My BA Characters

Yes, they're all approved, I'm putting them in their own thread for convinience.

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Coll, Hell Executioner (Inactive)


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Name: Coll

Title: Hells Executioner

Age: Unknown

Race: Daemon

Sex: Male

Hair: Bald

Eyes: Black with burning pupils.

Weight: 0 pounds. (doesn't weigh anything, but doesn't get overpowered because of this)

Height: 7 ft 3 inches

Weapon: None

Armor: A long black cloak. Nothing else.

Strengths (Skills/Magic): Coll can manipulate flame and call upon it in many different ways. He can also hover in mid-air. (he can withdraw extra power from any natural flame.
He can also morph himself into a inferno, with a burning body that exceeds the temperatures that are naturally possible . It also gives him demonic strength and increases his powers over fire. But every skill he uses exhausts him just a little bit more.

Weakness: Water renders him harmless and unconscious, which makes him extremely vulnerable to even the weakest attack. Also, when he has entirely exhausted himself by using his skills the same thing happens. (makes him unconscious).

Appearance: Normal Form: Coll has pale grey skin and no ears. But his black cloak covers from his shoulders to ankles. He has black boots but doesn't use them because he doesn't walk, he glides across the ground. He had long black fingernails at the edge of his near-colourless hands, but on those hands, there is a flame burning within, where he stores his power of the flame. He no mouth, but a opening where he speaks from, he speaks in a long lifeless drone. he has no eyelashes or eyebrows. His pale grey coloured skin makes him look cold, freezing even. But he burns from within and that makes him indescribably hot. When he gets angry his appearance changes slightly. This isn't his inferno form brewing, just his inner flame of anger surfacing. When this happens, His skin turns Black, so all that can be seen is the flames burning within his eyes, and hands, which grow slightly.

Inferno Form: However in Colls inferno form, he grows to the precise height of 9ft 3 inches. His whole body becomes engulfed with flames and no black or grey remains. He grow hair of flames and the flames of his body get even hotter than before. (if that's possible)

Personality: Coll could never feel emotion, he could never feel anything. But After he reached the Dome, he was granted a wish by a fairy, he thought long and hard but decided to wish for emotions, like all others feel. He has a sick sense of humour, and is very intelligent.. He is without any company, and deep down he craves for it, by he will never tell anyone that. Although he can now feel emotions, he still tries to keep them bottled up and store them for battle. Coll doesn't need to sleep, although he can tire. But when fatigue claims him, only inactivity restores him.

Biography: Coll knows nothing of himself or his past. He has no recollection of anything he has done except kill millions of innocents in his quest to find a meaning for his life. He doesn't know how old he has lived for (is he even alive?) or even his true name. He decided to call himself what he wished, and he chose 'Coll'. His true existence came from the Magikan Daemologist, Meera Shadowvein. She summoned Coll for battle, to protect her. But he was too strong, and she couldn't contain him. he fought against her, nearly killing her. And fled. Coll has short term memory loss, he can only rrecall the last year of his life. As time passes, information changed and his whole thoughts and memories develop. Maybe someday this will change him dramatically, maybe not.
In some towns there is a myth/legend of Coll, It is called: Hells Justice, many call Coll - Hells Executioner because they do not know his real name. Coll heard of this name and liked it, so he kept the title.

This was how the tale went...

Deep in the heart of the world, a peaceful town called Seriver thrived off their own culture. The kept themselves living off love and harmony for one another. But their was one man from Seriver, who was much more adventurous than the rest. Gregor Mcleen, was a the village blacksmith. He sold to travellers and passers-by, and he made a fortune off of his weapons. But he wanted to make the ultimate blade. He wanted to forge a powerful sword, that would make him legendary, and make him rich.

Having researched different weapons, and the way the were built and what with. He designed the sword that could cut through anything. But in order to forge the weapon, he needed Burnt Mythril. Burnt Mythril was a powerful substance that was pure black, and didn't rust. It was extremely rare and any weapon made form it would be unrivalled. And Gregor knew where to find some. The Crimson Caverns were said to be rich with Burnt Mythril. But their was another rumour about the caverns. The Caverns were christened: "Hell's Gateway", for anyone that had approached the Caverns had been savagely murdered, burnt to ashes.

Gregor dismissed this as folklore and journeyed to the cave, despite pleas from his friends and family. When Gregor found the caverns, he didn't hesitate in rushing in, to find the Burnt Mythril he was hoping for. But as he started mining the Burnt ore, the cave went up in flames. He turned to find the living inferno, towering above him.

Gregors death as quick, but not painless. Some say his screams can still be head within the caverns, echoing in the cave, trapped. The only souvenir of this tale is a rocky slice of Burnt Mythril, with boiled blood crusted onto it. This was found by a young boy, who brought it back to his village. The tale developed into a myth over time, many think it a story. The legend has been passed down in many places, in many ways. But everywhere, the legend of the Hell's Executioner resides.

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Vulgan, the Silent Assassin (Inactive)


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Name: Vulgan

Title: The Silent Assassin.

Age: 19

Race: Human

Sex: Male

Hair: Black

Eyes: Hazel

Weight: 190

Height: 6’2”

Weapon: Twin swords, both 2 ft exactly. The blade he holds in his right hand is called Ronan, the Left handed blade is called Lorcan.
Both are elemental swords, Ronan is infused with the power of fire, whereas Lorcan is infuse with the fierceness of water.

Armour: He wears a light cloth robe and well as protective wrappings. His clothing is blessed with a protective spell, which makes it light, yet it quite resistant to attacks with blades.

Strengths : He is very fast and agile, being an assassin this was essential. He is also extremely skilled with his blades, he’s able to move the swords very quickly, and most of the time, he’s moving them into his enemy’s chest. As noted in ‘Weapon’ his blades are elemental. When Ronan is stabbed into anything, it will burn it from within. But when Lorcan is plunged through something, it sends an flood of water gushing through it, drowning it from inside out. He is very good at identifying quickly which sword to use in any situation.

Weakness: He is always cautious, sometimes too cautious. He will be the first one to accuse someone, this feature doesn’t please many people, so he has many enemies. He gets angry easily, and will make mistakes when this happens. His love for his friends will outweigh his ambition to defeat anyone. Also his armour doesn’t defend against magic very well.

Appearance: He wears a dark green robe which stretches too his wrists and down to his ankles, with a golden belt around his waist, which was a gift from his sister, Falran. He has two sheaths for his swords, although the sword look similar, the sheaths don’t. He places Ronan in a red sheath on his left side, and Lorcan in a blue sheath on his right side. This makes it easy to identify which sword is which. When he draws his swords his arms make an ‘X’. He also wears brown wrappings on his feet.

Personality: He is kind and loyal towards his friends, but unmerciful towards his enemies. He doesn’t talk much, and this is how he earned the title: ‘The Silent Assassin’.

