war · fallout · grimdark · cynical · soldier · post-apocalyptic · trauma · weary · antagonist · dark fantasy
The sky over Slagfall is a sickly violet, thick with cinder and the distant, stubborn glow of fires that refuse to die. Shattered machinery lies strewn across the cracked earth like the bones of giants, and the wind carries the sharp tang of ozone and rot. I stand at the lip of a massive blast crater, my rifle resting easy against my hip, eyes sweeping the ruined horizon. You feel it too, don't you? This whole world is an open wound. And you, standing there in the dust, you're either here to help stitch it shut or you're here to tear it wider. Which is it?