Tag: antihero

#26 Killjoy

| November 26, 2012 | 0 Comments

When his family was accidentally killed by a mafia hitman dressed as a clown with remarkably bad aim, Fred Keep swore to exact revenge on organized crime and/or humor in bad taste.

# 7: Azrael, The Fatalist

| November 9, 2011 | 0 Comments

A superfast and aggressive hero; Azrael, The Fatalist.

Poor Lawrence Sandoval, he just got accepted into a networking internship for the Archangel Corporation, but unfortunately, was killed on his way to the main headquarters in a tragic plane crash. However, this was not the end of Lawrence Sandoval. For he, and several other individuals were used as subjects for Archangel’s true business venture; superhuman and paranormal weapons research. Under Project: Immortal Weapon, Lawrence and several others were used as human hosts to house and entrap various Death beings to be used as the ultimate killing machines for Archangel’s benefit. So, from that point on, Lawrence was made to be a host to a God of Death and was conditioned and made into a living weapon. Each human avatar was named based on which Death God they were host to; and forced into wetwork operations to escalate Third World conflicts and in the retrieval of occult artifacts.

The project’s intent was to strip the human aspect and let the Death beings run shop, but Lawrence and a few were able to retain their humanity, while the sins of their work weigh heavily upon their conscience. It wasn’t until the Deathgod Unit named Yama caused a massive breakout that Lawrence and every other horrific experiment created by Archangel was set free upon an unsuspecting world. Now back in Chicago, Lawrence has set up his operations in taking on threats too twisted for the police to handle and in uncovering any evidence as to the truth regarding Archangel. With the Angel of Death known as Azrael, Lawrence not only has to cope with another voice in his head, but also in insuring that Azrael’s bloody nature doesn’t overtake him. Though even with all this darkness surrounding him, Lawrence still maintains his dry and sarcastic sense of humor, as he was in his former life.

The Fatalist made his debut in the incredibly bloody encounter against the sadomasochistic killer known as Bloodrage, and has operated in dealing with the increased migration of Paranormals entering Chicago, even encountering with former Deathgod Unit such as Thanatos, Hades, and a particularly brutal encounter with Yama himself. Recently, Azrael is now connected with the formation of a superteam, calling themselves the Frontline. How this venture will turn out, no one knows.

Abilities: As a host to the Angel of Death, Azrael, Lawrence is endowed with enhanced strength and speed. Lawrence has enhanced reflexes that combined with his speed, make him one of the deadliest hand to hand combatants around. Lawrence also possesses a remarkable healing factor that can heal him from any wound or injury and makes him resistant to chemical agents.These abilities are typically constant, yet Lawrence undergoes a physical transformation, where his hair stands on end, eyes turn red, and his skin turns pale as markings come out of him in order for Lawrence to use the full extent of Azrael’s power.

When severely injured or blacked out, Azrael will take for Lawrence and do battle for him. When this happens, Lawrence’s face and hands are encased in his own blood, which hardens into a shell and converts into a horrific mask, which is the true face of Azrael, as winglike manifestations flow around Lawrence’s body. When this happens, Azrael’s speed increases dramatically as does his other abilities, along with a more aggressive attack style. Along with increased abilities, Azrael utilizes his own repertoire of moves, such as sprouting wings for flight, casting black fire and ice spells,and manifesting a bloody sword to fight with.  Azrael has told Lawrence he, too, can use his abilities if he only let him ” take over” more.

Creation: Azrael, The Fatalist was originally called Fate. He was also originally based on The Crow and Sting’s Crow persona from pro wrestling. This was a creation I did back in high that orignally just looked like a Crow ripoff, until I used the Super-Sayan hair raising technique and implemented more ring attire into his look, as seen in that his boots were actually wrestling style kickpads. Even his backstory went through numerous revisions, with the Weapon X analogue being the main staying point of him, as well as making him a Hispanic character, which isn’t his core identity. As for the symbol, I did it once during a challenge to make various tribal symbols, and I liked the look of this particular one and used as his emblem, along with other projects as a friend of mine once cited that symbols that use constantly will have a sense of power to you, and I decided I could tie it into the former logo of the Archangel Corporation as Fate stole the armor from them. Another thing I want to mention is that the name change occurred as I was brainstorming to change the name in conjunction with the Death God naming, yet I wanted to tie into his former name as well as the dark nature of his character, hence the Fatalist.