Biography: He grew up in a small village called Torr, where he lived with Falran and his Father, Toran, his mother died when he was about 4. He didn't have many childhood friends, his sister was his only friend. He felt he didn't need anyone apart from his sister. But now she is gone, he is without friendship, without a companion. He was taught the ways of the sword by his mentor and the creator of Lorcan and Ronan, Saruko, the great blacksmith. (see further down for when they met) Saruko taught Vulgan (and Falran before she died) how to wield many weapons, he favoured twin swords then, and it has stuck with him to make him what he is today. Vulgan always wanted to move in battle, his speed and agility make him the warrior he is today. Saruko also gave him many assassination jobs, he didn't ask questions, he just got the job done. Saruko is now dead, this tormented Vulgan at first, like the loss of his mother did. But now his sister is gone, that is doesn't matter, because no one could ever, would ever, or ever had compared to his sister.
He loved his Sister a great deal more than his father, who beat Vulgan when he was young. He was two year older than his sister. His Sister gave him a golden belt that he treasures to this day, he remembers her by it…

One day when he was 12 he was playing with Falran when he heard shouts and screams from the townspeople.

“INTRUDERS!!!”

He ran to his father and told him of this. His father told him and Falran to get away. He took his sister and ran, he ran like he never had in his life. His village was burned down by these Intruders.

They came across a small town one day, where they first met Suruko. He promised to train them in return for Vulgan to do his bidding, whatever it be. They lived with Saruko for about six months, training, learning and (in Vulgans case) killing.

One day Falran said something strange to him, she said that he should take this belt of gold. She said it would help him after she was gone. He had told her that he would die before her. She nodded but she still had a look of sadness in her eyes. She knew something that he didn't. He travelled with her for 6 years after that, they were trying to find the people who burned the village. But then she was murdered as they slept. Vulgan woke up one morning to find his sister, her throat slit, her cold dead eyes open, and her life… Gone.
That day he stopped his quest to find they people who burned down the village, and he started a new quest. To find the murderous scum who murdered his sister. But whenever he kills someone on his quest, he cuts his arm with Ronan, to burn his skin, then he stabs Lorcan into the cut, to neutralize it with water, this makes a scar, so he remembers that each life he takes, (or has taken in his previous time with Saruko) there is always and will always be, a consequence.
He has been filled with sadness since that day, he keeps it locked away. It starts as sadness, but as he keeps it bottles away it turns to something else, something that will explode from within him one day. That something is Hatred!

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Jonah Karn, Technology's Warrior (Inactive)



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Name: Jonah Karn (Said Jo-na Carn)

Title: Technology's Warrior

Age: 33 (in 3092)

Race: Racillion (evolved from of human)

Race Explanation: Racillions are a much more complex, powerful and advanced form of human. Although appearing just as any human could look, they are recognizable for their high-tech armour and weapons. Most Racillions evolved from humans at around 2800, largely thanks to doctors and scientists succeeding numerous times with experimental body fusion. This allowed ordinary people to be literally fused together with weapons, armour and even other people of their choice! However, the offspring of Racillions are still human, and only when they reach their 13th birthday may they decide to have a body fusion. They have 7 years to decide to do it, and what to do it with. Because when they are 20, body fusion cannot affect you whatsoever. Any body fusion attempted on a person over 20 would kill the person indefinitely. Any human over 20 cannot live within any Racillion town, village or city, they must go to live in the one remaining human village. All the others were converted to Racillion. All Racillion strongholds are contained in Racillia. All other different races living in Racillia must leave under the penalty of death.

Sex: Male

Eyes: Sparkling Blue

Weight: 34 stone

Height: 7ft 4inch

Weapons:
Tri-Blaster - His simple, powerful gun that shoots three identical red lasers that each lock onto any target, either increasing the damage to one, or hurting three different enemies. This weapon is fused to his left arm, it occupies the space where his hand would have been.

Laser Sabre - A long, thin, and extremely light blade that was fused with his right arm, coming directly out of it. It is built of strong silver mythril, but has a laser core to increase it strength. The blade can't be broken, and can penetrate any non-magical substance. It is thin enough to fit through a closed door without opening the door.

Armour: Jonah has tough, golden, mythril-plated armour fused all over his body. The only hole in the armour is the strip in his visor that allows him full eye-sight. Only extremely advanced magic can break through the armour. All of his armour and weapons come from the Mythril Technology, a place in the capital of Racillia, Marcé. Jonah bought his armour and weapons when he was 13. After they were fused to him they grew with him, like all Racillions experience.

Strengths: Jonah is big, powerful and uses that to his advantage at every given opportunity. He uses his weapons flawlessly and easily identifies the correct weapon in any situation. He uses his surroundings to his advantage well, and his weapons allow him to be creative with techniques and strategies. He is very wise and knows a lot about creatures, places and magic. He cannot use magic but is well aware of its boundaries and weaknesses. Jonah is very rational and know what to do... And when. He has extremely good endurance for a long battle and doesn't back down to anyone.

Weaknesses: Although he is in perfect shape, he is slower than most of his enemies, this is because of his extra body weight with his body fusion. He is an average Racillion compared to the rest of his race, but many would see him as extremely heavy. He is powerful enough to move around without trouble, but normally doesn't move that much in battle. His armour cannot defend against advanced magic (Noted in Armour), and his weapons prevent him from being able to carry or pick things up.

Skills/Magic: None

Appearance: Jonah boasts shining golden armour all over his body, his helmet is a standard Racillion helm, with a curve round the head that spirals into a point at the top of his head. His golden-plate armour doesn't overlap itself, it is just one great smooth piece, even the helm is fixed to him. His armour is literally his skin now, so he can never take it off. Before he turned into a Racillion he had a round, gentle face. Whether he still has he doesn't know, the only souvenir from his humanity is his sparkling dark blue eyes.

Personality: Jonah is warm and friendly, despite his frightening appearance. He is always in the mood for a joke and tries not to let the world get him down, if others are down he will do all within his power to cheer them up. He left all his friends and family back in Marcé, the Racillion capital, so he is desperately searching for a companion but he will always be cautious round them until they have proven themselves trustworthy. He contrasts his kind manner with his ruthless attacks on the battlefield. He prefers to end things quickly rather than torture and torment his opponent. He is a strong believer of reincarnation, so he feels it is his duty to execute all impure of evil beings in Racillia, and even the whole world! Jonah believes that he will be rewarded with a new promising life of success and glory if he lives his current one how he feels a higher power wants him to. He loves to feel that he is needed, if someone asks for help and their reasons satisfies him in the slightest, he would march to their aid without thought.

Biography: Jonah was born in Marcé, the capital of Racillia, where he lived a happy childhood as an only child with his mother and father. He was happy, though he never knew true freedom, because his mother and father were fused to one another, leaving Jonah with a lot of work to do, which he always did happily. But his life was never uneventful, his childhood friend Torkay, always kept him company and helped him. Torkay was nine and Jonah was eight when they met, but having known Torkay for four years, Torkay moved from Marcé, almost breaking Jonah's heart. But Jonah was just one year from turning into a Racillion.

