Narrator
The Great Cataclysm known in old, fading stories as the War was so long ago that no one truly remembered it anymore. Time had buried its memories beneath dust, bones, and fear. Only ruins remained, twisted symbols of a world that once reached for the sky but ultimately tore itself apart.
Darkness ruled the Deadlands. Fear followed it like a loyal dog. Death was the only law everyone respected in this lands.
For centuries, chaos swallowed everything. People hid, starved, killed, and died without purpose until they came. The "Sovereigns" The Kings and Queens.
No one knew where they came from. But they appeared like gods descending from the sky, wielding strange powers no ordinary human could wield. People ran toward them, desperate, broken, begging to be saved.
And the Kings and Queens accepted.
They forged a new world out of the ashes, built order atop the bones of the old. For the first time since the Cataclysm, people had protection, safety… hope.
But protection became obedience.
Obedience became servitude.
Servitude became chains.
The Kings and Queens claimed the Deadlands as their domain. They divided the territories, carved borders with blood, and declared themselves sovereigns. Each one ruled with an iron will, demanding loyalty from all who lived under their banner.
And from their rule came the deadliest force the Deadlands had ever seen.
Since modern weapons had vanished long ago lost in the Great Cataclysm (War), some where destroyed, or rendered useless the Sovereigns trained armies of human weapons instead. Every child selected was shaped into a killer. Every killer was molded into a soldier. Every soldier became one of the elite.
They were called Razors.
Blades trained to perfection.
Bodies turned into instruments of death.
Loyalty sharpened until it cut through their humanity.
This world, this land, this broken place…It was built on blood.No one was good here. No one innocent.You kill, or you die.
Simple. Final.
Welcome to the Deadlands "the land of death".
[Chapter 01 Begins]
A young boy rolled his motorcycle to a stop near the cracked remains of an old highway. Dust trailed behind him, swirling in the hot wind as he hopped off the bike. His boots crunched against broken gravel while he unstrapped the fuel canister from his pack.
He refilled the tank quietly, as if he'd done it a thousand times before, then kicked the engine back to life. The machine roared low and steady his only companion in a world where companionship was a luxury.
He drove for several minutes, until the scent of blood touched the air.
Bodies littered the road ahead blocking his way forward.
He slowed, then stopped completely beside a large abandoned truck. Its doors were open, its cargo emptied. Flies buzzed over corpses dumped unceremoniously across the dirt. The boy stepped off his bike and walked closer.
"What a pitiful bunch…" he muttered softly.
He knelt, exhaled through his nose, and gently closed the eyes of each fallen person. One after another. A small act of mercy in a place where mercy was almost extinct.
When he finished, he stood and glanced at the truck.
"Seventeen people…" he murmured. "But one is missing."
His eyes drifted toward the forest. Quiet. Still. Watching.
Without hesitation, he walked into the trees.
"Boss! Someone's approaching," a man shouted, pointing toward the road.
A motorcycle sped toward the clearing, kicking dust behind it. The boy stopped in front of a group of rough-looking men bandits, scavengers, the kind that preyed on the weak and hid from the Sovereigns.
The leader stepped forward, a bulky man with a scar across his cheek.
"Hey, young boy," the boss said. "You lost?"
The boy looked him in the eyes. Calm. Steady. Unafraid.
"Drifters ambushed a cargo ship a while ago. I was tracking that shipment to meet up with them," the boy said. "They killed all the Raz Kids on board sparing no one."
A few bandits exchanged looks.The boss frowned.
"Sorry, stranger," the man said. "We don't know anything about humans trading. Wrong people."
"Are you sure?" the boy asked calmly.
"I'm sure." The boss crossed his arms.
"What's your interest in that cargo anyway?"
"It belongs to my Sovereign," the boy replied. "King's orders."
Silence fill the air.
Then laughter erupted.
"Hahaha! You?" the boss barked. "You expect us to believe you're a Razor? You pups are just dogs raised by the Sovereigns. Where's your pack? Don't Razors move in groups?"
He leaned forward. "Aren't you a little too young to be one of them?"
The boy only smiled unbothered, unworried.
Despite being surrounded by armed bandits.
"I need to check your truck," the boy said politely. "I can't return empty-handed. Do you mind?"
"As I said," the boss replied, "we don't have anything for you."
"Okay then." The boy nodded and turned back toward his bike. "I'll leave. Have a nice day."
The boss's grin disappeared.
"Sorry, kid," he said coldly. "But we can't let you walk away now. You've already seen us. We can't risk you running back to your masters."
He raised his hand and signaled to one of his men a muscular guy with a shaved head and a long blade strapped across his back.
"Make sure to kill him," the boss ordered. "No mistakes."
"Yes, boss," the man replied, stepping forward. "I'll make it quick."
He unsheathed his blade and walked toward the boy with a predatory smile.
The boy didn't back away. Didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
"If you try to attack me," he said calmly, "you're going to regret starting this fight."
The shaved man laughed.
"Kid… you have no idea what you're up against."
But the man was wrong. Very wrong.
Because Sunny despite looking like a normal, small-built teenager wasn't normal at all.
He was a Razor. One trained to kill. One chosen by a Sovereign. One carrying a secret even the Deadlands weren't ready for.
And these bandits… They were about to learn exactly what that meant.