Three shots. Three silenced minds. The guard, collateral damage—a forgotten chip in the pot.
Copper, gunpowder, and cheap vodka rotting in the air. I spat a crimson jet onto the green carpet. My body faltered; the adrenaline failed like a radio with dying batteries.
I dragged the chair. Scene: General Konov slumped over the cards he still clutched (K♠ and A♠), glued to the blood on his chest. Two colonels fallen among soaked chips. The guard—his rifle still steaming.
Community cards on the table:
Flop:3♣... 7♦... Q♠...
Turn:10♠...
River:J♠.
The Jack of Spades stared back at me.
"— Royal straight flush..." I grunted, spitting on the card. "Damn lucky bastard, even dead."
The wound in my abdomen gushed scarlet. No exit. No time.
I snatched the guard's rifle. Sat backward on the chair, barrel braced against the headrest. The air cut like a Siberian blade.
Russian shouts outside—once yells, now drowning whispers—announced the siege.
The light dwindled. The pain deserted.
The door shattered.
The machine gun vomited fire: 1... 2... 5... 30 blasts...
The roars became empty-magazine clicks.
Final blast.
My blood painted the river's J♠—the card that sealed his triumph...
The world blurred, faded.
A cold voice echoed:
"Round 2. Bet?"
---
When light returned, I was at the poker table again. The guard dealt the cards.
I checked my hand: two queens, Q♦ and Q♣.
Across the table sat an unfamiliar man in a white suit and beret. His black eyes—an indescribable void—seemed to suck my soul. Yet his pure appearance soothed like a mother's kindness.
Confusion gripped me, but something compelled me to play.
He doubled the bet. With queens high, I doubled back.
"Raise."
He smiled.
"You like risky bets, Donavan. No wonder you end up here."
Confusion flooded my mind like a raging river: the Konov game, the shootout, my death. I pressed a hand to my head.
"I shouldn't be here..."
The man's lips curved.
"Call..."
He raised a finger, tilting his head.
"Why not? Donavan, didn't you welcome me with open arms?"
Tap. Tap.
My knuckles rapped the chip twice. Instinct.
"Why would I? I don't know you, why we're playing, or how I got here..."
The guard—who'd briefly seemed to vanish—flipped three community cards:
Flop: Q♥, 2♥, 7♣
The man slid forward a fifth of his chips.
"You're here because you died, Donovan. Now you're betting your life... or what's left of it." A beat. "At least, your soul."
"Raise..." I pushed two-fifths of my stack center-table. "Why gamble my last possession?"
"Why?" He stroked his chin. "To live again? Call."
He matched the bet.
The guard flipped the next card:
Turn:6♦
"Why would I want that? A life of wars, disasters, lies, spy games, and covers..." My voice turned to gravel. "A house of cards that collapsed and brought me to you."
"Living's hard, but we get many lives. You could return as a roach, cricket, mutt, or lab rat. Life's wheel spins random." His eyes narrowed. "But for those accepting divine missions? Choice isn't about luck."
He revealed his cards: A♥, 10♥.
"All-in."
A river gamble. I held three queens; he had a flush draw. The river could crown him... or confirm my win.
"Tsk... you're annoying. Call." I spat. "I like animals, but won't be one. Win my soul? What's your offer? I'll take my life back. Don't expect blind obedience."
The man's smile deepened.
"I've got motivation methods."
The guard flipped the river: 9♥.
"Tsk... you win." My cigarette trembled. "Truth: you don't beat Death and walk away."
I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, lit it with steady hands.
"Then let's deal. Talk incentives."
His smile stretched ear-to-ear. *Ice shot down my spine.*
---
[Ki - 3/3]
The man leaned in, black eyes glinting like knives. He slowly stacked his chips.
"First, introductions: I am Azael, God of Death and Annihilation. I am grief, loss, abandonment..." His voice softened. "...but also purpose, resolve, new beginnings."
He tapped the table twice. The surface became a floating globe—a pulsing world.
"This is Nexum. Battleground of Gods, where deities are born and die. Constant wars fuel or consume us."
He zoomed in until it became a tactical map.
"Here, worlds converge. Gods rip portals to invade rival realms. Each territory holds a gateway; alliances last seconds."
Another tap. Earth materialized.
"This is your home. A 'Lost World' under the Almighty's protection. Its races live by free will: they choose to serve, worship..." His gaze sharpened. "...or spit at heaven."
Fingers drummed the table.
"Lost Worlds are untouchable... but with a renegade angel's help, I pulled you here mid-reincarnation." He leaned closer. "I need your unique power: free will. Will you contract with me?"
The view snapped back to Nexum.
"You'll renounce free will. In return, I grant power. Become my champion, slaughter my enemies. Choose your race and gifts." His voice turned glacial. "Cost? Eternal servitude to my will."
Slam!
My fist hit the wood.
"What's the damn difference between death and slavery? I'd be a puppet!" I snarled. "Ally? Maybe. Slave? Never!"
Azael froze. His finger traced woodgrain circles.
"I could preserve your free will... for another price: your soul, memories..." He slid beside me. His whisper froze my blood: "...or others' sacrifices. Nexum's beings lack free will. Use them as ritual kindling."
A contract appeared.
"Choose race and three gifts. Remember: professions you'll learn in Nexum. My blessings will cost all memories from your past life."
Hours crawled by. My decision bled onto the parchment:
Race:Human (Neutral Variant)
Capabilities: Mana, Aura, Cultivation
Skills:Quick Learning, Versatility
Flaws: Short lifespan, Inborn greed
Profession:
Selecting the final gifts, I hesitated:
1. Codex of the Dead: Gain instant knowledge, costing souls.
2. Soul Forger:Craft weapons from soul essence (purify/corrupt).
3. Draconic Constitution (Black):Profane dragon blood. Physical evolution. WARNING: Universal hatred.
4. Void Constitution:Entropic body of Chaos. Alters race.
5. True Sight:See magic, illusions, spiritual entities.
6. False Death:Stockpile souls to resurrect (1 soul = 1 life).
"Doubts?" Azael's shadow loomed over the table. "I can't interfere... but all five are prime choices."
Five? My eyes flickered. He forgot to read one?
"Point out the most useful," I demanded.
He clustered the options:
"Codex and Forge give solid foundations... but soul mastery takes time." He isolated them. "Draconic Constitution brings raw power..." His stare pinned me. "...and eternal hunters. True Sight and False Death are tools: one grows obsolete; the other offers immortality. Choose."
My finger stabbed the contract:
Codex of the Dead
Draconic Constitution (Black)
False Death
...And a phantom touch brushed Void Constitution.
After all, what's life without a secret wager?