Jonah looked for half a year for the perfect items for fusion, eventually coming across a small mythril shop that intrigued him greatly. The shop was called "Mythril Technology", and boasted the most extravagant and unique armour Jonah had ever witnessed. it didn't take much though for Jonah to decide on his glistening armour, his Tri-Blaster and his Laser Sabre (both which he named himself). Upon choosing the armour, his intention was to fight in the Marcé arena, and achieve riches and glory for the Karns. He fought valiantly in the arena but came up just short. Traditionally the Marcé Tournament was a "Battle to the Death", but Jonah faced a skillful warrior in the final that offered him a chance to submit. Jonah had a blade held to his neck and knew the outcome if he said no, so he took the chance reluctantly.

That day was the last he had spent in Marcé, he had left, full of self-doubt and shame. He told his family and friends he had left to "cleanse the world of evil." That was but half true. He had left to find power, to find knowledge, to find wisdom. But ultimately he wanted to become the perfect warrior. On his travels he battled many, and killed many. Ending lives was just another day for Jonah, he doesn't think about them, he doesn't think about their friends and family. He only thinks about killing those who stand against his justice. Maybe on some level he was the evil one, and someone would rise up to smite him? If so then he would wait for the challenge. He is the self-proclaimed Technology's Warrior.

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Meera Shadowvein, Heavens Shadow (Active)



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Name: Meera Shadowvein (Pronounced: M-ear-a Sh-ad-ow-vane)

Title: The Heavenly Shadow

Race: Magikai (Ancient magical race devoted to exploring different elements of magic)

Age: 29 (in human years, 87 in Magikan years - 1 Human = 3 Magikan)

Sex: Female

Hair: Long silvery hair shielding her left eye, down to their neck.

Eyes: Pure black pupils with white iris.

Weight: 7 Stone 4 ounces. (I Don't know what that is in pounds)

Height: 5ft 7inches

Weapon: A tall staff (4ft) that Meera can store shadow magic in and access easily. She can do this in her mind, but the staff lets her store more than other Magikai.

Armour: She uses spells as her armour, and her daemon for protection. Her clothing doesn't offer protection.

Strengths: Meera is a Magikan Daemonologist (The only one in history) and therefore has influence over shadow magic and summoning. Using her Shadow powers she can summon demons to aid her, for various purposes. She also uses over forms of offensive shadow magic (see Skills/Magic). She can also sense power and magic in the air, alerting her to friend or foe. Meera has a rapid growth rate and learns and improves very quickly.

Weaknesses: Her defense against physical attacks is weak, because her shadow magic can only protect her from other magical and elemental attacks, she relies on her demons to protect her. Because of naiveness and lack of experience, she hasn't mastered her art yet, and makes minor mistakes. Also her spells are less affective against stronger enemies.

Skills/Magic:

Summon: Meera summons a daemon to aid her, she can only summon one demon at any time, But she must create the daemon with strengths and weaknesses in her head just as am doing now. This requires intense concentration, because it is far from mastered.

Shadow sphere: Her basic offensive attack that can be unleashed in many forms and ways, however it always is a perfect sphere of shadow energy. This is the only spell she has mastered and experiments with it frequently to try and maximize its power.

Psychic combustion: A strong spell that will gradually cripple meeras target from the inside, which will kill slowly over time if the foe is weak, but if not, they will be less durable and slower for a considerable amount of time. This spell is nearly mastered so it doesn't require much concentration.

Unholy shield: Meeras only known defensive skill. She can beckon a shield that is made form pure shadow, it blocks all attacks apart from physical attacks, which pass straight through. But the shadows can also be used to cloak or disguise Meera. This spell isn't mastered but is still simple for Meera.

Mind Shove: Meera manipulates the dark energies in the air to push,pull or grasp something. This is like a physical attack and is more effective against humans, as they are less comfortable with magic. this is hard to master, but strong from a novices level.

Appearance: Meera wears a long purple robe and that covers her body. It is en crested with the crest of Zhor, the Magikan city. But she is also made to wear black gloves, a symbol of her being a Daemonologist, something that is despised by many Magikai, and Meera being the only one of her race was seen to disgrace the city. Because all the other Magikai choose to follow naturistic and holy teachings. She also has black wrappings.

Personality: Meera is surprising upbeat and kind, in contrast to her magic. This is because she stands for justice, and doesn't care how she gets it. She believes that she will be judged when she dies, of how she lived her life. This is why justice is her goal. She doesn't lose her cool in battle and seldom gets angry. She is keen to make friends, and longs for companions, so summons demon specially for that purpose.

Biography: Meera was born in the city of Zhor, and grew up as an only-child living with her parents. She grew up wanting to be a magician, so she could help people. her first thoughts were to follow a holy path and become a magical doctor for the City.She noviced for the church learning amateur healing spell. But when she was just 50 (Magikan years) she saw a young boy being mugged, she had tried to help him but had found her weak magic useless. He was mugged and murdered before her eyes and she was hopeless.

She because obsessed finding a way of helping people more efficiently after that, searching great libraries for knowledge. She found an inscription that read:

He who masters the art of daemons, will find salvation and true power, to use as he wishes.

After reading this, she knew that was what she craved for: Power. She also knew that she couldn't be sure her willpower was strong enough to wield so much might. But after thinking of the boy, she decided that better her, who had seen death, than others that would hand it out.

She lit candles, sacrificed her blood, and chanted the prayers, and with that, she was a daemonologist. The city soon found out about this and told her that they could not teach her, because they didn't wish to learn daemonology themselves, and that they were afraid that she would become power-crazy. But more bad new followed, because of the suspicions, she was told she could no-longer live in the city, for she could be a danger to her friends and family... And they rest of the city. They gave her some robes as a monument of her birthplace, but also the black gloves that she still wears, as a reminder of why she was banished. She left, but vowed to earn her right to return to Zhor.

On her travels Meera became lonely, not having her family to talk to. So she decided to summon the ultimate demon, big, powerful, protective and friendly. But this task was too difficult for her, and the Demon was misshaped,too big and powerful, but not protective and friendly. The demon, called Coll, turned on Meera, attacking her viciously with fire, and then fleeing, leaving her nearly dead.

That attack was good for Meera, because it let her know the boundaries of her power. While constructing Coll, Meera gave him a twisted memory, so he cannot remember things that sub-consciously he doesn't want to remember.

Her previous name was Meera Karavar, but she is know known by Meera Shadowvein, she changed her name so she can always remind herself that she is unique. Meera also gave herself the Title: Heavens Shadow, in order to reflect her battle style and personality.

