Heavy gunfire from all angles rattled against Murdoch's eadrums, forcing him to hide behind cover and pray that it holds up. The pungent smell of bloody iron and gunpowder filled the air, irritating his navel while he nimbly reloaded his weapon.

Swapping one mag for another with blistering speed, Murdoch inhaled a sharp breath and edged out to take a pop shot at one of the encroaching hostiles.

Unloading one from the chamber, the bullet sped through the air, only slowing down the rip a hole an unknown man's chest. The victim never even had enough time to express his shock before a second slug tore through his neck, choking down the scream with his own blood.

That was all Murdoch had time for before he was suppressed with a barrage of high velocity lead that scraped away at the ageing stone walls edges.

As enemy bullets carved away at his position, Murdoch pulled a M84 stun grenade off his vest and quickly primed it.

"Flash!" He loudly yelled over the gunfire, warning whatever squad mates still remained of the flashbang.

Sending the grenade down the dimly lit street with a low underarm throw, Murdock waited for the ensuing flash of light and the bang that came after it.

For a fleeting moment a bright white light lit the area up, illuminating the walls and windows enough to see the finer details which were easily missed in the dark.

Following the dull boom, Murdoch speedily backed down the street dashing from cover to cover and lighting up any hostile that was unlucky enough to be disoriented from the flashbang.

Filling his heart with dread was the lack of fire coming from his side. He never had to go around to know what happened, the answer was clear as day.

More of his brothers in arms have fallen.

--------------------

Never did he expect this mission to be the death of him and his squad. It all happened so quickly.

When he split off with the scouts to do recon he should've known something was wrong. It was too easy, everything proceeded in a near perfect manner, the targets barely deviated from their typical course which made it easy for us to get into position unnoticed.

After several hours of reporting movements back to the main group, we spontaneously lost contact with the squad.

Moments later, the scouts were helpless to do anything while mortar fire shelled the squads last known location.

The Comms were jammed, preventing chatter from getting through. Worst of all we couldn't even get in touch with HQ for reinforcements, damage control was the best we could do for them.

With a heavy heart, Staff Sergeant Murdoch pulled the trigger on unknowing victims that happened to come within his scope's lens.

He tried his best but there was nothing he could do to prevent the destruction of his unit.

When the gunfire stopped, he knew it was over for his squadmates. A chilling sensation drowned his prone figure, he'd lost comrades and been on failed missions but this was by far the worst one yet.

Out of the sixteen man squad, only a quarter remained deep behind enemy lines.

Suppressing the feelings of anguish and pain that threatened to burst out and impair his decision making, Murdoch signalled to the rest of the scouts to retreat. What followed was a painfully slow evacuation, where every step he took reminded him of the soldiers that weren't returning.

His soldiers.

The thought gnawed away at his heart, right up until the moment they were caught by patrolling troops.

A stealthy get away was no longer an option. It was time to fight their way out, gambling their lives, and the odds heavily skewed in death's favour. The scouts were outmanned, outgunned and out of luck.

-------------------

Murdoch rushed over and slid behind the pile of collapsed rubble that was once a house. Once out of the enemy's line of sight, he reloaded his weapon and glanced a look at one of his remaining teammates.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

At least, what was left of him.

Murdoch's mind went cold as he watched fresh red blood flood from the soldier's still, lifeless body. An entry and an exit wound, the latter much larger than the former, left gaping holes on each side of the man's head.

Bits of bone and brain matter mixed with blood were splattered across the cobble, painting across the stones a gory reminder of what the bullet did to his long-time squadmate and friend Jack.

With every accumulated death, the harder it was to keep his mind focused. Today had just been too much for his wary psyche to handle, and confirming Jack's death was the final nail in the coffin.

He blankly stared at his friend's corpse, ignoring the rabid shouts of men and the banging of their weapons in favour of wallowing in the despair of his impending doom.

He always knew he would eventually meet his end in the field, he barely had a life outside of the army anyway. Not long after his mother died he packed his bags, enlisted and never looked back.

After two years of service he applied for special forces, and after a rigorous few weeks he managed to pass the selection process. Then it was just mission after mission for years, with minimal break in between, so the chances of death by natural causes was slim.

A stray bullet, a loose grenade, even being stabbed would've been better than the hell he's in right now. Watching everyone around you bite the dust one by one, while knowing it'll be your turn soon.

It feels terrible.

But that's just how life is. You can't choose when you're going to die, but you can damn well choose how.

Snapping out of his worthless self pity and mustering up what little courage he had left, Murdoch started letting loose grenades left right and centre.

A horrible ringing sound played in his head as the world around him deafened. His eardrums were torn to shreds from a series of thunderous, close proximity explosions that scattered shrapnel and body parts around in equal amounts.

Murdoch's ears were wet with blood as he scavenged Jack's body for leftover explosives, after checking he was left with only one remaining grenade.

Cursing at his luck for what seems like the umpteenth time today, he spun around and put his remaining bullets to good use. Not one was wasted, each of them were fired through their respective targets, adding on to Murdoch's already high kill count.

When his gun started to produce a clicking sound, he slumped back down next to Jack's body. He couldn't hear his enemies approaching but he could almost guarantee that a new batch of them were closing in on his position right now.

