The Man Who Smiled at Death Rain fell softly over the silent city as the man in the black hat stood beneath a sky without stars. His white gloves were spotless, his tie perfectly straight, and the barcode carved into his neck marked him as Property No. 071. To everyone else, he was an assassin. To himself, he was already dead. A pistol rested against the side of his head. Its cold barrel didn't make him flinch. A thin line of blood slipped from the corner of his mouth, staining his pale skin crimson. Yet the only thing he did was smile. Not because he wanted to die. Because he knew the bullet wouldn't matter. Years ago, a forbidden ritual had stolen his mortality. Every wound healed. Every broken bone mended. Every execution failed. Those who created him called it perfection. He called it a curse. The figure holding the gun whispered, "This is your last chance. Tell me where the relic is." He closed his eyes and laughed quietly. "You've asked me that a thousand times." The trigger was pulled. Darkness flashed. A heartbeat later, the wound vanished as though it had never existed. His silver eyes opened again, glowing with quiet sorrow. "I told you," he said, brushing the blood from his lips. "The only thing that can kill me... is the thing I came here to destroy." The city lights flickered. Somewhere beneath the streets, something ancient awakened. And for the first time in centuries, the immortal man stopped smiling.