Ashes to bone

The year was 2120, and the world had become a crucible of ambition and despair. Humanity's greatest breakthrough—Aeternium, a miraculous new element promising extended life—had once sparked hope. Governments and corporations scrambled to harness its power, dreaming of a future where death was postponed and life stretched into eternity. But unchecked ambition soon turned hope into greed. Rival nations clashed over control of Aeternium, and what began as a promise of immortality quickly erupted into the brutal chaos of World War III.

On a blood-soaked battlefield far from any semblance of peace, Ziel Anders fought with every fiber of his being. The earth trembled under exploding shells, and the roar of artillery drowned out the anguished cries of wounded soldiers. Amid the fiery chaos, Ziel moved with a precision and ferocity that set him apart. His training and unwavering resolve had earned him a reputation as one of the fiercest fighters in Viper Unit, his every strike a testament to his skill.

In the thick of combat, Ziel's focus was split between survival and the haunting memory of Nyc his beloved wife—her gentle, warm hazel eyes and tender smile that had once given him hope in the darkest moments. Every clash of metal and burst of flame was interwoven with flashes of her face, a reminder of why he fought even when the world seemed doomed.

The battle reached a fever pitch as explosions lit up the horizon. Commander Blaze's voice, steady and resolute, boomed over the chaos:

  "Hold the line, Anders! Fight for the future Aeternium promised!"

His words cut through the tumult, urging every soldier forward. Among them, Dev—a tall, imposing figure with deep, determined eyes and a spirit that never wavered—moved like a force of nature. In one heart-stopping moment, as shells rained down, an explosion tore through the ranks. Dev's rifle was ripped from his grasp by the sheer force of the blast and clattered to the blood-soaked ground.

Without missing a beat, Ziel shouted over the roar, "You've got a better shot either way!" and passed his own rifle to Dev. Dev accepted it with a nod and a wry smile—a silent acknowledgment of their unbreakable bond and Ziel's unmatched skill in combat.

As the battle raged, Ziel's prowess in hand-to-hand combat came to the fore. In one ferocious skirmish near a ruined barricade, a group of six enemy soldiers, armed with handguns, advanced with reckless confidence. They believed that Ziel, without his rifle in hand, would be an easy target. But Ziel was far from unarmed in spirit. With lightning speed and impeccable technique, he launched himself into the fray.

The first attacker lunged forward with his pistol raised, but Ziel intercepted him with a brutal uppercut that shattered his jaw. In the next instant, another enemy swung a gun toward his head. Ziel ducked low, rolling forward and delivering a crushing elbow to the attacker's chest, sending him sprawling. A third foe tried to flank him, but Ziel met the challenge with a series of rapid strikes—his fists a blur as he pummeled the man's midsection until he crumpled. Two more came at him simultaneously; one fired a shot that whizzed past Ziel's ear, while the other rushed in with a wild swing. Ziel's training kicked in: he sidestepped, seized the attacker's wrist, and twisted it painfully until the pistol clattered to the ground. In a final, decisive move, he swept his leg and knocked the remaining foe off his feet, leaving all six adversaries defeated by his elite hand-to-hand combat skills. The brutality of the fight was matched only by the clarity of his focus—a blend of raw power and calculated precision that made him a force to be reckoned with.

In those chaotic moments, as the battlefield erupted around him, Ziel's thoughts repeatedly turned to Nyc. Her memory was the only warmth in the freezing grip of death. Even as the sounds of combat grew deafening, her image shone like a distant star in his mind.

Then, in a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, fate intervened. A searing flash of white light exploded across the battlefield. Ziel felt an overwhelming surge of pain that racked his body as time slowed to a crawl. In those final, tortured seconds before darkness consumed him, his last thought was of Nyc—her promise of reunion echoing like a desperate prayer. And then, everything went black.

When Ziel awoke, the familiar din of war was gone. Instead, he found himself in a realm that defied all reason—a barren, nightmarish wasteland that would soon be known as Hell. The sounds of explosions and cries of men had been replaced by an eerie, oppressive silence, punctuated only by the distant, constant crackle of flames. As his vision adjusted, Ziel realized that his body had been transformed. His warm, living flesh was gone, replaced by a skeletal frame that gleamed with a cold, unyielding light. The tattered remnants of his uniform clung to him like faded memories, and all traces of his mortal weapons—his rifle, his sidearm—were nowhere to be found. Only his own strength and the dark power coursing through his bones remained.

He began to move slowly across the scorched earth, his bony footsteps echoing on the cracked, desolate ground. The landscape was harsh and unforgiving. Jagged peaks of burnt rock rose in the distance, their sharp edges silhouetted against a sky that burned with the remnants of a dying sun. The ground was a chaotic mosaic of broken stone, drifting ash, and glowing fissures where molten lava flowed like blood. Throughout this barren wasteland, skeletal figures wandered—mere echoes of life, their empty eyes staring vacantly into the void.

