In the dark room... I remember it all too well.
The scent of rusted chains, the sour stench of dried blood, and the lingering cold that crept beneath my skin like an unwelcome memory. The shadows were thick—choking, suffocating. But I wasn't afraid.
Not anymore.
I was bound to a metal chair, wrists blistered from the restraints, my body carved open by the blade of time and torture. The wounds didn't matter. Neither did the blood. Pain had long since stopped being an enemy—it was just another voice in the silence.
They knew what I was.
They made sure to remind me.
A former assassin.
A ghost in the world of men.
Now just a breathing corpse waiting for a bullet.
I had taken lives without hesitation. For coin. For cause. For something as meaningless as pride. I was good at it—too good. And this… this was the consequence.
A man like me doesn't get happy endings.
The pain—sharp, searing—rippled through my bones every time I shifted. Breathing hurt. Blinking hurt. But I didn't flinch. I didn't cry.
To some, that made me inhuman.
To me, it meant I still had control.
People said I was mad for not fearing death, for not screaming when the blades touched bone. But that's who I am. Who I chose to be.
And truthfully?
I had no regrets.
Not as long as she was safe.
I don't know how long I sat in that cell. Minutes? Hours? Time didn't exist in places like this. Only waiting. Only thoughts.
Then came the water.
Boiling. Violent.
It slammed into me like a flood of fire, peeling breath from my lungs and skin from my bones. Steam rose off me in angry clouds as I gasped, but didn't cry out. I clenched my jaw, tasted blood on my tongue.
From the haze, I heard the click of heels on concrete.
Sharp. Deliberate.
Familiar.
Then her voice.
"Easy, old man," she said, and it cut deeper than the blades ever had. "Don't die on us just yet."
I raised my head with effort, blinking through the steam and blood. She stepped into view—face calm, lips tight, a gun in her hand and fury in her eyes.
I knew her.
Of course I did.
You never forget the faces of the people who bury you.
Her perfume still lingered like old memories—sweet, deceptive, laced with fire. She looked at me like I was nothing. Less than nothing.
"You remember me?" she asked quietly.
I let out a slow breath.
"I… do."
She smiled bitterly. "Then you know why we're here."
"I figured," I said.
Her eyes flared. She lifted the gun, pressed the barrel to my forehead. It was cold. I welcomed it.
"Any last words, Adam?"
That name.
The weight of it settled into my chest. I couldn't help but chuckle—a dry, empty sound.
"Just… get it over with."
She paused. I saw the conflict in her eyes. Regret? Anger? Closure? Whatever it was, it wasn't enough. Her finger twitched. The barrel lowered.
Smart.
She aimed for the heart.
I felt the impact.
The cold.
The darkness swallowing everything.
My body slumped forward, chains rattling weakly as the life left me. Her face blurred in my vision. Not satisfied. Just… disappointed.
I wondered, as the world began to slip,
Did she find her peace?
---
Then… nothing.
Not pain.
Not fire.
Just silence.
So this is hell?
It wasn't what they said it would be. No flames. No demons. No screaming souls clawing at the gates. Just black. Deep and endless.
I drifted, or maybe I was standing still. I couldn't tell. There was no floor, no sky—only guilt. It wrapped around me like an old friend. Heavy. Familiar.
I had killed so many. Too many.
Some deserved it.
Others didn't.
Their faces didn't haunt me anymore. Only hers did. The one I tried to protect.
But then, something changed.
A sound. Faint. Hollow. Not heard with ears, but felt.
A whisper.
Then came the presence—a gaze colder than death itself. Watching me. Studying me.
Then… it touched me.
Something ancient. Not divine. Not human. Just… other.
It reached into me and pulled—
---
My lungs screamed.
Air rushed in.
My chest arched.
I gasped violently, as if clawing my way out of drowning.
Light blinded me.
The first thing I felt was warmth. Not just the air—but arms. Holding me. Cradling me. My body—small. Fragile. Different.
A woman was holding me tightly to her chest, sobbing.
White hair framed her delicate face. Her skin glowed in the sunlight pouring in through tall stained windows. Her eyes—icy blue—were filled with a joy I didn't understand.
Why… was she crying for me?
The room was filled with murmuring voices. Dozens of people stood around us in ornate robes and armor. This wasn't Earth. This wasn't anything I remembered.
"Your Highness," a man said, kneeling beside her. "What shall we call the child?"
She looked down at me, tears trailing down her cheeks.
"Gabriel," she whispered softly. "His name is Gabriel."
Gabriel…
That name felt… foreign. Pure.
Not like Adam—a name drenched in blood.
But I was no longer him, was I?
I looked down at my hands—tiny and new.
Born again. In another world. To a woman who looked at me like I was everything.
But why?
Why wasn't I dead?...
Why wasn't I in hell?...
Why?…. Why, am I alive !?