As Matt walked through the empty streets of the Astraellan Dominion, he lit a cigarette, the familiar burn offering a small moment of calm amid the devastation. It was a habit he'd picked up during the war, a way to steady his nerves and focus his mind when the chaos threatened to overwhelm him. Each drag of smoke helped anchor him to the present, pushing back the flood of violent memories that clawed at the edges of his consciousness.
The once-proud city was a husk of its former self, the grand architecture reduced to shattered ruins and broken windows. The vibrant pulse that had once filled the streets was long gone, replaced by the eerie silence of a civilization brought to its knees by the Kraelith Empire. Buildings stood like tombstones, their jagged edges bearing witness to the brutality that had swept through the Dominion, leaving desolation in its wake. Not a soul crossed his path. Most of the population had been either drafted into the relentless war effort or killed outright. Only those deemed invaluable—either as medics or veterans like himself—had been left behind. Medics were given brief moments of respite after patching up countless wounded soldiers, while reserve veterans, like Matt, had earned a rare reprieve. After surviving over a thousand encounters with the enemy, soldiers like him were afforded time to recover, though the idea of "rest" was a cruel joke in this hollowed-out city.
As Matt passed by the darkened entrances of brothels, slave markets, and drug dens, he felt the weight of despair pressing down on him. The people left behind sought refuge in whatever vice they could find—whether in the fleeting pleasure of narcotics, the solace of strangers, or the brutal trade of human lives. The laughter that drifted from within those grim establishments was a hollow, mocking echo of the world that had once existed. The city's underworld thrived in the chaos, feeding off the desperation of a people who had nothing left to lose. But Matt had no use for such distractions. His mind was consumed with thoughts of the coming battle, of the bloodshed he had endured and the enemies still waiting to die at his hands. The war had stripped away the last vestiges of his humanity, and in some ways, that was a relief. In a universe as cruel as this, surrendering to the darkest parts of himself had become a necessary evil, a way to keep sane in the face of endless carnage.
Matt's reputation, however, had only grown in the wake of the destruction. His defiance against the Kraelith Empire was the stuff of legends, whispered about in both awe and fear. Surviving over twelve hundred encounters with their forces had etched his name into the annals of war, his exploits casting a long shadow over those who still fought. In a city where human nature had devolved into something primal, Matt was both revered and reviled—an embodiment of the violence that had consumed the world. As he continued his walk through the deserted streets, the flicker of loneliness gnawed at him. He had yet to receive a personal breeder, though he preferred it that way. The idea of settling down to father children while war raged on felt like a betrayal to the soldiers who had died and to the very essence of what it meant to fight. For Matt, the battlefield was the only place that made sense. Any life outside of that was a distraction, one he couldn't afford.
Human nature had turned savage under the strain of the Kraelith invasion. Rape, pillaging, necrophilia, and slavery had become common, and the invasion had given humanity an excuse to reveal its darkest instincts. Matt had witnessed it all, and though he wasn't proud of it, there were moments when he had indulged in the brutal chaos just to keep himself sane. The universe demanded violence, and Matt had learned to embrace it—just as he had learned to survive by any means necessary. As he approached the war office, the cold, lifeless air seemed to press in on him. The structure loomed ahead, its imposing silhouette a grim reminder of the war that still raged on. Pushing through the heavy doors, Matt stepped into the bustling command center, where the low hum of strategizing officers filled the air. Maps of the surrounding territories lined the walls, marked with red Xs indicating the ever-encroaching Kraelith forces.
A young officer, clearly inexperienced and awestruck by Matt's presence, froze in place. 'Aren't you a reserve veteran now?' the officer stammered, his wide eyes betraying his disbelief. "Why are you here?" Matt exhaled a cloud of smoke, meeting the officer's gaze with a hard look. 'I can't sleep in such a quiet environment,' he said flatly, his voice carrying the weight of countless battles. The silence of the city made his skin crawl. 'I want to go back to the field. Alone, if possible.'
The officer hesitated, glancing nervously around the room. 'Sir, you know the higher-ups won't—'
'Don't care,' Matt interrupted, his tone cold and unyielding. ' I'm not sitting around waiting for a breeder or wasting time on bureaucratic bullshit. I need to be out there, fighting. There's no time for this.' He ground out the cigarette beneath his boot, his focus already shifting to the next battle.
The young officer was clearly torn between following protocol and the undeniable presence of a man who had survived more than anyone should. Slowly, he nodded, stepping aside as Matt moved deeper into the war room. Matt's fingers itched for another cigarette, but he held off. His focus was sharpened, and he needed to keep it that way. The war wasn't over. It had only just begun. And Matt, brutal as he had become, was ready to meet it head-on. He had embraced the darkest parts of himself to survive, and if more blood had to be spilled to end this, so be it.