The camera focused on a ruined, sun-scorched desert planet.
Standing in the absolute center of a colossal, rocky canyon was the sole survivor of his localized crucible. His name was Vargas. He was an old, heavily scarred warlord who had spent the last hour violently butchering his way through thousands of terrified players.
He stood atop a literal mountain of bleeding, pixelated corpses, his chest heaving as he stared up at the sky.
Vargas was the perfect poster child for the System. He was brutal, completely devoid of empathy, and entirely motivated by the promise of shiny loot.
"BEHOLD THE CHAMPION," the unified, booming voice of the Grand Archons echoed from the heavens. The voice was magnificent, pure, and dripping with divine authority. It was designed to make the players forget the slaughter they had just witnessed and focus entirely on the reward.
A massive beam of pristine, golden light struck Vargas from the sky above.
