It was the year 2240 on Earth.
A few decades prior, a massive meteorite had been on a direct collision course with the planet.
A group of brave heroes—united under a powerful leader—managed to destroy it as it tore through the atmosphere. The fragments broke open and burned as they fell, scattering a strange energy across the globe in disrupting the natural balance of earth.
That energy changed everything…
Ordinary people began awakening abilities, and it was soon discovered that once a living being was killed, the one who killed it was granted access to its Soul.
Upon death by the hands of another, the Soul condensed into what was known as a Soul Gem, which took on many forms depending on the power of the being that was killed.
One could absorb the gem directly to gain more power and maybe unlock new abilities or they could attempt to subdue it—possibly converting it into a weapon.
Both methods became common practice. Still, rumors persisted—whispers of other options, stranger paths, each promising unknown and often dangerous results.
The world descended into chaos…
Entire regions fell into lawlessness. Bloodshed became routine.
Halfway across the world, deep within a sprawling desert—A man with black dreadlocks, tan skin, and a chiseled face walked steadily through the sand.
A faded scar split his sharp right eyebrow and ran down to his cheekbone. Sweat poured from his brow beneath the merciless sun.
Black wolf fur lined the collar of his red coat—an absurd choice in this heat. A triangular red ruby hung from a gold chain around his neck, its surface pristine. His pants and boots, though dusty, were clearly crafted from fine material.
Dragging behind him was a thick silver longsword nearly as long as his arm. Its blade was chipped and cracked, heavy enough to carve a shallow trench through the sand.
The city should be close… I swear, if I pass out here—holy shit, I need water.
The heat was unbareable—like walking through hell itself.
Then he saw it.
A silhouette rose from the horizon.
El Diablo. The city hidden in sand.
Relief washed over his face.
He had been traveling for seven days without water. The last drop had come from a pitiful watering hole, barely more than damp earth. A wry smile cracked his dry lips as he broke into a sprint.
Minutes later, he crossed into El Diablo.
True to its reputation, the city was nearly abandoned during the day. The unforgiving heat drove most residents indoors, leaving the streets eerily empty.
Reyes spotted a bar and rushed through its doors.
Cool air washed over him.
Inside, the patrons barely spared him a glance. He slung his sword across his back, quickly tucked the ruby into his shirt, and took a seat at the bar.
"What can I get for you?"
A soft voice accompanied a warm smile. The bartender—early thirties, purple eyes, tan skin, long curly black hair—studied him with curiosity.
"I need the biggest pint of water you've got. Ice. Now," Reyes said hoarsely, tossing a handful of credits onto the bar.
"I'll make it worth your while."
After the cataclysm, traditional currency had been replaced by Credits, a metallic composite made up of common earth metals.
Since credits were relatively easy to obtain, true value existed through other methods—information, relics, weapons, untouched Soul Gems. Trade was often the main source of currency especially within the upper tiers of society but here, credits would make due.
"Coming right up," she said, winking.
She returned with a massive pint. Reyes drained it instantly.
"Hey…have you seen a guy in full plate armor about this tall?" he asked, holding his hand up to about six-foot-ten.
"Carries a slab of metal bigger than mine."
She chuckled at his words.
"Can't say I have. But you might want to wait until nightfall. Everyone comes out then."
She paused for a moment.
"What's your name?"
"Reyes."
He slid the empty glass forward, which she refilled it without comment.
Despite her beauty, Reyes paid her little mind. Power was all that mattered in his mind. Strength was the only language that anyone ever fully understood these days.
Tired, he decided to take his glass, move to a shadowed corner and eventually fell asleep.
….
A sharp jab woke him hours later.
A group of men stood over him, red bandanas covering their faces. Their eyes lingered on his pedant.
"Wakey wakey," one sneered.
"Hand over your gear—or we take it off your corpse."
Their leader wore a brown cowboy hat and leather vest embroidered with a clenched fist. A long rifle that looked similar to an 1860 Henry Repeater was slung across his back, a pair of revolvers at his hips.
Reyes took a slow drink of water while he spoke between sips.
"If you idiots think those pea shooters mean anything," he said flatly, "you'd be better off using them on yourselves."
The leader fired.
Three glowing orange rounds punched through the glass and snapped Reyes's head back.
Laughter erupted.
Then Reyes lifted his head.
A red aura flared around his face. No wounds. No blood. Just fury.
Before the leader could blink, his vision spun—and went black.
His severed head rolled across the floor.
The others stared in horror. Looking down at his sword, they noticed it hadn't moved and wasn't even coated in blood.
"If you're wondering," Reyes said calmly, raising his hand.
"I used this."
The fresh blood that coated his fingers shone brightly in the light of the bar.
In defeat, the remaining men dropped to their knees before him.
"Please—"
"We were just following orders!"
Reyes sighed.
"You're lucky I'm in a hurry."
He stood and glared at them with malice lacing his eyes.
"Get out of my sight. If I see you again, you'll wish I hadn't."
Without hesitation, they all quickly rose to their feet and fled.
Reyes placed his hand over the corpse. It quickly dissolved into a small gray shard, along with the weapons the boss had equipped.
He absorbed it—feeling only a slight increase in power.
Disappointing…
Everyone else at the bar just continued on with what they were doing like nothing even happened.
Reyes returned to his seat, leaned back, and fell asleep again.