It’s a pit of corpses. 

Full of bodies that got defiled by some kind of beast. 

It was here that someone was moving. 

Alive but bruised.

“Gah!”

One of the 'corpses' made a sound as he looked around him.

Corpses and more corpses. 

He climbed up and found himself in some kind of sacrificial pit that he seemed to have survived.

“Where am I?”

Then a name came to him

Like it suddenly came to him.

The name of this poor bastard that got thrown in this pit was Robert Oswald. 

But right now there was an extra batch of memories in his head that was not his. 

These memories overflow to the point that he found himself unable to consider the stink around him.

He got out of the pit of corpses.

He stopped moving. 

He takes in the hell that was he was in before searching around.

Here’s how he’s making sense of all this nonsense surrounding him.

He’s in a pit full of corpses.

The corpses have tattoo markings that have two meanings.

The blessed and the scorned.

He was a Commission Officer that was sent to investigate this piece of shit of a case. Other than being part of this Commission Against Supernatural Entities. Nothing really was going well for him. Maybe it’s why Kato can understand why he’s taking on this huge task. 

To get some respect from the higher-ups and a bonus.

“Too bad you now got possessed. Bad fucking day for you.”

Kato searches for any kind of weapon he can use. 

He knows nothing about the magic that Robert knows. 

But Kato was a mercenary so he knew a thing or two about killing his way through cultist pieces of shit.

“Robert K. Oswald.”

He said the name of his new identity. Oddly, he had so much knowledge about this person.

It feels like he was a wraith possessing a body.

All he could really feel was that he ‘doubles’ the strength of this body. 

He had sharper senses and a stronger body. 

It’s like his soul was nurturing this body.

Turning them one singular form.

A strong one

“Is this blessing or curse for you?”

He didn’t know. With Kato's years of being a mercenary and Robert's knowledge as an Enforcer below a Magi. They made quite a pair. Not that this fucker he was possessing had a lot of knowledge about spells other than the usual seals and bindings that he knew. It’s like his brain couldn’t handle the spells. Well, it’s the thing about him being an Enforcer was that he didn’t have the usual spells that Agents have.

As he was skulking around the area. One good thing about these pieces of shit was that they like carving people. This means that he found a lot of knives that he can use to slit their throats.

He climbed a ladder leading up to another section. He took a look at the dank corridors. There wasn't much to go other than the moldy, stinky, blood-spotted paths.

He had a lot of questions.

The scope of this task he was handling was really big.

How the hell did they managed to cover the smell?

This amount of corpses should at least reach the topside.

“This is one bad day.”

He held his face groaning. He twirled the sacrificial knife he took from one of the dead bodies. 

Then continues moving deep inside the paths opposite where the water was flowing out.

As he moved he thinks of the last memory he had before waking up here. He recalls driving a car, weaving through streets, and lanes, and going off-road. Then he finds the extraction point where they should be extracted. He handed over the relic to his employer. He was about to enter the aircraft when he found the barrel of a gun pointed at his chest. He got shot twice.

He fell down and looked up at the guy who shot him.

He said something that he couldn't remember.

The last thing he saw was the muzzle of a gun flashing.

He could recall it vividly.

“Fuck.”

He cursed with gritted teeth. All his life he had been a fighter. Fighting for scraps to keep himself fed. Going to the military to succumb to his rage. Tempering that rage into something he could control. Being disciplined and brought to kill the bad guys that the Government told him to kill.

After his service, he became a mercenary to continue to control that ill-tempered passenger inside his head that never got tamed. 

Always trying to be in the fight.

Not that it did him any good. 

All it did for him was that he learned the depths of evil. 

How awful it was to look them bastard in the eyes and not puke.

“Wish could  have at least reach thirty.”

He stopped.

He was planning to celebrate his birthday alone and move on from a pain that struck him. 

To enjoy himself on some third-world beach where he can spend the money from his mission and finally retire somewhere where he didn't have to kill for a living.

Instead, he’s spending his time in this shithole.

He stopped moving to watch two walking towards his location.

 They are praying to whatever god they are praying to. 

The tone-deaf one carried a lamp. 

The other carried a bolt-action with him.

He did recall it being around the ’90s here. 

History was a mess, but should still be the same. 

Just that there’s no Saint Lucius City he could recall around Europe.

He moved while wielding the knife he procured. He throws the one he was holding to the one carrying the bolt-action in the throat. Draws the knife on his garter belt with his off-hand and stabs the guy holding the lantern above his ear.

“As much as I like to get information. You cultist type never really do listen to others.”

He pulls the knife out, raises it again, and stabs the guy in the scalp twice. 

He yanks it out. 

Takes the bolt-action rifle from the guy and checks it.

“Looks like a Ross Rifle Mark 3?”

He takes the clips and bullets from the pouch. 

He kicks over the guy holding the lantern and finds a semi-Auto 1911 with two magazines in his pockets.

He weighs the pistol in his hands and aims with his dominant eye. 

He yanks the holster from the thigh of the bastard and ties it around his own.

“Got myself armed at least.”

He rips the knives out of their belts. 

Ties it around him and looks for anything that might be used. 

Other than what they are carrying. 