Meera found a book in a human Library containing knowledge of dark, shadow magic. The book was not unlike the book that had first taught her daemonology, however this one contained shadow magic, a close relative of daemology. Technically, Daemonology is a form of shadow magic. Meera hopes to continue finding these books as she travels on her quest to regain the favor of Khor.

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Kraton, Heaven's Outcast (Active)


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Name: Kraton (Active)

Title: Heaven’s Outcast

Age: 28

Race: Angel/Daemon

Sex: Male

Hair: He had extremely short, black hair. Because of its shortness it appears light-brown.

Eyes: Pure white pupil with a black iris.

Weight: 250lb

Height: 6ft 2inch (Changes in different forms)

Weapons: Kraton had a variety of powerful weapons. He is skilled at unarmed combat, but never willingly resorts to that. His true skill lies with his weapons.

Bloodfury: This is Kraton’s only mortal weapon, a spear. It was made in Athens with a strong metal. Kraton named it Bloodfury because its is the weapon that he uses when his rage and fury cannot speak for itself, and he must spill blood to let out his anger. The point of the spear is jagged and rough, so it inflict the maximum pain. The whole spear is about three foot long.

Herpius: Kraton’s rapier, forged in the heavens. Herpius is a thin blade that was once wielded by Hercules. It is made from materials that cannot be found on earth, it is forged with Zeus’ tears, which hardened and formed a barrier around the holy blade. The blade is bright white, with a darker hilt. This is his weapon for his Angelic forms. The blade of Herpius is just under three and a half foot long.

Life Harvester: Kraton’s Daemonic weapon. The Life Harvester is a large scimitar. It is made from pure souls, that have been harvested from inferior beings.With every life it takes the blade grows stronger. The scimitar itself is about three foot long, but the blade is only two and a half foot long, four foot wide and three inches deep.

Strengths: Kraton wields all of his weapons extremely fast and well. He is strong, fast and smart. He is good at recognising strengths and weaknesses, and using them to his advantage. Kraton can sense power from miles away, making it hard to sneak up on him. His body is in perfect shape and he has a high threshold for pain. He can switch between his forms very quickly.

Weakness: Kraton can be his own weaknesses at times. When he is in his Angel or God forms, he is vulnerable to shadow magic. And when he is in his Daemon or Titan forms he is vulnerable to light magic. The higher his form of power, the more vulnerable he is to his weaknesses. He also has no armour in his normal form.

Skills/Magic: Kraton can morph himself into four different forms aside from his natural one.

Angel: Kraton starts glowing white and angel wings unfurl from his back. His hair lengthens and also turns white. Although he is completely white his features and aspects are still easily visible. Kratons gains the ability to fly as well. Instead of walking, he hovers off the ground in this form. He also grows to six foot eight inches and his skin toughens into thick armour-like skin. His powers with his Angelic weapons increases considerably. He can also use the Angelic spells. (listed later)

God: This time Kraton becomes engulfed with pure white flames and his wings grow even more. He also grows to seven foot 5 inches. None of his clothes or features can be seen anymore, the only things visible through the white flames are his black eyes. The white flames surrounding him also act as a barrier, because physical attacks cannot harm him whilst he has them around him. They aren’t natural flames either, water cannot extinguish them, only shadow can defeat them. His powers with Angelic weapons and spells increase heavily.

Daemon: Kraton (like in angel form) grows wings in his Daemon form. But they aren’t angels wings, they are bat-like, curved gargoyle wings. Like in Angel form gain, he can fly. His skin darkens and toughens, going almost black. He grows two small black horns on hid head (which now seems bald). He grows to six foot nine inches and his skin also toughens and acts as armour. His skill with Daemonic powers increases considerably, and he can use Daemonic spells. (listed later)

Titan: Kraton becomes covered in dark red flames, and his wings grow larger and curve more. His horns grow even bigger and are now the same size as his head. He grows to the height of seven foot six inches. His eyes turn white and become yet again the only thing visible through the flames. The dark red flames are not fire, they are shadow. With no weakness to water. Again physical attacks cannot harm him in this form. His skill with Daemonic weapons and spells increases heavily.

Angelic Spells:

Light Flow: Kraton lets pure light energy flow out through his palms. He can release this in different shapes and forms. The most common is a long stream of light.

Light Flash: Kraton coverts himself into a ball of light, allowing him to move around quicker and unnoticed. He cannot attack while doing this.

Smite: Multiple lightning strikes fire down on someone, either killing or injuring the desired target.

Daemonic Spells:

Shadow Flow: Kraton shoots shadow out through his palms. This is the twin of his Light Flow, this is also a very flexible spell, he can release it in different ways.

Shadow Cloak: Darkness envelops Kraton, hiding him from all eyes.

Devastate: Kraton manipulates dark energies in the air to pull enemies apart. When this does kill, it will cause excruciating pain and torture.

Appearance: When in normal form, Kratos wears traditional Greek clothing: A dull grey robe and brown sandals. He has normal eyebrows and a kind face that looks normal, until you look into his eyes. His strange eyes reflect his powers. He has Bloodfury is strapped to his back. None of his weapons are visible until he morphs into the form he uses them in. His skin is tanned a light brown that makes him seem bald. His body is in perfect shape and he is very broad shouldered.

Personality: Kraton is ruthless and unmerciful on the battlefield, but when he has finished his war, he changes. He becomes a friendly, happy person, just looking for friends and love. Although he will only let his guard down when he knows he is safe. If he doesn't fully trust any of the surrounding people, he will stay mysterious and unfriendly, until someone earns his trust. He respects both heaven and hell, for he knows the power of both. He has a charming smile that attracts women easily. He doesn’t like killing women, but will do it if forced to. Killing men however is different, he would murder countless men without a second thought. But he needs a reason, he will not murder any without good cause, be it easily recognised or hidden. Kraton doesn’t belief in any faith or religion, he thinks that once he dies, he is dead and won’t come back.

Biography: Kraton was born and grew up in Athens living with his mother: Aleena. He never knew his father, his mother never told Kraton about him. Kraton grew up, oblivious to his true parents. Kraton was the son of the gods. Zeus (the leader of the gods) had chosen Aleena to host Kraton, the child who was to grow up and defeat Hades’ might Daemons of hell.

But it went wrong. As Kraton grew up, Aleena debated when to tell him of him heritance. But his Angelic powers surfaced before she could tell him. Kraton told no one of his powers, not even Aleena. (but she already knew that they would surface)

The angel’s mother eventually found out about his powers, and told him he was the son of the gods. She said he must travel through hell, and defeat Hades. Kraton was seventeen now and could shift into a full fledged angel form, the gods had already bestowed upon him his weapon, for they surfaced as he shifted to angel form. So he did travel through hell itself to find Hades:

Green blood spurted violently from the Daemon’s eyes. Kraton spat in disgust.

“Daemons, such pitiful creatures,” he noted as he soared through the flames of hell, extinguishing the dark flames with his holy magic.

