"Who was that… man?" Nicotine muttered, his voice barely audible as consciousness slowly returned.
His eyelids fluttered open. A wooden ceiling greeted him worn but intact. He sat up slowly, groggy and weak, in a room he didn't recognize.
"This… isn't home," he muttered. "Did I… reincarnate?"
He had no time to think before a searing pain split his mind in two.
"Ahh!" he cried out, clutching his skull.
Images no, memories poured into his mind like floodwaters breaching a dam. A different life flashed before his eyes. The body he now inhabited belonged to a boy… also named Nicotine. An orphan in this world, barely ten years old, living in the slums of a city rebuilt from apocalypse.
And the world…
This was still Earth, yes but not the one he knew. This was Earth 500 years after the apocalypse.
"I... went into the future?" Nicotine gasped, his heart heavy with the realization. His mother was she gone? Lost to time? His final moments before death replayed in his mind: the burning sky, the falling meteor, the pendant in his hands.
The pendant?!.
Before he could dwell further, his vision was flooded by a familiar red light, bright enough to consume everything.
When the brilliance faded, Nicotine found himself standing in a strange, boundless realm. The air shimmered with energy. The sky above looked like painted starlight.
At the center of it all stood a simple wooden hut, rustic yet ancient. Next to it was a tree—massive and glowing faintly, as though pulsing with the lifeblood of nature itself.
"This place..." he whispered in awe. "What is this? Another illusion? No... this is real."
He clutched the pendant around his neck, the only thing that made it through the apocalypse with him.
"It has to be the pendant again…"
He approached the hut and pressed a hand against its door, but it didn't budge. He pushed harder only to be thrown back by an invisible force.
"What the hell?" he groaned, stumbling to his feet.
Then, a soft hum vibrated through the space. A blob of glowing light detached from the hut's frame and floated in front of him, pulsating gently.
"Greetings, Master," said a calm, genderless voice.
Nicotine blinked. "You're… talking to me?"
"Yes. I am the artifact spirit bound to the pendant. I exist to guide the bearer."
"Guide me?" he frowned. "Then where am I?"
"This is a spiritual domain connected to your soul through the artifact. Only those chosen by the pendant may enter."
Nicotine exhaled, still trying to process it all.
"What's with the door? Why can't I open it?"
"You lack the qualifications," the spirit replied. "Only those who possess a Martial Soul and have braved at least one Ashland can access what lies within."
Nicotine's eyes drifted to the massive tree nearby.
"And that?" he asked.
"You'll understand the tree… after awakening your Martial Soul," the spirit answered. "It exists outside the known laws of nature."
Nicotine turned back toward the hut, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Fine. Then tell me something useful. What is a Martial Soul? What happened to Earth?"
"You already know," the spirit replied. "The memories of this body have been passed to you."
He closed his eyes and recalled everything.
The apocalypse began when the sky cracked open and meteors rained upon the Earth. But they weren't ordinary rocks from space. These celestial fragments rewrote the very laws of physics and reality. Qi, the ancient life force spoken of in myths, returned.
At first, it was a blessing for beasts.
Animals mutated faster than humans. Tigers grew to the size of tanks. Birds could tear down skyscrapers. Monsters of myth walked the land again.
Humanity barely survived the first decade.
But hope wasn't lost.
Eventually, brave explorers discovered Ashlands—dimensional rifts that led to twisted, otherworldly spaces filled with monsters and strange materials. Inside were Ashbeasts, creatures infused with Qi. When slain, they dropped treasures, bones, herbs, and cores brimming with essence.
From these herbs, humans crafted concoctions that could awaken Martial Souls manifestations of inner power. Souls of beasts, elements, weapons, and even stranger things.
Martial Souls granted supernatural strength, speed, and control over nature.
But the process wasn't simple.
Only those at the peak of the Ash Novice stage could withstand the awakening ritual. Anything lower… and the soul would shatter.
Over time, the power hierarchy evolved:
Ash Initiate → Ash Novice → Ash Adept → Ash Master → Ash Expert → Ash Champion → Ash Saint
Each stage represented not just cultivation, but transformation. With each rank, a cultivator's soul and body grew closer to merging with the laws of reality itself.
Nicotine frowned as he absorbed all of this. The memories of the boy whose body he now inhabited were rich with detail.
Despite being only ten years old, the original Nicotine had reached the peak of the Ash Novice realm a feat rare even among privileged nobles. An orphan scraping through the slums, he lived with a girl named Mary, a child he had rescued years ago and cared for like a sister.
"This kid really was something else," Nicotine muttered, his respect for the boy deepening.
He turned back to the spirit. "You said you're here to assist me. But what exactly can you do?"
"I was created to help guide the pendant's bearer to the pinnacle of power. I will serve as your support but for now, this realm strains your body and soul. You must return."
Nicotine sighed. "So how do I leave?"
"Simply will it."
He closed his eyes.
The world shimmered then shattered into light.
Nicotine woke in the same bed as before. The memories remained sharp. The spiritual realm... the artifact spirit... and the new reality he now faced.
"I guess this is it," he whispered. "My new life. My second chance."
Bang!
The door burst open.
"Brotherrrr!" a girl's voice rang out like bells. "You're still in bed? Wake up! Today's the day! We awaken our Martial Spirits!"
Nicotine blanked then smiled.
"Relax, Mary," he said, the name sliding off his tongue naturally. "You're acting like a five-year-old."
"I'm excited!" she beamed, hopping around. "C'mon, we can't be late! If we are, we might miss our turn!"
"I get it, I get it," he chuckled. "Let me get dressed."
"I'll be outside," she said, skipping away.
Nicotine stood before the mirror. A young boy stared back. Maybe 5'4, still growing, but his face was sharp, his eyes bright. There was fire in his reflection now ambition, loss, and a burning desire to rise.
He clenched his fists.
"This world may have taken everything from me… but I'll take it all back and more."
"My path begins now."