If there is love—then there is hatred. If there is good, there is evil. If there is harmony, then there is chaos. If there is life, then there is death. If there is peace, then there is war. Everything has its own opposites.
World War Three was inevitable. The world was already hanging by a thread, its fragile peace shattered in the blink of an eye. It all started with two countries, then three, then five. Soon, it was twenty. And just like that, safety just wasn't in the dictionary—something that never even existed.
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Moscow Raid, December 24, 2034
It was the dead of night. The kind of night where everything seemed to blur into one dark, chaotic mess. The weather was a stormy, unpredictable nightmare. The perfect cover for a raid. No one would expect it—not with the blizzard roaring outside and visibility so bad it felt like the world had just stopped.
"Blackhawk One, do you copy?" A voice crackled over the comms.
"Yes, sir, we just entered the vicinity of Dome," James, the pilot, responded. Dome, the code name for Moscow.
Inside the chopper, four men braced themselves for what was about to unfold. Each of them was a living legend in their own right—ranked among the most experienced soldiers in the world. This wasn't just another mission. This was history in the making.
"Yo, Alexus!" Harold shouted over the roar of the chopper's engines. He was sitting across from Alexus, the man everyone was wary of—the one whose very name made enemies think twice. "Let's grab a drink after this!"
Harold was the third in rank. Full of energy, fearless, and always up for a good time. Or maybe he's just a little too excited...
"Hah!" Daniel, the second in rank, chuckled, rolling his eyes at Harold's usual enthusiasm. "You're still thinking about the bar? Better survive first, rookie."
"I will," Harold boasted, grinning wide. "I'm Harold, remember?"
Daniel was the brains of the operation. Calm, collected, and strategic. He was the one who planned these missions—his precision with a rifle was borderline supernatural.
And then there was Alexus. The one who terrified even his own team. The first in rank, the top of the food chain. A killer without remorse, a man who felt nothing. His reputation preceded him. The others had their skills, but Alexus? He was Death incarnate. He didn't need to fight to win—he made sure his enemies didn't stand a chance before the first shot was ever fired.
"Whaddabout you, Alexus?" Daniel asked, glancing over at the stoic man. "Feeling confident about this mission?"
Alexus didn't flinch, didn't smile. His eyes narrowed, scanning the storm outside. "Don't know, really," he said finally. His voice was as cold as the blizzard outside. "This is Moscow, the capital of Russia."
Harold's cocky smile faltered. The weight of the situation settled in. Moscow wasn't just any target—it was the heart of the storm, the one place they couldn't afford to mess up.
"Don't worry, Harold," Alexus added, breaking the tension. "We'll all grab a drink after this."
That got everyone's attention.
"WOHOOO!" The men cheered, their spirits lifting for the first time since they'd boarded the chopper. It was the first time Alexus had actually said anything remotely... human.
"I'll bring my family with me!" James exclaimed, grinning ear to ear. "It's gonna be a damn party."
"Ah, that's right," Daniel said, remembering something. "How old is your daughter now, James?"
"She's, uh—gonna turn seven this year," James replied, his voice softening at the mention of his family.
"Damn, time sure flies," Daniel muttered.
Alexus allowed himself a brief, barely noticeable smile. A rare moment of humanity.
"Wait... Alexus, did you just laugh?" Harold asked, eyes wide.
"No," Alexus said flatly, keeping his face stoic as ever.
"AHHAHA! ALEXUS LAUGHED!" Harold burst out, his voice almost cracking from the excitement. "FOR THE FIRST TIME!"
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The moment passed, but the laughter still lingered in the air, lightening the mood. For a moment, they were just soldiers, just men with a job to do. But that was all about to change.
Alexus sighed, his eyes scanning the snowstorm outside. The calm before the storm, so to speak.
"Where are we now?" he asked, walking to the cockpit, his voice still sharp despite the casual nature of the question.
"We're over two miles away from Moscow," James replied, his tone professional, focused.