Kraton was soaring in his angel form, searching for the Dark Titan, Hades. Aleena had told him everything, his parents hadn’t been mortal, he was simply the son of the gods. The Angel was secretly hoping to be accepted into heaven once he had destroyed Hades.

“Pitiful? You my friend, are pitiful.” A hollow lurching voice rang through hell, alerting Kraton to Hades’ wakening.

The Angel stared from where the voice had come from, and a figure stepped from the flames there. Hades himself had come to greet Kraton. Hades was at least eight foot, not counting the shadowy flames writhing all over his body. He had eyes darker than his almost black skin. Flames surrounded him, slithering and sliding over hid body, like hellish snakes. Although he had no visible wings, he floated slightly off the ground.

With the Titan’s arrival Kraton shot balls of light at him, but he merely caught and crushed them in his dark fist.

Kraton looked upon him in awe, but soon drew Herpius, determined to smite the Daemonic Titan. He slashed at Hades, throwing all his heavenly powers into the blade. But Hades simply batted it away, with his arm!

“You have potential, if only you were…” Hades broke off, whilst in deep thought.

Anger surged through Kraton, he was futile against Hades. He was supposed to defeat him! Pure feeling and emotion overcame the Angel, he felt anger, hate, sadness.

Suddenly everything began to shrink, he felt... more powerful. He looked at his arm, he was glowing a spectacular white! Hades’ eyes widened as he looked at Kraton.

“You’re a... god!” Hades stuttered as he stared at Kraton.

He felt power and magic pulse inside of him. Hades’ fearful expression assured him: He had become a god.

Kraton raised Herpese high above his head, and brought it down with great vengeance on Hades. The Titan blocked the bark but not the bite, and was sent to his knees. The god flew over to him, and pushed him to the ground easily. Kraton placed his holy blade to Hades’ neck.

“No! It cannot end... like… this…” He gasped fearfully.

“It can and will Titan!” Kraton prepared to end Hades’ reign of terror, but was stopped by tempting words.

“I can give you power!” He bargained for his life.

The god stopped abruptly. Power…

“How? What would you do?” Kraton’s inquisitive nature forced him to ask.

“I can make you a Titan and God, with the power of both. If you let me live.” The Daemon master’s words sounded so appealing to Kraton.

Do I want that? He thought to himself. It is twice as much power as I have now. I would be able to defeat good and evil. Many thoughts whistled through his head. But only one answer,

“Deal.” Kraton accepted, literally sealing a deal with the devil.

That day Kraton exited Hell far more powerful than he entered. He had spared Hades’ life, for power. But what did he do? He knew he couldn’t return to Athens, to Aleena. He knew he couldn’t go to the Gods. They might kill him. He did the only thing he could to spare his own life. He fled Greece, and travelled. Kraton now tries to prove himself to the gods, he wants them to realise his intentions were pure.

But the gods have sent numerous angels to either kill of capture him since his departure, he has killed all. Kraton knows that one day the gods will come for him. So he prepares for that day, when the day of judgement faces him.

Even Hades’ has sent dark assassins to kill Kraton, maybe he sees the him as a threat? Whatever the case, no agent he sent was powerful enough to avoid execution. Kraton calls himself “Heaven’s Outcast”, because he knows that, had he not fled, they would have banished him.

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Heishuro Maruchi (Active)


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Name: Heishuro Maruchi

Age: 21

Race: Human

Sex: Male

Zodiac sign: Aries (April 2nd)

Hand and feet preference: Both right, although his left foot isn’t far behind his right.

Hair: Black (tied back into a small ponytail)

Eyes: Hazel, with a lightning strike tattoo narrowly missing his left one.

Weight: 200lb

Height: 5’9”

Weapon: Heishuro wields a pair of Nunchaku called Xuriken (Sure-ee-ken) . They are made from steel and are linked to Heishuro’s soul. This is the only weapon that allows him to use magic through. The bones in his feet are made from strong steel, due to an accident he had when he was five. (see bio)

Armour: Heishuro relies more on speed to keep him out of harms way, so apart from his red leather amour, he has no protection.

Strengths: Heishuro is fast, agile, strong and extremely fit. He wields Xuriken powerfully. He is also very adept at kicks, so he tries different combinations of nunchaku and kicking attacks. His nunchaku allow him to use magic through the weapon. He can conjure any inanimate object or summon elements to his advantage. He does it as he thinks of it. He is actually an avid magician, but he needs his nunchaku to be able to do anything. This is because the magical genes in his blood can only be awoken with a magical outlet. He cannot be separated with his nunchaku, if either him or the weapon moves away, the other moves with him.

He can control and create Fire, Water, Darkness, Light, Earth and Wind. But perhaps his strongest feature is his mind. Although not particularly intelligent, his imagination works well with his magic.

Weakness: He is young, naïve and cocky. He thinks he is better than everyone and makes enemies easily. He’ll make simple mistakes and never admit he is wrong. He gets angry easily and that will cause him to make even more mistakes. He has no real protection, although he can dish out the punishment, he seldom doesn’t receive any back.

Skills/Magic: He has a variety of signature techniques and skills for his nunchaku, although these are but the most common of them:

Stances:

Rage Stance: Heishuro constantly moves Xuriken in this stance, making it easy to attack. He can attack quickly and unpredictably in this stance, although he can’t deal with attack’s as well.

Defensive Stance: This time Heishuro pulls the nunchuks away from one another, making the chain tense and tight. This makes is easier to block attacks but harder to attack.

Balanced Stance: This is Heishuro’s most common stance, he will start any battle in this stance. He juggles the two nunchuks in each hand. He can quickly switch to each stance from this and it gives a nice balance of defence and offence.

Special blows:

Double blow: Heishuro grabs the chain of Xuriken, so when he swings them, both nunchuks can strike the enemy.

Knock down: He swings a nunchuk around the opponents leg, then catches it. He twisted his body and kicks them hard in the chest. They fall backwards as he pulls the nunchaku, tripping them up.

Roundhouse blow: Heishuro jumps high into the air and places his left foot on the enemies left shoulder. He grips his nunchaku with his toes and smack the enemy in the face with both his foot, and his nunchaku.

Boomerang kick: This ability is a mixture of magic and skill. Heishuro throws his nunchaku in the air and uses magic to position the nunchaku at the back of the opponent. Then Heishuro’s bind to his weapon draws the two together, so the enemy gets hit and kicked from both sides.

Chainsaw kick: Also a mixture of magical and physical abilities. Maruchi levitates and magically rotates his hip and waist muscles to allow him to kick in a swift, smooth, circular motion. Although this is powerful and quick, it will cause aches to his hips and lower back.

