound darkness had begun to encroach upon.
His mind was, despite the torture, calm like a pristine lake.
There was nothing much to be said or felt.
Feelings, emotions. They were gone.
Mark smiled.