Alexus's eyes narrowed as he scanned the mountain range beneath them. Something felt off.
"Huh?" He squinted, staring at the distant peaks. A sudden flash—like a burst of light—caught his attention.
Wait... was that...
"Wait, there was just a bright glow on that mountain for a second," Alexus warned, his instincts kicking into high gear. He studied the terrain, trying to make sense of it. "What the hell was that?"
Then it clicked. His eyes widened. The sudden realization hit him like a ton of bricks.
"A FUCKING SNIPER!"
"CHANGE TRAJECTORY, JAMES!" Alexus barked, his voice low but urgent.
James hesitated for a moment, processing the warning. He was good, but this was too fast.
"JAMES—!"
Before Alexus could finish, the world seemed to explode.
BOOM!
The deafening blast of gunfire tore through the air, and in an instant, James's head exploded. Blood sprayed across the cockpit, splattering across the control panel, the windshield—everything.
For a split second, everything stopped. Time seemed to freeze. Then, the chopper jerked violently as the pilot's body slumped forward, lifeless.
Alexus's eyes never left the mangled remains of James's head, his expression cold. Shit. They knew we were coming.
"Hold on!" Daniel shouted, scrambling to take control of the chopper. But it was already too late. The storm outside raged against them, the wind howling like some great beast eager to tear them apart.
Harold was still frozen in his seat, staring at the chaos in horror. The realization hit him hard.
"Holy shit..." he muttered, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm.
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"Fuck!" Daniel yelled, his voice cracking as panic surged through him. The chopper was spiraling out of control, the entire world a blur of snow and flashing lights. He gripped the controls tighter, but it was useless. The Blackhawk was a deathtrap, no longer responding.
"Stay calm!" Alexus barked, his voice steady, even though the chaos around them felt like a ticking clock. "Try resetting the manual controls!"
Daniel's hands were shaking, too frantic to focus. This can't be happening. Not like this. His heart pounded in his chest, every instinct screaming that they were done for. "I—I can't!" he gasped. His voice trembled, desperate for control that was slipping further away with each passing second.
Alexus's sharp eyes darted to the side, catching a glimpse of something. A glimmer in the storm. Wait... What the hell is that?
A small flame shot through the darkness, coming straight for them. Alexus's blood ran cold.
"A FUCKING RPG!" Alexus shouted, his words cutting through the madness like a knife. He didn't wait for anyone to react. Instinct took over.
"MOVE!" Alexus yelled again, but it was already too late. He lunged for the controls, his fingers slamming down on the joystick, but the missile was already too close. No, no, no... The world was moving in slow motion, everything spinning like a nightmare.
The explosion rocked the Blackhawk's tail. The deafening sound of metal crumpling under force echoed through the chopper. It jerked violently, the world tilting sideways, spinning uncontrollably as flames licked at the edges of their vision.
"HANG ON TIGHT!" Alexus roared, his voice filled with raw urgency. He threw himself forward, grabbing the harness on his seat, fighting against the g-forces pulling them down. The world around him was a blur of spinning metal and chaos.
The altimeter flashed in front of them, numbers ticking down way too fast. No. Not like this... Alexus's mind raced, but there was nothing to do but watch as the ground rushed toward them.
[500 feet]
[420 feet]
[300 feet]
[200 feet]
[100 feet]
[80 feet]
[67 feet]
[54 feet]
[23 feet]
[12 feet]
[5 feet]
0
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Everything was burning—the trees, the ground, the helicopter. It was a sea of fire and smoke. The air smelled of oil, thick and suffocating, like the world was on the verge of collapsing.
No... this can't be it, Alexus thought, his chest tight as his eyes snapped open. His mind was still foggy from the crash, but the urgency clawed at him.
"No, they better not be dead!" Alexus muttered to himself as he forced his body into motion, stumbling toward the back of the wrecked helicopter. His heart hammered in his chest as he prayed—prayed that someone, anyone, was still alive.
He didn't want to look, but he had to.