Nothing much to take from them.

“Great. This was why you always try to make them talk before gutting them.”

He groaned. He looks around and thinks back to retrace their steps. It might lead him to a horde of these bastards. He didn’t have enough bullets so he had to go with his Isolate and Kill specialty this time.

“This will take a very long time. I hate this place.”

But there was one thing that he had learned in his past life. 

That a predator takes his time in hunting his prey down.

Especially a cornered one.

 

***

 

It’s the sewers. It was a big one. Specifically, this sewer system was part of an industrial district. It’s where the meat packing factories, butchers, and all kinds of disgusting chemicals are going.

Whatever was in the sewers doesn’t affect the air outside because of how large the insides are. Ten to fifteen wide and about fifteen meters tall. A large sewer system that acts as a flood protection system.

It’s so large that they left it alone. One thing was that the engineer and designer of the system didn’t think that the tunnels they didn’t use or forgot would become a den for these monsters.

“Someone’s killing us.”

“Who was it? CASE agents?”

“Possibly. Fourteen dead here. Ten dead around this part of the tunnel.”

The speaker points at the blueprint on the table.

It's the map of the sewer system.

“And we’re noticing just now?”

“Yes. Doesn’t make sense. We know this sewer more than anyone, but it looks like that’s not the case.”

“How many of us are left here?”

“Fifty. We’re already making sure the main chamber was defended. All are carrying rifles now.”

Someone ran inside the chamber where these people are talking. A cultist with the blessed sign on his neck.

“T-there something happening! T-the main chambers are burning!”

“What!?”

They started running to the chambers. Running through the tunnels until they arrived at the place where their main chamber burning. 

Their altar was incinerated. 

The guy leading them gapes at the sight before screaming loudly.

“WHO DID THIS!?”

“Head Priest, we got to leave now!”

“And let this heathen go!?”

“Sir, the gas we stored was leaking out. We don’t have our masks here!”

“Then go get one you fools!”

“The storage’s burning, sir!”

“What!?”

The head priest glared at his followers. He gritted his teeth and started heading back to the pathway away from the chamber. 

They arrived at the gate that they entered and find it locked.

“W-what was this!?”

The others tried to open the gate but something was blocking it behind.

It’s the mechanism that had been keeping anyone out. 

The problem was that it can only be lifted behind the gate. 

Not inside the gate where they are all trapped currently.

The head priest drew symbols with his right hand and fired a bolt on the gate. It didn’t moved. He knew it better than to try and pry this gate open with just spells. Not to mention he doesn’t have any medium after the ritual sacrifice they made hours ago in the pit.

The gas will kill them first. 

So their only hope was to go back to the chamber and tread the path of blood where they might be able to climb the scaffolding.

The High Priest lead his flock back to the chamber and was shot in the thigh.

He could hear the charm he carries around his neck withering at the first shot. 

He heard another clack of a bolt-action rifle being pulled.

The flock behind him scattered. They hide on the columns while watching the scaffolding for any signs of people. One of the flock tries to rescue the high priest.

His head got hit by an unseen force. He laid on the floor with his head making a puddle of blood.

They heard a bolt-action being set to place again. 

The gas crept in.

The high priest tried to crawl to cover. A shot explodes on his other leg. A horrifying sound creeps on their skins. The gas they gathered to use on the populace was creeping to them as fire rages on.

He could feel the trinket on his body withering as seconds pass. The rest of his flock choked. They fall one after another, holding their throats. The fire rages on and as they reveal themselves out of cover.

The high priest watches the unknown gunman fire at his flock one by one. He was the last one left. He looks up and catches a glimpse of the gunman walking out of the shadows, adjusting his rifle, taking aim, and firing at him.

The shot completely withered his protection from projectiles. 

The gas crept into his lungs and he finds himself choking. He holds his throat.

He can’t scream. 

His eyes were watering. 

His tongue was dry. 

He looked up and sees the gunman pulling the bolt of his rifle and taking another shot at his head.

 

***

 

He pulled the bolt of the rifle. He looked at the guy he just shot and adjusts his gas mask. He didn’t know how long he had been creeping around the sewers. He estimated that it had been about fifteen hours since he woke up.

He had taken Robert’s belongings back. They were hoarding it in their storage. After that he stayed in the sewers eavesdropping, stalking, and watching their movement. He heard them talking about their main chamber and their plan to gas the city using the gas they collected from old world war bunkers. 

He located the entire storage of poisonous gas canisters they were trying to kill the whole city with. 

They planned to poison the air and the water.

So he poisoned them first.

He took one gas canister, hauled it on his back, and released it into their chamber. 

It’s a gamble to see if the head priest comes out. 

Thankfully, the bastard showed his face.

He took out the recon camera he carried in his bag. He took a picture of the chamber and then takes a shot of the high priest’s corpse. He had confirmed the kill and with it, he could finally leave this shithole.

As for the poison gas canisters he found stored in the sewers. He’ll let the others take care of it. He had been roaming this place for so long that he needed to get some fresh air.

Get his head right and accept that he was now Robert Oswald. 

The poor idiot that they sent to take care of a group of cultists trying to gas an entire city in the name of whatever demon they were trying to summon and worship.