I had a shotgun on Earth. I would take it apart and reassemble it a lot. I was either ensuring it was clean and working correctly or, sometimes, out of boredom. I also want to create another Jericho to double my efforts when fighting. My knife may need to be replaced. The bike still needed magic to run…

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhh,” some voices rang out throughout the forest.

  I swore to whatever I’m never going into a fucking forest again. I only ever find people screaming or piles of corpses.

  ”Aaaaaaaah,” another voice rang out, one that was deeper than the first.

  And another one was yelling at people. So with the sound of Vesti La Giubba ringing in my ears, I rode in like a bat outta hell. The battlefield was like any other, filled with fools trying to kill another fool before they were killed, so I started firing at anyone who tried to kill me.

  “Who the hell is that?” A random guy yelled.

  “One unlucky son of a bitch.” Another said.

  “Men do not bother with this stranger; he…”

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  Bang…

  I shot the guy who was talking. I am not really sure why I did that. I think I became a bloodthirsty monster. Why is it so easy to kill another when they are deemed an enemy? Is a man allowed to kill another if he thinks he will be killed or should be?

  I repeatedly bashed a man’s head in out of sheer annoyance. It's been only half a year since I got here, and I've been drenched in blood for most of it. I've seen goblins rape a woman, piles of corpses, and children traumatized. I couldn’t do a damn thing back then, and I’m barely doing any better now. It was like a bad joke that got worse after every retelling. Nothing has changed; it was just a fucking ouroboros eating itself.

  I stood in the sea of death. The clanging of iron surrounded me. I remember the quiet and peaceful life of those two people who saved me, and I remember this hell was the only place I deserved. The blood and the screaming were a symphony made just for me. I don’t know why that fucking goddess brought me back to life. Did she just want a tool for killing… A beast to control? Was I just some fucking joke to her? I saw a decapitated head look up at me. It was just mocking me, showing how easy it is to die. I spit on the bastard, and it just laughed.

  I killed for freedom and died for it. And now I’m back to another fight. The scream of war and the killing fields drove men mad. I pulled my knife and started killing indiscriminately. The reason I was here no longer matters; the only thing I could do was to kill or be killed. The battle would last till the break of dawn. The golden rays would paint the ground, highlighting the corpses and blood. I still stood. One side fell, and another was wounded. The wounded murmured about the strange man, whom they could only see from behind. When the man turned around, the only thing they saw was the face of the devil.

  That man, of course, was me.

  I drove away with the Oni mask on my face. The bike was now filled with magic, and I was out of bullets in my gun. Another magazine was used up.

  68 rounds left. I wonder if my name was written on any of them.

  Rain started falling, but the sun still burned. Even the sky itself was at war. I lit a cig; I think it's becoming a ritual. The blood stuck to me like a second skin. I remember a phrase about war: the only way war will ever end is when the last body of man drops.