The sight that greeted him made his stomach drop.
Harold was... split in half. His lower body was crushed under a mound of twisted metal and debris. His arms were bent at unnatural angles, eyes glazed and lifeless.
Alexus barely stopped to breathe before his eyes darted to Daniel, still alive but unconscious, thank god. But James...
James didn't even look human anymore. His head had been blown clean off by the sniper, the remnants of his brain scattered across the wreckage.
Alexus's breath hitched. This can't be real. This can't be happening.
"H-Harold..." he whispered, his voice hoarse with disbelief. He reached out, but there was no response, no movement. "YOU FUCKING IDIOT! DON'T DIE ON ME!"
Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, but he shoved them down. He couldn't—he couldn't break down. Not now. Not here.
The reality was too much. Harold was gone.
Harold was gone, and Alexus couldn't do a damn thing to save him.
He slammed his fist into the hot, twisted metal of the wreckage. "FUCK!!!" His voice echoed in the empty, fiery wasteland.
I told them... Alexus thought bitterly, his throat tight. I told them not to go... but they didn't listen.
The words echoed in his head. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Alexus swallowed hard, trying to steady his breath. There was no time for grief, not yet. He had to focus. He had to get Daniel out of here.
He staggered over to Daniel, gently lifting him up. The man was heavy, but Alexus managed. He couldn't leave him behind. Not like this.
"Hup!" Alexus grunted, climbing over the steep, rocky hill with Daniel in his arms. His muscles burned with the effort, but he kept pushing. He glanced back at the wreckage once—just one last look.
And then, tears flooded his eyes. He couldn't stop them. He had failed them.
I couldn't save them.
But he had to keep moving. They weren't the only ones who had counted on him. Daniel was still alive. He had to keep him that way.
He forced his legs to move, pulling Daniel up the incline. His back screamed in protest, but he didn't stop.
Then, something clicked in his mind.
The radio!
It was still there, tucked in the gear strap, still functional—somehow.
He yanked it out, his hand shaking. "DELTA!" he shouted into the mic, his voice cracked but filled with desperation. "DO YOU COPY!?"
A static crackle followed, and then the voice of someone familiar.
"Pinnacle Of Death?" The voice was hesitant at first, but Alexus could feel the urgency.
"YES!" Alexus yelled back, relief rushing through him. "IT'S ME!"
"The Dome knew we were coming! Blackhawk one has crashed!" Alexus said, his heart racing.
"What the hell!?" The man on the other side of the radio exclaimed. "They knew!?"
"Yes!" Alexus gritted his teeth, the panic still coursing through him. "I request a rescue! Two of us survived—me and Daniel—the rest... are dead."
"Oh my god…" The voice faltered, then a sharp intake of breath. "Alright, head over to point Z for the rendezvous."
"Roger," Alexus replied quickly, the words almost automatic.
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The journey to point Z was a hell of its own. Alexus moved like a machine—no rest, no hesitation. Daniel still lay limp in his arms, his body heavier with each mile. The hike was relentless—rocky hills, deep drops, and rivers that almost sucked them under.
By the time they reached point Z, five hours had passed. Alexus's legs were on fire, his breath ragged, but he didn't stop. Not once.
He set Daniel down carefully by a large boulder at the edge of the small clearing, keeping a lookout for any signs of movement. He hadn't heard a word from the comms since the first contact, and it made his gut churn.
Where are they?
He glanced down at Daniel, checking for signs of life—still breathing, still out cold, but alive. That was enough for now. Alexus collapsed against the rock, his hands still shaking, his thoughts a blur.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of his ragged breath and the quiet buzz of the comms.
The engine of the helicopter sliced through the quiet air, the sound of its whirring blades echoing in the stillness. Rescue Squad Seven had arrived—backup Alexus had desperately called for.
Alexus waved his arms to signal them—clear landing space.
But before he could relax, an explosion ripped through the air.
BOOM!