He leered at the grenade for a few more seconds before deciding to go out with a bang.

Literally.

Priming the explosive, Murdoch closed his eyes and laid his back against the rubble, pressing the grenade against his chest. Filled with a bitter emotion, his body was consumed in a flash of light.

All he felt was a rapid jolt of pain that left as quickly as it came, before being swallowed up by a peaceful sensation that brought serenity to his mind.

The stress and misery that consumed him just moments prior vanished without a trace. Whatever state he was in right now, didn't allow him to feel such emotions, he was locked in the tranquillity of the present.

…

..

.

That intoxicating feeling lasted until his consciousness suddenly reformed itself inside a body with no limbs...

All of Murdoch's pent of emotions came rushing back, bringing along with them messed up eyesight, a flawed sense of touch and a mind numbing burning sensation that scorched his chest.

He never had time to mull over the second coming of his mental anguish while it felt like someone lit a fire in his lungs.

Murdoch's body began to manically twitch on instinct as he repeatedly tried and failed to take a breath of air. The lack of oxygen blurred his eyesight more than he thought was humanly possible, and the pain only worsened over time.

After what felt like hours of prolonged torture, his conciousness was on the verge of dispersing when he heard a strange rumbling not far from him.

- "Iqeh, I thought you said the fish was prepared for cooking?" -

A hulking mass of scales and muscle asked his partner, turning one of her many, many eyes to the floundering animal of the ground.

- "Huh?" - The Serpentine-esque monster bewilderedly mumbled, - "I'm telling you, it was dead two minutes ago."

Murdoch couldn't understand a fucking word they were saying, everything that came from the creatures mouths sounded like the gibberish he'd spout after drinking one too many at the local pub.

'Fuck me man. Don't tell me I'm going to die for the second time in a day.'

He tried multiple times to squeeze out some words, but all he got too show for them was a stabbing pain in his abdomen.

His eyesight was completely wack as well, he couldn't see in front of him, couldn't see behind him, but everything at either side was perfectly fine. At least for short distance vision, anything past a couple of metres started to blur out, but he wasn't sure if that was an eye problem or a lack of oxygen problem.

Once the two beings stopped communicating, one of the pair took a powerful lunge towards him that sent tremors through the earth.. One of the hands that carried its serpentine body began to shiver rapidly until it transformed from something similar to a talon, to a singular razor sharp blade.

Before he even realised what was happening, it was off with the head.

A quick, clean cut though the nape cleaved Murdoch's head from the rest of his body and sent it flying through the air. In his last seconds he was able to glimpse at what the rest of his body looked like.

What lay on the ground, was a headless, red scaled fish that sported a pair of curved spikes that grew from the area next to the dorsal fin.

'That solves the mystery of why I couldn't breathe' Murdoch thought, just before he was ripped from that reality.

He basked in the wonderful feeling his second death brought him, coupled with a surprisingly neutral feeling towards execution by guillotine Murdoch bathed in the calmness before being harshly yanked into another body.

Everything was much blurrier than the previous time, his vision was like looking through a pair of binoculars without focusing on them. His hearing was much better though, he could make out strings of syllables that seemed to form some kind of foregin language that he's never heard of before.

Suddenly a huge palm grabbed him and lifted him into the air. He couldn't make out much, but he could definitely see the creature's mouth opening and closing… menacingly.

'Please no! Not again! Don't kill me!' He tried to say, but his vocal cords never moved accordingly.

What came out in the place of words, was a baby's high-pitched wail. Sadly for him, none of the adults in the room seemed to notice the distress he was in.

- "He's alive! Your baby survived!" - One of the midwives exclaimed as she checked Murdoch's new body for any problems.

- "May I hold him?" - The mother weakly asked while tears poured down her face. Her body was weak from the long labour and her heart doubly so

Finding out her child was stillborn made her feel like the world was crumbling around her, but the gods shone a light on her baby boy, bringing him back to her.

- "Of course dear. One moment." - The midwife made several hand signs and eloquently spoke the word "Venire" conjuring up a small orb of light that slowly fell towards Murdoch's chest.

The light spread all over his small body, giving his features a slight luminescent glow. The energy of the orb coursed through Murdoch's body, giving birth to an incredible feeling, it was as if his cells were brimming excess energy.

A second wind if you will.

It was enough of a surprise to momentarily calm him down.

'No fucking chance man. Absolutely no way. Surely that wasn't magic… Dying twice must have me tripping balls.'

Once the light disappeared and the plainness of basic existence returned, the midwife passed him to his mother. The warm touch of the mother felt cold and empty with the loss of that precious feeling coursing through him.

She held him close to her bosom and gently rocked him, showing the freshly reincarnated Murdoch the exact same care and love that was meant for her true son that must've passed away.

To be honest, Murdoch never really cared about the body's previous owner. Too much shit happened for him to sweat the small stuff, he'd have an existential crisis another day.

After realising he wasn't about to be decapitated, ate and shat out, he fought back the feelings of emptiness and relaxed in the warmth of his surrogate mother embrace, dozing off a mere moment later.

While Murdoch was sleeping the Midwife asked - "Have you decided on a name Miss" -

Nodding slightly, she cleared her throat before replying with a beautiful smile.

"Lux."