In the year 2017 two unholy creatures clashed, beings of unbridled power capable of destroying reality with their battle. As the two titans clashed the final time their twisted bodies scattered to the winds. Body and blade of god-like creatures cast apart to curse the earth.

Years passed as the curse poisoned humanity. Technology sprang forth by leaps and bounds, the humans compensating for the destruction they had caused. However the power of the two dark beings had already taken their toll. Mankind fell in the year 2020, the presence of evil had mutated the most of the humans into monsters. War scarred the earth as the otherworldly malevolence pierced the minds of man and set them against each other.

By 2045 the wars has ceased however the damage had been done, though mankind still existed the earth had become an unforgiving terrain filled to the brim with raiders, monstrous creatures and new species that had never been seen before. The relentless domain of earth was a lawless wasteland.

Now the year is 2070. What was left had become both a fantastic and horrid hellscape. Man's greed having consumed the globe with magic and technology intertwined. However, there is a legend that could save us all. A whisper told only amongst the most quiet of circles; for none were brave enough to speak out against the powers that be. A tale of madness that speaks of those who may reunite the godly beings. Binding them within the shards of their forgotten blades. The journey shall be fraught with ruin and pain. Tread carefully ye seekers of the dark ones, lest their minions, the government and even those you call friend stand in your way.
Setting
Midian was the city of monsters. It was an isolated place. Approaching the town named Midian it looks to be yet another abandoned mining settlement of the far north. On the other side of a slight rise lies the cemetery, a complex of tombs at least as large as the town itself, massively larger than a town of Midian’s size could ever have required. It is under the cemetery that the true city of Midian exists. There are two access points, a large double gate facing the town and a small side gate on another wall. Inside there were tombs and crypts of every size and style. Built by the Nightbreed that were the residents of the city. Unfortunately, most of it was destroyed in an assault by local law enforcement and residents.

Midian is a city of endless night. No one is exactly sure how the dark clouds came to be over head. Some say it is the cause of heavy pollution from the city. Others say it’s an after effect of the war. Still more claim that the clouds are natural to the area. What is known, however, is that the cloud cover provides for the city to constantly be in a state of total darkness. Only the city lights brighten the world, and without them, the city falls into pitch.

The water surrounding Midian is rumored to be toxic, though there are also serious debates on if that is true or not. Some cite that the labs, hospital, and obviously poor condition of the sewers would make the ocean around Midian unwelcoming to any life. There are also ideas that the ocean has ways of cleaning those toxins out. The general agreement is that it’s probably best not to risk it.

The parks and outer limits of Midian hold a variety of wild life. Though the wooded areas seem small they host a variety of deer, wolves, moose, bear, and other small animals that would be common to thicket areas.

Midian City
xx/xx/2070

"History is written by the victor," says the fool.

The puppet-masters know better. People of power in a level above government and religion, so deep in the darkest of shadow cabals that their names will never be spoken, pulling the strings of the world, have written history.

In the end, it turned out that the Constitution was nothing but paper, flaking away into dust under the influence of the string-pullers. The United States saw its borders bleed into Canada and Mexico until North America was fused together. Rather than be obliterated, Central American countries sought refuge in this powerful union. Corporations fought amongst each other to digitalize and sanitize the new North American Union, lulling mainstream culture into a satisfied hum.

Complacent.

Successful.

With the rest of the world struggling under the weight of its people, other Unions formed. European. African. Asian. Corporations swept in, wrapping around the governments until there was no air between the rule of law and the rule of cash. A few lands held out: Australia, and the South American countries.

Our puppet-masters began to come together as they had always planned, creeping forward from their hiding places in major corporations. The stage was nearly set for their ultimate goal, a whole world government, a World Union.

Careful as the string-pullers had been, the unification process was not instant. The World Union's seizure of resources and tight control of economies sowed the seeds of dissent. Citizens were micro-chipped for identification, and personal freedom disappeared. Many would not fight back, choosing to immerse themselves in the comfortable society created by advancing technology.

Many others chose rebellion. They refused to unify under the banner of the World Union, working desperately through diplomacy before they turned to violence. The World Union smiled on these people, those who had played their role so perfectly.

Turning to the mega-corporations who had made so much of their reign possible, the same businesses now struggling due to the rebellion, the World Union proposed a silent deal. The mega-corps would wage war on the rebels, and when the World Union had complete control, they would be rewarded. Their efforts would not be limited by human rights or decency, and for those efforts, they would be given complete control of the market. Money flowed as never before.

World War III lasted ten years.

The rebels were wiped out from most cities, fleeing into the wastelands left by the war. Technology expanded exponentially, especially in the areas of cybernetics and bioengineering. Human genes were spliced with that of animals to create hybrids, a new breed of slave labor. Millions died, and when the World Union asserted itself in the name of peace, humanity greeted the new world order with open arms.

The World Union and its mega-corps settled into their new roles quickly, with one mega-corp rising quickly to the top. Called the Union Aerospace Corporation, this corporation held much of the spoils of the war. The UAC became known for its ruthless efficiency and practicality as they pushed for more control; slowly the UAC swallowed up many of the other mega-corps until it provided everything from food and medicine to hybrids and weapons. The puppeteers who had put together the World Union, now known as the WU, found their own strings pulled by the UAC. Soon, the WU found themselves ruling in name only, dancing on the line of the UAC.

That newfound global peace has disappeared. Terrorists and rebels are rising up once more, and it doesn't take much to see yourself named public enemy number one. Upper-class citizens comfort themselves with their constantly evolving toys and bodies. The unlucky ones flee the constant presence of the World Union and UAC. They pull their microchips, or escape labs and slavery, or simply run as far as they can.

Among the scattered "free towns," one city stands apart, on an island just off the coast of what used to be British Columbia. Midian City is vastly larger and vastly more varied than the others, fed by a steady diet of rebels, escapees, and criminals. Considered too much of a shithole by the World Union to be either useful or dangerous, the people of Midian manage to find some version of freedom.

The city has expanded and been blown apart during its existence, gaining and losing people and land. Current citizens whisper of a military city named Leviathan, of swampy wastelands, of ruins named Apocalypse, closely guarded by the UAC; all of which are now lost. Midian still claims its freedom, even as the World Union forces the presence of a mayor, funds a police department, and bombs whatever place they see fit. Runaways and criminals continue to flood in, seeking relief from the outside world in the worst of all places.

"History is written by the victor," says the fool.

Midian knows better.