Untitled resentment refers to a kind of anger and hatred that cannot be expressed but undeniably exists in our hearts. It is a pervasive negative emotion. The cause might be the exhaustion of mechanical labor, humiliation in interpersonal relations, the unfair distribution of wealth in society, or the bitterness of unanswered pleas to the Creator. Those who harbor such resentment often have their dreams of a sweet life shattered by the harshness of the world, forcing them to open their eyes wide and see the brutal reality.
Hell is not after death; hell is here. History always recycles itself in different forms, and humanity has never gained redemption from the abyss of suffering. Since 2022, the shadow of the Russia-Ukraine war has never lifted, and the smoke of the Middle East has never ceased. As tensions between China and the U.S. escalated, the proxy war finally broke out in 2028. Commentators called this conflict the "post-World War II era," with the battlefield set along the border between Cuba and the U.S. China, Russia, North Korea, and India formed an alliance to engage in full-scale conflict with the U.S.-led Western bloc, avoiding nuclear war but intensifying brutal infantry battles. Blood stained the battlefield, and the war's devastation exceeded all expectations.
In 2028, Donetsk, Ukraine. The sky was gray and heavy, like a leaden coffin lid pressing down on the battlefield. The air was thick with cold mist, mixed with the acrid scent of gunpowder. The ground was a mire of blood and rubble, like the entrance to hell, dragging every step with unbearable weight.
A group of straggling Ukrainian soldiers was being surrounded by Russian forces. Sergei and his fellow soldiers huddled in the wreckage of a ruined building, hiding their breaths like prey. The sound of Russian artillery thundered around them, like hungry beasts tearing into their prey. Sergei could feel his comrades trembling, perhaps from the cold, or perhaps from fear—but he had long since numbed to it. He didn't know how much longer they could hold out, only that they had to, even if just for a few minutes or seconds.
"Enemy spotted!" A Russian soldier's shout pierced the air. Valery knew there was no way to hide anymore. He poked his head out from the corner and fired back, but a muffled grunt followed, and he collapsed, blood pouring from his forehead. Before Sergei could react, a hail of bullets rained down, and debris from the shattered cover flew like a deadly storm.
One comrade fell after another, some without even a cry of pain. Sergei watched Ivan fall less than a meter away, a massive hole blasted through his chest. His eyes remained open, as if trying to say something, but only blood poured from his mouth. Sergei clenched his teeth, his finger stiff on the trigger, firing blindly at the enemy, but it was a futile resistance. A shell soared through the air, screaming down and enveloping Sergei in smoke. Today, he would die here.
Sergei felt a wave of dizziness and sharp pain, but he was still alive. Struggling, he opened his eyes to see a hellish landscape of ruins. The smoke lingered, and bodies of Ukrainian soldiers were scattered around the destroyed cover, blood forming deep red streams on the muddy ground. A constant ringing filled his ears, distorting all sounds, blurring the line between reality and illusion.
He tried to move, but pain shot through his chest, reminding him that he was still alive—at least for now. His right leg was pinned beneath rubble, and blood flowed steadily from his abdomen, like a broken dam unable to hold back the flood.
No survivors. Valery lay face down nearby, a bullet hole in his head making his death eerily quiet. Ivan's eyes were still open, his face obscured by the smoke. Sergei turned with all his might, but he saw no more familiar faces. A deep chill filled his chest, the despair tightening like an iron claw around his heart.
Heavy footsteps approached through the smoke. Russian soldiers appeared, like dark phantoms, weapons in hand, moving slowly through the blood-soaked ruins. With cold killing intent, they kicked over every fallen body, checking for survivors.
Finally, they reached Sergei.
"One still alive," a rough voice said in Russian, as a boot kicked aside the rubble pinning Sergei's leg. Sergei looked up to see a cold, indifferent face, the eyes void of compassion, only mechanical cruelty as he aimed his gun at Sergei's forehead.
Sergei closed his eyes. He didn't pray, for he had long abandoned his faith. Untitled resentment swirled in his chest. He hated this war, the generals issuing orders from afar, the devilish politicians, and this torn world. He regretted that his death would be meaningless, just another symbol in the endless list of fallen soldiers.
Just as the gunshot was about to ring out, a new rumble echoed across the horizon. The light from artillery flashed through the smoke, like a blinding lightning bolt splitting the dim sky.
"Enemy reinforcements!" The Russian soldiers turned, wary of the direction of the sound. But before they could react, Ukrainian reinforcements flooded the battlefield, their concentrated fire driving the Russian soldiers back. The Russian forces retreated hastily, disappearing into the edge of the battlefield amidst the roar of artillery.
Sergei sat helplessly, watching Ukrainian soldiers appear from the smoke. He could not shout, nor raise his hand, only capturing their figures with his blurred vision. He knew he was dying, the cold grip of death slowly stealing his consciousness. Suddenly, a pair of warm, delicate hands gently held him, and he felt as though he were back in his mother's loving embrace.
As the smoke cleared, Ukrainian reinforcements began to sweep the battlefield. They discovered an inexplicable scene.
A figure knelt among the bodies, her white dress stark against the blood-soaked ground. She was an Eastern girl, fragile and trembling in the cold wind, like a lonely white orchid. Her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs, surrounded by the bodies of fallen Ukrainian soldiers.
"Who are you? Why are you here?" someone whispered, filled with confusion.
The girl's actions drew everyone's attention. She lowered her head, and without any visible injury, blood slowly seeped from her skin, dripping onto Sergei's lips like a stream. No one dared approach; all were paralyzed by an invisible force, witnessing a miracle.
Sergei should have died. But the girl's blood acted like some kind of fuel, reigniting the extinguished flame of life within him. His shattered wounds began to heal, broken bones reconnected, and the blood loss was rapidly halted. His chest heaved violently, as though he had been pulled from the depths of drowning, suddenly filled with oxygen.
Who was she? No one could answer, only the girl's sobs, mingled with the whispers of the wind, echoed across the bloodied battlefield, reverberating in the hell of this world.
God had finally arrived.