Appearance: Heishuro wears a red leather jacket with no sleeves or buttons, so his tanned six pack shows. He wears slightly darker red trousers, (crimson) that fall down to the top of his ankles. He wears no shoes, for the meat in his feet are strong enough to withstand any terrain. His ears barely come away from his head, instead they stick to the side of his head, like elven ears. Despite his small stature, he has broad shoulders. He has a black tattoo on his face of a lightning strike. It stretches from between his ear and eye to the left side of his mouth.

Personality: Heishuro is cocky, arrogant and very self-centred. If he doesn’t like someone, he won’t keep it quiet, he will insult them and make sure he gets his point across as clearly as possible. But in everything he does, he means well. He is actually quite kind, but feels he needs to appear confident to attract the attention he so desperately craves for. He doesn’t believe in any particular religion or god, he cannot find time for it. Deep down he wants love, but he tries not to let that show, he feels he has to stay strong of the outside to prevent him from going soft on the inside. He gives away trust quite easily, sometimes too easily, it can lead to him being betrayed or heartbroken.

Biography: Heishuro was abandoned at birth, he never knew his parents. Although he was raised in Japan, he speaks with a strong American accent. He was taken in by a martial arts organisation, they found him in the street, with a lightning strike tattoo already injected flawlessly, running down his face as if a tear.

When he was five, he landed awkwardly, after attempting a roundhouse kick. He broke both his feet and had to have all of his feet and lower legs reconstructed. The doctors said that his bone marrow was unique, so they rebuilt his feet bones with strong steel, which remains polished within his feet to this day.

He was raised as a fighter, and trained day and night to build the perfect balance of strength, speed and skill. The organisation was in Tokyo city. It was there that he won the martial arts tournament that proved him to be: “The best fighter on Earth.” But having beaten the world, and achieved success despite everything. But in 2003, at Tokyo‘s national arena, new path awakened in front of Heishuro...

~~~

“Heishuro!” Anger blasted out from a small red haired women, who was sending a devil glare at Heishuro.

“Up yours Fujima! I’m not fighting today!” Heishuro’s young voice sounded pitiful next to the loud shriek of the small Japanese lady.

The pair were in a large martial arts arena, the best money could buy. Whilst crowds poured in to watch the scheduled fight, Maruchi Vs Amarez. Japan Vs Mexico. The world champion Vs The #1 contender. It was truly the worlds greatest stage. But backstage in the champions dressing room, the champ was arguing his case against his manager, Fujima.

The small women walked over to Heishuro, who was seated on a bench. “Listen…” This time her voice was calm, with an air of understanding about it. “ I know it seems unfair, like the whole world wants you beat?” She looked at him with a kindness in her eyes.

Heishuro nodded as he spoke. “Yeah… but not allowed to use my weapon of choice, or even any kicks? That’s just unfair,” he whined.

“Kid. It’s a non-weapon fight, so your nunchaku can’t be used. You can understand that, right?” She explained.

“But what about the kicks? Its not my fault my bones are stronger than most peoples! It was an accident!” He replied hastily.

“Not many martial artists try roundhouse kicks at the age of five, Heishuro.” Fujima’s mouth curled upwards into a slight smile as she talked. Both of them burst out laughing.

Finally, Fujima managed to convince Heishuro of one thing: It didn’t matter what the conditions were, what handicap was put in place, Heishuro would always be the best.

~~~

“Go on Maruchi! Show ‘em Japan’s the best country in the world!”

The crowd’s chants filled the arena as Heishuro dominated the battle, despite his handicap against the bigger Chavo Amarez. Heishuro was barely breaking a sweat, he had other things on his troubled mind.

The young man was on the offensive, breaking through Amarez’s defences like he was holding up paper in front of his face. Finally Maruchi palm struck the Mexican on the right shoulder, breaking and crushing the poor fighters shoulder blade and collar bone.

“Arghhh!” Chavo’s cry of agony signalled the end of the competition. Heishuro raised his arm and began hopping on the spot, a familiar grin spread ear to ear. But before long, confusion was all visible on the champion’s face.

A cloaked figure stood amongst the crowd, completely still and silent in the rustle of celebration. Under the black cloak of the figure, the bright lights illuminated one thing. A lightning strike tattoo, identical to the one of his own face, running down the face of the stranger. That Heishuro could now see was female.

“Heishuro! You barely even broke a sweat! And he looks like he was in a boxing match!” Fujima’s squeaky voice sounded far above the crowd and she ran towards him as he was leaving the mat. Maruchi looked at the ecstatic woman, a grin the size of bow was spread across her face, with her tongue flailing about outside her mouth. That was the arrow.

“Err… thanks Fujima. I um…” the fighters voice trailed off as his eyes jerked to the direction of the mysterious woman. She was gone.

“What is it Heishuro? What’s wrong?” Her happiness turned to concern in a flash.

The fighter took one last look in the crowd, hoping to spot the woman again. After failure, Maruchi replied. “Nothing… it was nothing, let go before I get swamped by angry Mexicans.”

~~~

Fujima yawned as she stumbled down the stairs of her large home. Her eyes were barely open and she wore frilly pink pyjamas. She plodded over to her refrigerator, mumbling to herself about whether she should go to buy eggs the next day or on the weekend. She took out a carton of orange juice and began to pour it into a spiralling glass. Before she could finish the orange juice was stained a dark red. Fujima’s head fell to the tiled floor, followed eventually by her body.

“Pitiful human,” an evil voice slithered from a hooded figure, clutching a blood-infested blade. It was the same woman that had been in the crowd, the mysterious, hooded lady that had the same tattoo as Heishuro.

She slowly bent down and dipped two fingers in the pool of crimson running across the tiles, then stood and walked to the nearest wall. She wrote on the wall: “You cannot escape your fate.” She then walked silently over to the open refrigerator. She closed the door, enveloping the room in darkness.

~~~

The birds singing, the sun shining, the city buzzing. It was what some would call “the perfect day.” But for Heishuro, it was to become the single worst day of his life. The champion was on his way to Fujima’s apartment, to schedule any possible matches in the upcoming month.

He opened the door, not knowing that the horror inside would change his life forever. Heishuro stepped inside and gazed horrifically at the slump of bone and blood on the floor that he had once called Fujima. Her innards strewn across the room like sand. The stench of blood riled through the apartment, disturbing Maruchi’s throat and stomach. He coughed violently and spat a mix of blood and breakfast on the floor, adding to collection of horror. He turned away from it, biting his lip as tears began to ripple from his eyes, tracing the shape of his tattoo. But then his grief turned to fear as he saw the words bled into the wall.