#4 – Reaver

| November 5, 2011 | 0 Comments

Byron Snow was not happy.

He was far from it, actually.

You would think that someone who spends his life sleeping, partying and indulging in any excess his mind could think of in equal ways, a man who would never have to worry about money for as long as he lived, would not have to deal with such things as unhappiness.

Yet he did.

He did because the reason for his unhappiness relentlessly followed him wherever he went. It stared at him at any club he went. It brought him his supper, he could see them even from his penthouse apartment, far above the city, aimlessly loitering like the mindless cattle they all were.

Humans were his problem.

Humans were the reason of his unhappiness.

300 years ago, back when he was “born” into his new life, he and his kind would have no issue with rampaging through villages burning everything in sight, openly feeding under the moonlight, enjoying from the warm sustenance as well as from the fear saturating the atmosphere. But those halcyon days were long gone. Quietly bowing their heads and blending in with the meat was now the name of the game. Both The Council and The Covenant had agreed to this. In this new era of enlightenment and widespread information, acting in such an open manner would only invite more attention than the one they already got from The Huntsmen, and that was more than enough attention already.

So they blended in.

Most of them finally made use of their vast fortunes, amassed through centuries of never needing a single dime, spending it in every possible thing they could conceive off in order to chase boredom and hunger away.

Reaving was unanimously outlawed by The Council, the decision enforced by The Covenant. Anyone found reaving, no matter how careful or privately they did so, would be executed on the spot. No exceptions.

And so, Byron Snow hid. And lived. And was unhappy.

He was unhappy while a once proud and mighty race cowered under the numerical superiority of the meat. While their legend was forgotten, the terror they once instilled in the hearts of men and children alike lost to the passage of time. He saw as the meat made fools out of them, turning them into parodies of their former selves, little more than fodder for the romantic delusions of teen-aged girls, spinsters and unsatisfied housewives.

And the worst part was that every day, every month, every year he kept on feeding but not nurturing himself, he cared a little less about all of those things that should have continued to fuel his righteous indignation. He was growing fat and complacent.

He had to do something about it.

The first night he went out there was yet to be a costume. He had honestly convinced himself it would be a one time thing. Something to sate his thirst and be done with it. He knew it had to be someone who wouldn’t be missed. Someone you’d already expect to found splattered across the walls and floor of a dirty alley. When he heard the woman scream, he knew that was it. Even as weakened as it was, his body did most of the work for him without his even realizing.

The woman in itself was of little interest. Who cared what had happened to her? She was nothing but an enabler. By being the victim, she allowed him to come at him in any way he damn pleased. He was the real star of the show.

His original thought had been to just take things slow and enjoy it as much as possible in order to get the most out of it, considering this was gonna be a one-time thing. Even when the first warm jet started gushing, he innocently still believed this. But it had been so long since he had last reaved. The sensation, the rush, the excitement, the frenzy.

It completely took over him. How could they have stopped doing this?

How could they keep denying themselves something that was so unequivocally theirs?

It was wrong in so many fundamental levels. He knew it all the way inside of him, as he felt his body getting stronger, already demanding more sustenance.

He would need to disguise himself. No need to attract the attention of The Covenant. And already the humans had this long standing tradition of dressing in gaudy outfits and beating the living hell out of each other. And certainly no one would miss a few dead robbers or rapists. Nor the police would dig to deep when they found their broken, maimed and dry remains. They simply had it coming.

Byron Snow smiled.

He was happy for the first time in a long time. Happy that he had finally found a way of being himself once again out in the open, were his kind truly belonged.

Out there in the night.