He can save mankind. After he does one important thing. Die.
Join the Ghost Corps, they said. You’ll live forever, they said. You’ll save mankind, they said. They didn’t say that to do it, first he had to die.
When Tornahdo signs on the dotted line, he puts his life into the steady hands of the mighty Ghost Corps. Three grisly deaths and three agonizing resurrections later, he’s assigned duty on the space station Enderium Six.
He’s facing his most dangerous mission yet, the very reason the corps exists.
Tornahdo and his team must take out the man responsible for every war between humans and Ultras since the origin of the Ultra bloodline: the immortal king, Pietas.
If he succeeds, the war is over.
If he doesn’t, the Ultras will rule mankind for another thousand years.
Pietas regenerates from every wound. He’s so fast, no human has ever laid a hand on him. As a precaution, they’re sending in Tornahdo’s squad only after evacuating the station and trapping the king in a chamber emptied of air. The immortal will have to fight in a vacuum.
So will Tornahdo and his crew.
Do they expect the corps to win? Fat chance. Tornahdo and his team are already dead men and this mission is codenamed “Lights Out.” No, there’s more to this than Tornahdo can see.
To discover the truth, he must face an unbeatable, unkillable enemy, and this time–somehow–find a way to keep himself alive…
The air reeked of antiseptic and starch stiffened the pillowcase. If only the mind-numbing jabbering would stop.
Tornahdo pried open his eyes. The flattened blood bag above him, stenciled equipment and gray walls screamed military hospital.
He’d died. Again.
Spanish curses slipped out. His abuela would’ve taken a switch to him. He made the sign of the cross and kissed his fingertips.
After yanking the tube out of his arm, he pressed a thumb over the entry point. Thankfully, this time, he wasn’t writhing on the floor in agony. Well, not yet.
A faceless android in a Ghost Corps uniform loomed over a bank of equipment displaying Tornahdo’s name and vitals. First impression was right. Military hospital.
The weapons-grade yapping continued.
“Did you hear?” a youthful voice bragged. “He killed six of ’em last night.”
“Yeah, but they don’t stay dead. They never do.”
“If Ultras didn’t come back to life, their plasma wouldn’t bring our own people back.”
The transfusion of enemy blood healed the hole in Tornahdo’s arm in seconds. He thumbed off the red smear and rolled over on the gurney.
An open door led to a sink and toilet built to let gravity do its work. Which meant this was a planet. You hadn’t lived until you were in space, floating in zero gravity while your body’s final twitches sent your corpse spinning.
Notices on the wall confirmed this was San Xavier in the Colonies of Man. Same place he’d bought it the first time.
This was getting old.