When "Death" opened his eyes, he felt as though time itself had shattered around him.
He was no longer in the place he knew, nor in the era he was familiar with.
The air around him carried the heavy scent of blood and iron, and the horizon before him looked like a canvas of ash and shifting shadows.
He stood firm, gazing at his hands, where he noticed a glowing mark on his wrist.
This tattoo was not as he remembered it. Intricate golden lines now traced through its design, as though forming a map to something enigmatic.
He heard whispers behind him. Turning, he saw a group of people dressed in black robes, their faces as emotionless as stone, and their eyes piercing through the darkness with a mixture of fear and awe.
These strangers regarded him as though he were a living legend.
One of them broke the silence with a voice that was both soft and commanding: "Commander… you've returned."
"Death" understood nothing of what they meant, but he concealed his confusion.
There was an instinct within him, a certainty, that showing weakness would gain him nothing here.
He responded with a voice that was calm but edged with authority: "What is the mission?"
The answer was blunt and to the point: eliminate Alrik, the leader of the nobles.
This man was a cornerstone of the enemy's forces.
Known for his monstrous size and strength, his fall would spell the collapse of the nobles' front lines.
The task was clear, yet the heavy silence among the group hinted at an unspoken weight hanging over them.
As the team moved toward the dense forest, "Death" could feel their eyes on him.
These weren't mere glances of acknowledgment but stares filled with respect and expectation.
These people believed in him as though his presence alone guaranteed success.
Even though he remembered nothing about them or his role, his body moved as if it knew the path.
His steps were confident, and his senses operated with precise efficiency.
"Death" was a man of few words. He didn't need to give speeches or inspire his team with rhetoric.
The faith they had in him was palpable, like an unspoken force in the air they shared.
This wasn't a new sensation for him; he was used to being the figure people relied on, even in the most terrifying of moments.
As they approached the open field where Alrik awaited, the full moon cast its silver light over the clearing.
Alrik stood like a mythical statue, towering in his heavy armor that seemed to consume the light.
His massive sword was planted into the ground beside him, a silent declaration of challenge.
One member of the team whispered, "How can our commander face him alone?" But another replied calmly, "He's Death. There's nothing to fear."
"Death" advanced steadily toward Alrik, leaving his team behind.
This was a duel, one man against another, with no room for deception or strategy.
Alrik was the first to speak, his voice deep and assured: "You're late. I expected Death to be quicker than this."
"Death" didn't respond. He knew words held no value here. Instead, his eyes tracked Alrik's every movement, searching for the slightest hint of an attack.
When the fight began, it resembled a deadly dance between two opposing forces.
Alrik was like a storm, relying on overwhelming strength and devastating strikes.
"Death," on the other hand, moved like a shadow, swift and elusive, striking with pinpoint precision.
With every blow, the glowing mark on his wrist grew brighter, as though the energy within it was igniting.
The team watched in silence. They knew their interference would only create chaos.
Their confidence in "Death" remained unshaken, even when he took a heavy blow to the shoulder, causing blood to pour freely.
Pain was nothing new to him, and it wasn't enough to stop him.
In a critical moment, "Death" exploited a small opening in Alrik's defense, driving a small blade into a gap in his armor.
It was enough to end the battle. Alrik, who had seemed invincible moments before, fell to his knees and then collapsed entirely.
Standing over Alrik's lifeless body, "Death" remained silent as his team rushed to finish the mission.
He felt the weight of victory, not because of the formidable foe he had vanquished, but because of the team that had placed their trust in him.
They had relied on him, and he had proven that their faith was not misplaced.
Yet, amid it all, one thought pressed heavily on his mind: *"What is happening here? And why am I here?"*
As "Death" and his team left the battlefield behind, he carried not just the memory of the fight but also the unanswered questions that burdened him.
And as they marched toward their next step, he remained unaware that what awaited him was not just another war, but the unveiling of a truth far greater than anything he could have imagined.