While Lian's consciousness floated in the void, he felt a pulsing energy surrounding him, as if he were being drawn by a greater force.
Curious and intrigued, Lian allowed himself to follow the mysterious sensation, heading toward an intense glow that manifested as a portal.
The moment of transition was dizzying—a mixture of electric buzzing filled his ears while a current of energy coursed through his body, making his hair stand on end. The sensation was strange, calm, and peaceful, and Lian couldn't resist the curiosity propelling him forward.
Then, abruptly, as if he had been pulled from one reality to another, Lian opened his eyes. He was amidst chaos. Debris covered the ground, and ruined buildings stood like skeletons against the gray sky. Smoke from fires filled the air, suffocating, as sirens echoed in the distance.
Struggling to catch his breath, Lian felt his mind spinning. Fragments of what seemed to be his death flashed in his head like lightning—the cold, the void, the silence. But now he was here, standing in the middle of a place he had no idea where it was or what the hell was going on.
Lian noticed that he himself was covered in dust and dirt; his apparently military clothing was torn and stained with dried blood. Scars and recent wounds marked his body, as if he'd been mauled by a stray dog.
Lian had never been an athletic guy in his previous life, being a total couch potato. He recalled days spent in front of the computer, neglecting his physical health for the sake of a virtual life.
But now, faced with that war-torn body and the exhaustion consuming him, he realized how drastic the change had been. The contrast between his previous life and the new reality he found himself in was stark.
Then he was jolted back to reality by the deafening sound of a stun grenade launched by what appeared to be enemies. In a complete state of alertness, Lian was approached by a man, likely a military superior, who shouted at him amidst the deafening noise.
The man's face bore signs of exhaustion and tension. It was evident the situation was desperate, and every second counted.
"Corporal, I finally found you!" the man exclaimed, breathless, his face covered in sweat and dirt. He approached Lian with hurried steps, his expression reflecting a mixture of urgency.
Lian stared at him, trying to decipher some clue in the man's face, something to calm the storm in his mind. But nothing made sense. The body he inhabited felt strange, the clothes he wore weren't his, and the chaos around him was a scene ripped from a nightmare.
"Who the hell are you? What's going on here? Where am I?" Lian blurted out, his voice full of panic and disorientation. His words came out louder than he intended, almost like a shout, as his gaze darted around, trying to understand the chaos surrounding him. "Why is everything... like this? What the fuck is happening to me?"
The man looked at Lian with a mix of surprise and concern. It was evident he had expected a different reaction, perhaps immediate recognition.
"What the hell is this, Corporal?! We don't have time for this now! Wake up, damn it!" The soldier's tone was urgent and authoritative.
The soldier grabbed Lian by the arm and started pulling him toward the nearest allied platoon. "We're almost surrounded by those bastards! We need to reach the squad. Wake up, for fuck's sake, let's go!"
With no chance to question or resist, Lian let himself be dragged, his feet barely touching the ground as they hurried through the battlefield ruins.
As he rushed behind the man, Lian noticed the tension etched on the faces of the soldiers they passed.
Some seemed on the verge of collapse, their eyes heavy with despair, while others, with firm expressions, kept moving, hoping to survive the hell around them.
The incessant sound of gunfire, with blasts multiplying in the air, made the environment even more oppressive, forming a chaotic symphony.
But in Lian's mind, everything was a blur—a whirlwind of nonsensical thoughts. How the hell was he still alive? It made no sense.
How could someone who had died minutes ago now be in the middle of a war, surrounded by armed people, being dragged by a stranger in the midst of carnage?
He tried to piece it together, but it was like trying to fit together puzzle pieces from different worlds.
Lian's thoughts drifted far, trying to grasp at anything familiar. But he had never experienced anything remotely close to a war. The closest he came to combat was playing FPS games, where all he had to do was press buttons and shoot.
The only time he had even touched a real gun was when he snuck into his neighbor Raley's house—the smuggler everyone in the neighborhood knew—and saw some guns displayed on the counter.
In the whirlwind of memories, an explosion with a thunderous sound echoed like a roar, drowning out all other noises and leaving his ears ringing, disoriented. Time seemed to stretch, and everything around him slowed down, as if he were trapped in a slow-motion film.
Even with impaired hearing, Lian managed to catch the anguished screams of soldiers witnessing the devastating impact. His still-dazed gaze focused on the man a few meters away from him. He had been hit by debris from the explosion.
His face was disfigured. His trembling lips tried to articulate words of help, but the intense pain made communication difficult.
In an almost lifeless scream, he stammered, begging for help, his words echoing with difficulty through the agony consuming him. "H-h-help, c-corp..." were his last words before taking his final breath.
The scene before Lian left him petrified. The disfigured and agonized face of the man pleading for help echoed in his ears. A wave of panic consumed him, quickening his heartbeat and making it hard to breathe.
"Nice shot, hell yeah!" A shrill shout from an enemy soldier cut through the air, tearing apart the heavy silence that dominated the battlefield.