“My… fate…?” Hysterics were evident in his shaky words. With those words still ringing, Heishuro sat in a pool of blood and wept, burying his head in his hands and staining his skin red.

~~~

“Hello!? You have to help, their has been a vicious murder! I can see it through my window, there blood everywhere. I just got home to see a man sitting in a pool of his victim’s blood!”

“Hang on miss, we’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“Please hurry!” A hooded women put down a blood-encrusted phone before unveiling her hood to reveal a lightning tattoo. She stared at the neighbours of the small women she had killed. Their organs and limbs randomly thrown across their house. Before decapitation, mutilation and ultimately, execution, they were a young couple living together peacefully. But they gave up their lives in order let the sick, psychotic, serial killer frame her target.

“All is going according to plan…”

~~~

Sirens. Madness. Chaos. It all happened so fast, it was near impossible for Maruchi to keep track of the next few days. All he knew that and the end of those few horrific days, he was sentenced with the murder of Fujima Kuchiniwa and Seena and Keiro Malaki. He had a life sentence in the Tokyo jail and Chavo Amarez was awarded the world martial arts championship. Yeah, so the champ’s life had taken a bit of a turn for the worse.

“What have I done to deserve this crap!” He screamed as kicked violently into the steel cell’s bars, bending them ever so slightly. His cell mate, Francis, decided to pick this moment to start playing his harmonica. Francis’ brain surgery bill was added to Maruchi’s never-ending list of concerns.

~~~

“’Eh? New cell mate…” He said instinctively as he heard the clang of steel on steel. He’d been in jail for over four years, so customs like that were a minimum for him. But as he spun around to see his new acquaintance, he found a familiar face that chilled him to the bone. Well a familiar hood.

“Maruchi! You ‘ave a visitor!” The jail guard bellowed although Heishuro was only a metre away. He left the pair gazing upon each other, the figure’s scar stood out like anything to the once famous fighter, but Heishuro’s appearance had been altered in his four tough years. He had a bushy beard the size of a large squirrel and he wore bright orange clothes, standard for a prisoner.

“Are you… Heishuro Maruchi?” A timid voice escaped the black cloaked stranger. Heishuro arched his eyebrow before answering.

“It depends. Who are you to ask for my name?” Maruchi masked a grin behind his bushy cotton-wool like beard.

“I am Taki.” She let her hood down to show her surprisingly red hair and her obvious beauty. “Maruchi.” Pure silence followed her word, a chilling nothingness that tore into Heishuro’s soul.

“M...M...Maruchi…? Did you say… Maruchi?” He asked with wide eyes, but already knowing the answer. She stared at her shoes, tears cleansing them.

“Did you say Maruchi?!” Heishuro demanded hysterically, tears now escaping from his eyes.

“Yes. Heishuro,” She paused for what seemed an eternity, “I am your sister.” She managed to sob, before letting herself fall to her knees, her head cupped in her hands.

“Sister… what?! It cannot be…” As the words left his mouth, darkness dulled his senses, before he dropped to the floor.

~~~

As darkness faded and Maruchi’s senses awoke, he found himself shrouded in nature. A strange wood surrounded him, along with a letter laying on his chest. He sat up and began to read.

Dear Heishuro

I’m sorry for not explaining any of this to you, you must be very confused. I felt that if I told you then you may not believe me, so I’m going to tell you in this letter.

Our parents were Takahiro and Nadine Maruchi, and they were magicians, great magicians. They came from a parallel universe to the world you grew up in. Earth. They were both raised in a mystical place called Ciélaro. This is where you and I were born.

They were known for their powerful combined spells, healing, elemental and conjuring. People knew that if they had children, they would be powerful. Unbelievably powerful. It was both a blessing and a concern to everyone around them. But nevertheless, it was a great shock when I was born.

I have influence over Daemonic magic. More commonly known as Shadow or Dark magic. Magical abilities run through blood, so our family must have had a variety of magicians over the generations. Daemonic magic is widely mislabelled as “evil”, so I was to be banished from Ciélaro. But mother and father still felt love for me, despite my powers. So when I was thirteen, the three of us all left Ciélaro. And came to the sister of our world, Earth.

It was soon after coming to Japan when mother announced her pregnancy with you. But mother died at birth, triggering suicide from father. We were all alone. I had recently turned fourteen, I didn’t know how to be a mother! I left you on the doorstep of somewhere where I hoped you would grow strong, and I vowed to come back for you one day. The lightning strike tattoo down your cheek is a family crest, the Maruchi honour. Some may recognise you with it in Ciélaro, so be careful.

After that I went back to Ciélaro, hiding my identity, traveling between the two worlds, surviving for the pure sake of life. It was then when I heard of your success as mortal, and I feared the worst, I feared what I later recognised as the truth: Your powers hadn’t surfaced yet. I studied your lifestyle, your talent, your skill. It pointed in one direction, your talent had dwarfed your magic. So I did what I felt was needed, I murdered your manager, Fujima, and framed you. I apologise deeply for this, I know it caused you suffering of the worst, but it worked the way I had hoped.

Your time in prison gave me the time to construct a way for you to use your dormant magic. So when I visited you that day, I knocked you unconscious and summoned daemons to take us to Ciélaro, where I left you. You’ll find near you a small gift, a magical nunchaku, Xuriken. This weapon will let you use your magic, be it Elemental, Daemonic, Healing or Conjuring. It will surely grant you power.

I apologise from the depths of my soul, I am truly sorry. I will travel Ciélaro now, wandering from place to place. When the time comes, I’ll find you, and alert you to our fate. I know you’ll recognise me, until them.

Your loving sister,

Taki Maruchi

P.S. I shaved your beard, you looked horrible!

Heishuro finished reading the letter as emotions overcame him. Sadness, anger, hate, love, happiness and gratitude all rolled into his mind. Luckily confusion was behind him.

Without a word, the fighter grabbed his new weapon and set off into the unknown.

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Araxiel, The Daemon Hunter (Active)

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Name: Araxiel (A-rax-ee-el)

Title: He is called many names, almost none know his true name. Some call him Daemon Hunter, others say Shadow Assassin. Others simply know him as the leader of the hundai.

Age: Unknown, he appears late 20s, early 30s…

Race: Hundai (Daemon Hunters)

Race Explanation: Chaos ruled the world. Daemons roamed freely. So the gods bore the Hundai, powerful warriors and sorcerers that hunt the daemons and restore peace to the land. They wield powerful magic and weapons, forged by the gods themselves.

Sex: Male

Hair: Ear length brown hair, running straight. It barely moves from his head, most probably because of his elven-like ears catching it.

Eyes: He has deep red eyes, the colour of blood.

Weight: 190 lb

Height: 6’4”

Weapon: Double edged curved blades, with razor spikes penetrating from each of the long two foot blades. The grip in the middle is dark green, and Araxiel grips it easily. The blades themselves are made from a heavenly substance, unknown to man, or even the hundai themselves, it is a blood tinted silver. The weapon itself is called Vanoxei, the immortal impurity.

Armour: Hundai skin isn’t normal, it contains the unique blood of a hundai, which hardens beneath ones skin, protecting them. Due to this Araxiel does not wear a shirt, or anything above his waist.

