The air stank of blood, incense, and old piss.
Daniel Cross, former Sergeant turned detective, lay broken on a stone altar smeared with symbols he didn't recognize—except one. A crude spiral burned into the granite below him. Military instincts told him it wasn't just for show. It pulsed.
The bastards around him wore tattered robes and cheap knockoff masks—plastic, like from a costume store. One of them held a kitchen knife, not a ceremonial dagger. It would've been laughable if it wasn't so fucking tragic.
He coughed up blood. Cold now. Too much had leaked out.
"This how it ends?" he muttered, voice dry. "In a goddamn church basement, sacrificed by Walmart Satanists?"
They didn't answer. They just chanted louder.
As the shadows flickered and the walls started to move, Daniel closed his eyes and let the pain dull just enough to speak.
---
"I was born to fight."
"Military brat. Father served. Mother died young. Grew up on bases, learning how to aim before I learned algebra."
"Did four tours. Saw hell in the sand. Lost a lot of friends. Came back... different."
"Tried the badge next. Figured maybe I could protect people here instead of over there."
"Then I found out monsters don't wear uniforms. They wear suits. They sit on boards. They pray in churches while they slit throats in alleys."
"And sometimes, they dress like these freaks."
---
The man with the knife leaned over him now. Breath smelled like rot and vodka. His lips moved, chanting in a language that made Daniel's ears ring. The world shifted. Cold hands clawed at the edges of his vision.
He looked up past the cracked ceiling, as if he could still see the stars.
"If anyone's listening—God, Devil, doesn't matter—I got one last request."
"Let me come back. I don't care what it costs."
"Just give me a shot to make this right."
The blade came down. Pain bloomed white-hot, then vanished.
---
Black.
Then… something else.
---
Two figures stood in a place that wasn't anywhere. One burned like a star in a robe of light. The other lounged on a throne of bones, grinning like a wolf.
"You were heard," said the first.
"You were interesting," said the second.
And Daniel Cross stood again—not alive, not dead, but something in between.
"Fuck... it actually worked."
Daniel's voice echoed into the void, sharp with disbelief. He was standing—alive, or something close to it—in a place that had no floor, no ceiling, just darkness that breathed.
Before him, two figures stood like gods carved from opposing nightmares.
One shone like a dying sun, robed in threads of starlight, faceless yet impossibly familiar.
The other sat sprawled on a throne of twisted bone and charred wood, grinning like he'd just heard the punchline to a cosmic joke. His skin was ink-black and cracked, like volcanic stone, and his eyes bled mirth and madness.
"So," Daniel said, glancing between them. "Which one of you is gonna tell me I'm special?"
The throne-creature barked a laugh that shook the void.
"This one's got balls!" the Devil said. "Not even cold and already mouthing off. You died like a dog on a piss-stained altar, and here you are, cracking jokes."
Daniel glared at him. "You gonna tell me why I'm here or just keep roasting my corpse?"
The figure of light raised a hand. Silence fell like a guillotine.
"Daniel Cross. Soldier. Killer. Protector. You are here because you asked."
"You offered your soul to both Heaven and Hell. That is... rare."
The Devil nodded, resting his chin on a clawed hand.
"Most people beg one side or the other. You? You said, 'Doesn't matter who hears, just give me a shot.' So now..."
He grinned. "We both heard."
Daniel folded his arms. "So what's the catch?"
"Balance," said the light.
"Work," said the Devil.
"Judgment," they both said in unison.
---
The Pact
"You walk the line," said the light.
"Ghost and man, cursed and chosen. You'll hunt what slips through. Spirits. Demons. Monsters with holy masks and preachers with hell in their hearts."
"You can be flesh when needed, smoke when it suits you," the Devil added. "But every time you cheat death, it'll cost you. Pieces of what's left of you."
"If you go too far—too human, too ghost—you vanish. Forever."
Daniel exhaled. "And if I say no?"
The Devil chuckled. "Then it's Hell. For real this time."
The light simply said, "You asked for a second chance. This is it."
Daniel cracked his knuckles.
"Fuck it. I'll take the job."