Despite the overwhelming desolation, Ziel pressed on, driven by the memory of Nyc and the echoes of the unity he once shared with his comrades. He knew nothing of what had truly happened to the rest of his unit—only that the battle had been ferocious and that survival had come at an unimaginable cost.

As he navigated the narrow, soot-filled alleyways of what had once been a bustling city, Ziel came upon a crumbling wall covered in ancient runes. His skeletal fingers traced the faded inscriptions, feeling the cold, rough stone that bore witness to untold tragedies. The runes whispered silently of endless sacrifice and the high price of power. With a heavy heart, he murmured, "I will fight, I will evolve… for Nyc." His vow was a quiet promise to himself—a plea to preserve the light of his past amid the encroaching darkness.

Lost in these thoughts, Ziel almost missed a mocking laugh that cut through the silence. He spun around, his eyes narrowing as he braced for an enemy. From behind a collapsed section of wall emerged a monstrous skeletal warrior—a gruesome creature whose twisted, jagged bones formed deadly spikes and whose hollow, red eyes burned with cruel malice. Its every move was wild and unpredictable.

"Deny your fate, soldier, and perish!" the creature spat, its voice rough and filled with scorn.

Without hesitation, Ziel charged into combat. The ensuing fight was a chaotic burst of raw energy and desperate skill. The skeletal warrior swung its massive spiked arm in a wide, lethal arc. Ziel ducked swiftly, feeling the rush of air as the weapon grazed past his neck. In a flash, he countered with a powerful knee strike to the enemy's ribcage. A sickening crunch filled the alley as brittle bone shattered, and the creature let out a piercing shriek as its form splintered into dark fragments. In that violent moment, Ziel absorbed the creature's dark essence—a rush of power that sharpened his bones and deepened his resolve, even as it stole a small piece of his treasured memories.

Gasping, Ziel closed his eyes and clung to the image of Nyc's smile—a fragile beacon amid the overwhelming dark. "I will evolve for you, Nyc," he whispered, voice thick with sorrow and fierce determination. With that vow echoing in his soul, he resumed his march toward the heart of the First City.

The First City rose before him as a vast, ruined citadel—an urban wasteland of narrow, winding streets and crumbling buildings. Once a vibrant center of life, it now lay in ruin, with broken statues, shattered altars, and faded inscriptions telling silent stories of sacrifice and despair. As Ziel walked these desolate avenues, he recalled the camaraderie of the battlefield—brief moments of laughter and unity that had sustained him in the midst of chaos. Yet he knew nothing of what truly had befallen his comrades; that secret would remain hidden for now.

In a narrow, shadowed alley near a collapsed archway, Ziel's eyes caught a familiar, battered silhouette slumped against a scorched wall. It was Dev—his loyal friend and brother-in-law—whose body bore the marks of that final, chaotic battle. Dev's skin was scarred, his uniform in tatters, yet his eyes shone with a determined light. Ziel's heart pounded with relief as he rushed to his side.

"Dev?" he called softly, a mixture of hope and confusion in his voice.

Dev managed a weak, wry smile. "Anders… I was dragging your sorry ass back when I saw that explosion," he rasped. "I saw things I can't fully explain yet—but I'm here with you. We're in this together." His tone was heavy with unspoken grief, yet laced with the humor that had always kept their spirits alive.

Dev did not reveal the full truth of that fateful explosion—the moment when Ziel was hurled high into the air and the rest of the unit met a terrible fate. That secret would come later. For now, Dev's presence was enough—a single, surviving comrade to remind Ziel that he was not entirely alone.

Under a sky of swirling ash and dim, flickering light, Ziel and Dev began their journey through the ruined streets of the First City—a vast, desolate urban wasteland among Hell's many cursed citadels. The cruel decree of Hell—fight, evolve, or be forgotten—echoed in every step they took. Ziel's transformation into a skeletal warrior, the surge of dark power in his bones, and the slow fading of his cherished memories all set him on a path from which there was no return.

As they walked, Ziel's thoughts turned repeatedly to Nyc. In the midst of the oppressive darkness, her memory remained a fragile, defiant spark—a beacon of hope that urged him onward. "For you, Nyc," he vowed quietly, "I will keep fighting, no matter what." Dev's steady presence, a comforting reminder of the bond they once shared, reinforced that promise.

Thus, with the echo of that vow in his heart and Dev by his side, Ziel Anders stepped forward into the endless night of Hell—a realm where every step was a battle for survival, and every echo of his bony footsteps was a defiant cry for the lost light of his past.