Those words sounded like a direct blow to Lian's senses, pulling him out of the trance that paralyzed him. His body reacted by pure reflex, turning quickly toward the source of the voice to face the man who had just fired the bazooka.
The enemy soldier's eyes gleamed with visceral hatred, mixed with a sadistic pleasure, as if it were the most enjoyable thing he'd ever experienced.
His twisted smile, full of malice, spread across his face, and Lian knew, without needing more, that the man was savoring every second of that destruction.
Their eyes met. Amid the chaos of war, a tense silence settled, as if time had stopped. The metallic odor of gunpowder filled the air, mingling with the dense smoke that blurred Lian's vision.
Explosive booms echoed in the background, creating a grim soundtrack for the battle. A chilling sensation coursed down his spine, constantly reminding him of the imminent danger surrounding his every move.
Then the enemy soldier's voice, cold and monstrous, alerted everyone. "There's still one alive! Shoot that bastard!" The command came out as a battle cry.
Lian ran in desperation at the enemy soldier's shout. But he managed to make a quick decision, instinctively launching himself toward a nearby pile of rubble. He threw himself to the ground, feeling the stones and dirt scrape against his skin, as he curled up as tightly as possible to become a less visible target.
The sound of bullets cut through the air, and nearby explosions surrounded Lian as if the whole world was collapsing around him. The whizzing of bullets mixed with the rumble of explosions, creating a symphony of destruction that seemed to consume the air and tighten his chest.
Each second dragged on, an eternity in which Lian could barely control his breathing, trying to remain as still as possible, as if hoping for luck—or death—was his only chance of survival.
He felt adrenaline pumping through his veins, fear and tension gripping his muscles, but his mind was in a frenzy, seeking meaning in it all.
He tried to find some explanation, some logic for that distorted reality. "I already died once. How is this possible? Why the hell am I here again?" The question resonated within him.
Death, seemingly certain, was something he had faced—and now, there, in the midst of war, he found himself back on its brink, as if fate were mocking his life and death.
The anguish consumed him, and the line between real and surreal began to blur. Was it an endless nightmare? Torture from beyond? Or some cruel punishment he didn't understand? Lian didn't know, and perhaps never would.
In Lian's head, he only thought of two things: "If I run, I die. If I stay here, I die," had never been so literal. It was die fighting or die doing nothing.
He wanted to live. Words emerged like a battle cry in his mind: "Fuck it! If I'm going to die here again, I'll die taking that bastard with me!" The fear was still there, but now it was eclipsed by something much more primal—the need to fight, to not be a passive spectator in his own tragedy.
Lian grabbed the nearest weapon, his trembling fingers wrapping around the cold metal of the pistol. The weight of the object in his hands felt absurd. He had never fired a gun before, and the thought of being responsible for someone's death terrified him.
But adrenaline pushed him forward, and the thought of fighting—of resisting—became the only thing that gave him any courage. He hid behind a pile of debris, waiting for the right moment. The smell of gunpowder and blood in the air made him nauseous, but he forced himself to focus, to breathe in a controlled way, to wait.
Seconds felt like an eternity, the sounds of battle around him fading into a distant murmur. Then, moments later, came a ceasefire, causing the soldiers around him to momentarily pause.
Lian didn't know what that meant, but he knew it was his chance. The enemy soldier, unaware of his position, approached, his heavy footsteps echoing. Sweat dripped down Lian's forehead as he adjusted the weapon, preparing to act.
With a swift movement, he rose, and instinct guided him: his finger pressed the trigger. But the click that followed was the cruelest sound he'd ever heard—the gun was empty.
Horror gripped him instantly, a crushing sense of helplessness, as if time had stopped. The enemy soldier reacted immediately, drawing his pistol with deadly agility.
"Shit!" Lian thought, but he had no time for anything else. The soldier fired without hesitation, four consecutive shots, each sounding like thunder. The first hit his shoulder, the second his chest, the third tore through his abdomen. The last was the most fatal, hitting his intestine.
Lian fell backward, his body in shock. The pain was unbearable, a wave of fire consuming his insides.
He could hardly breathe; every gasp felt like a stabbing wound. His vision began to blur, and reality seemed to distort once more, as if he were being pulled away from himself.
The fear of death was overwhelming, but it was soon replaced by a sense of despair. He wanted to scream, but only muffled groans of pain escaped his lips.
The enemy soldier approached slowly, his face expressionless, his eyes filled with contempt. He ran his hands over Lian's clothes, searching him with precision, looking for other weapons. Lian's eyes grew heavy, his vision blurred. When the soldier stepped back slightly, he glanced at Lian with a faint smirk.
"This is what trash like you deserves, loser," the enemy said, his voice dripping with scorn. The soldier spat on his face, the saliva trickling down his skin. Then he raised his pistol once more, and without another word, fired a final, fatal shot directly into Lian's heart.
The final impact was absolute. Lian felt a wave of heat and darkness consume him, and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, his consciousness faded away like smoke in the wind. He died again.
And then, as if in an endless cycle, he found himself back at the point where it had all begun, in a place that seemed to mirror his previous death. The anguish suffocated him, and he didn't know if he could endure it all over again...