Strengths: The hunters skill with Vanoxei is unmatched by any being, his speed and strength cannot be matched by any he has met. His natural skill isn’t limited to his weapon either. He is fast, powerful, deadly and decisive.

Having travelled most of the world, the hundai’s knowledge is unfathomable to most, possessing as much intellect and knowledge would sent a normal human to insanity.

He also has mild foresight, being able to see and act upon things he sees. Although most visions are random and unpredictable, most likely occurring when strong emotions are felt.

The higher gods that enforce the hundai, blessed the hunter with the power of fire and shadow. They lend their immense powers to Araxiel, therefore he can manipulate and create both the flaming rage of fire, or the dark abyss that is shadow. His power over these two elements work well with what, most likely, is Araxiel’s largest advantage, his creative imagination.

Besides from his sight, Araxiel’s senses are considerably higher than most. His partial blindness has caused his other senses to become extremely well developed.

Skills/Magic: Araxiel can be creative with his combat skills and magical spells, but he has one higher state of power, a form that combines shadow and flame to create an ultimate being. In this form, Araxiel’s two elements combine into one: Mana. A mighty mixture of flame and shadow, that burns hotter than the sun, whilst containing the abyss. Mana can be formed by combining any two elements within a host body. Araxiel can control the element while in this form:

Mana Daemon: Araxiel becomes not much short of a god. An evil, mighty god. His manipulation of mana spreads throughout Vanoxei, making the weapon almost uncontrollable. A mixture of crimson and black flames constrict around the hundai, representing the elements that formed the mana, the fire seems to comes from him. He also grows five inches, and broadens, although his original appearance is still clearly visible. All of the hundai’s strength multiplies, and he can do things not bound by the restrictions of shadow and fire, he can control other elements too. This is due to the mana being formed, it can spilt into its potential ingredients, even if they weren’t the original elements that formed the mighty power. The only sign of his previous power is the colours of his flame. As well as this, he can control the mana itself, in its true form. A spectacular blend of colour, this is raw magic, not bound to any element. But his weakness remains as the Mana Daemon, although now there is more to compensate for it.

Power overcomes the Daemon, he can’t tell right from wrong, friend from foe, or even life from death. Only his objective is clear. He will only return to his normal form if he completes his task, or fights his mind to free himself from the mana. He will only let himself become this if it is a last resort, even then he is sceptical. It isn’t evil that forces this upon him, but power. Araxiel is under the delusion he is perfect now, because he can feel the mana flowing within.

Weakness: But alas, even a hundai has a weakness: His sight. Araxiel is near blind, he can see vague colours, shapes and movement, but that is all. While in his Mana Daemon form, the only emotion he can feel is pain. When he uses any element, be it Shadow and Fire in his regular form, or any element (apart from Mana) as the Mana Daemon, it can be overpowered by it’s opposite element, e.g: Water to fire, fire to water, etc.

Appearance: Araxiel’s true form shows him possibly more intimidating than the Mana Daemon. He has faded green skin, even unusual among hundai. He is very muscular and well defined, as well as tall and broad. His thin brown hair rests lightly upon his elven ears, that point behind him. Due to his vision problems he has developed a regular squint, that he never changes, so his eyes appear long and thin, and he always seems to stare. Typical to his other features, his mouth is also thin, as well as his lips. His face itself is quite tall, and points at his chin, like an arrowhead.

He does not wear any clothes above his waist, so a tattoo of a pair of crossed blades can be easily seen across his back. He wears normal black trousers, slightly baggy to help his mobility. His shoes are normal hundai battle sandals. Black sandals that grip easily to your feet, and only protect the bottom of your foot, due to the hard skin of hundai.

Personality: Passion is what drives Araxiel, his passion to test his skills. This is why he is the leader of the hundai. His blood-lust is also another key feature to his personality. Mostly silent, Araxiel lets his powers speak for him. The hundai distances himself from most people, trying to keep himself from weakness. He will follow the orders of the gods that enforce him, knowing that they can lend him more power. Deep down Araxiel half wishes he had a companion, a lover, anyone. But he feeds on this loneliness, he uses it to increase his hate and ultimately, his power.

Many of the hundai have fought and argued, craving to become Araxiel’s right hand man. His advisor, his bodyguard, his friend. He drives them all away, he won’t expose himself to others.

Biography:

Born as royalty, they would say. Araxiel’s destiny prevented him from ebing any but powerful. Araxiel’s father: Kaladriel, was the hundai’s second leader, after the first, Araxiel’s grandfather: Seraviel. Seraviel founded the tribe, having been sentenced to power by the gods.

Seraviel single-handedly defeated all daemons wreaking havoc upon the world, before settling with his wife and having many children. The youngest of Seraviel’s seven children, Kaladriel, proved himself worthy of leadership behond the hundai’s founder. Seraviel and his wife both died of old age, living in the peaceful world that he himself had created.

Araxiel’s father, Kaladriel, had but one child: The current leader himself. But his brethren bred ferociously, expanding the tribe. When Araxiel’s cousin Garashiel had reached thirteen, all new age of daemon hunters were all set upon the world to capture a specific daemon that Kaladriel had first imprisoned himself: the dark dragon. An incredible beast, one that could melt into the shadows and corrupt all that sought to destroy it.

It just so happened to be Araxiel brought back the head of the dragon. For on his travels, he had come across a great altar, where he had knelt, before praying for his success. Shadow and flame had swarmed like wasps towards him, and entered him. The same altar was where he found Vanoxei. He had seen a glowing rob set firmly into stone, with a caption beneath:

Vanoxei will take the form of your desire, if you can handle her with the touch that can slay evil.

Araxiel had lifted the orb cautiously, unaware it would mould into the immortal blades with carries today. Having received this blessing of power, Araxiel found it easy to track and kill the dark daemonic dragon, and sever of the head with the double edged daemon slayer.

Years after his return to the village, his failed relatives began to drift to the village, one by one, all sore of their own failure. But then the daemon invaded. Mighty daemon’s, stronger than any the hundai had ever faced before.

Most of the original hundai were killed, for only eight survived the invasion. Araxiel’s cousins Jalakiel, Falakiel and Ralakiel; Kaladriel’s brother Astariel, along with his wife; Kaladriel’s uncle Mizukiel and the his wife: The only remaining veterans of the tribe; and Araxiel. Araxiel had been the one whom saved the other remnants of the once powerful clan, for he was the only one strong enough to defeat any of the many creatures.

Of course, due to his success in slaying the dark dragon, Araxiel was named leader of the tribe at the mere age of seventeen.

But he was forced to abandon his tribe once he was called upon, by the gods that he soon learnt had granted him the power at the altar. They explained to him that the leader of the daemons that had attacked the hundai: Akaris, was causing devastation to all. The shadow and fire gods bestowed the flow of mana to Araxiel, before sending him on his quest, to end the evil that spread from the daemon Akaris.

<3
Banners and picture by the wonderful Lady Knives