Machinegun fire tore through the sky, the rounds whizzing dangerously close to the helicopter. The pilot had no choice but to pull up, the helicopter climbing quickly into the air, away from the target.
"FUCK!" Alexus shouted as he dropped down into the tall grass, rolling to get cover.
"Pinnacle Of Death! Try to clear the spot!" The pilot's voice crackled through the comms, sharp and urgent.
Alexus didn't need to check to know what was coming. Five thousand soldiers, all gunning for him. This is insane, he thought, grinding his teeth. Five thousand... just to kill one man?
The air seemed to thicken with the sound of bullets slicing past him. He didn't flinch.
Alexus squeezed the trigger of his rifle, sending a stream of bullets into the chaos ahead. In just five seconds, twenty soldiers dropped to the ground, lifeless.
Unbelievable... Alexus's mind raced as he kept firing, one after the other, without pause.
The soldiers were relentless—more bullets tore into him, punching through his flesh. He felt the sting but didn't slow down. The pain was nothing compared to what he had to do. He kept firing until the click of the empty chamber echoed in his ears.
"THERE! SEVEN! LAND!" Alexus shouted, voice strained with urgency. He could feel the ground shaking with the march of thousands more soldiers. "HURRY!"
"Copy," the pilot responded, sounding tight with pressure.
The helicopter swooped in, landing just in time, the hill offering some shield from the barrage of fire.
Alexus rushed forward, pulling Daniel's limp form into his arms. His breath came in ragged gasps, his legs burning from the effort, but they made it.
But the soldiers... they were already closing in.
Alexus slammed his feet into the dirt, his feet sliding as he jumped down from the helicopter, determination written on his face.
"PINNACLE OF DEATH!" A medic on the helicopter shouted, his voice high with panic. "YOU'RE GONNA DIE!"
Alexus barely glanced at him. His voice was calm, even. "I've lived long enough, mate."
The helicopter didn't have time to wait. He had to buy them more.
The soldiers were upon him, a sea of uniformed bodies swarming the clearing, guns raised.
"FUCK YOU ALL!" Alexus roared, charging forward like a battering ram, a knife flashing in his hand. He sliced through the nearest soldiers with brutal precision, their throats opening like paper as they fell to the dirt.
Bullets pierced his body—his neck, his torso, his head. It didn't matter. The pain was background noise now. He kept moving, kept fighting. Each slash of the knife, each shot, bought more time.
He could feel the blood seeping from his wounds, the life draining out of him. But he pushed on.
His world was nothing but the rush of adrenaline, the clash of metal on flesh, and the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat.
Time blurred. The soldiers didn't stop. But neither did Alexus.
Fifty minutes passed.
By the time the last of the helicopter's blades was out of sight, five hundred soldiers remained standing. Five thousand had come for him. Only five hundred were left.
Alexus collapsed to the ground, his breath ragged, his body burning from the inside out. His skull peeked through a gaping hole in his face, a jagged line of skin and muscle that should've killed him hours ago. His torso was nothing but a mesh of bullet wounds.
He could barely move, barely breathe. He just stared at the sky, waiting.
A Russian soldier stood above him, rifle pointed straight at his head. The man's eyes widened, disbelief and something like awe flickering in his gaze.
"Pinnacle Of Death..." the soldier muttered, his voice almost reverent. "You really are just what the rumors described you."
Alexus couldn't speak. His throat was shredded, his vocal cords nothing but dust. He tried to focus, but the world was slipping from him.
The soldier hesitated, his finger tightening on the trigger.
"It's terrifying... how you survived such a raid," the soldier whispered, almost to himself.
Alexus couldn't respond, couldn't even lift a finger. The pain was overwhelming, and yet...
I've bought them time.
The soldier's face softened, as if pitying him. Then, with a steady aim, he pointed the rifle at Alexus's head.
"I'll end your suffering," the soldier said, the words almost a relief.
Alexus closed his eyes.
The sound of a gunshot split the air.
Thus, concludes the life of the Pinnacle Of Death.
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