Sister Helenas


Gender: Female

Kit: Divine

Location: San Francisco


Alignment: Hero

Team: The Angels of Mercy


Strength: standard (rank 1)

Agility: standard (rank 1)

Mind: standard (rank 1)

Body: standard (rank 1)

Spirit: (rank )

Charisma: (rank )


Fame Points: 960

Personal Wins: 91

Personal Losses: 36

Team Wins: 0

Team Losses: 0

Tourney Wins: 0

Tourney Losses: 0


Status: Active


The early mist of the morning crawls over the hills in St. Francisco Bay. The cathedral bells strikes four, chimes echo forth in the seemingly empty city. Curfew has not yet ended and the streets are bare.

Atop of Telegraph Hill sits Seraphim Tower, a monument to her majesty the Queen’s capture of the city from the fallen Spanish Empire. Since that day Anglican knights have agreed to keep the city pure and free from unholy corruption. Despite their best efforts, they are fighting a losing battle.

At the top of the tower stand four figures. The first is Queen Victoria carved from stone, the overlaid scepter and cross in her hands, the symbols of the Empire’s right as defenders of God’s dominion. On either side of her sit the statues of the Arch-Angel Rafael and St. Francis, the city’s respective guardian angel and patron saint. Among them is a forth figure, it moves amongst their stillness. His leathery skin confounds the purity of the white marble. The being turns towards the statue of Rafael,

“Hello Brother…it’s been too long.”

Azael pats the angel’s marble cheek. A grin crosses his face, as he spits in its face. The being kneels down and scans the city. On the wharfs a broken woman wanders the night, destitute and dirty, easy pickings for good night’s slaughter.

Azael jumps from the edge of the tower, falls several stories to the ground, landing gracefully slowed by ethereal wings. He stalks forward confidently, an occasional predatory curse escaping his serpentine tongue. He appears human enough at first glance, an active choice, simultaneously masking his outer self in weak mortality while disgusting his inner soul.

He approaches the vagrant woman who now somehow manages to appear more disgusting then before. Covered in ruined rags, stinking of squalor and shit, she is the epitome of what the city has devolved into over the past century. Azael smiles coyly as he approaches her; he cannot see beneath her tattered hood, but she does not flee from his grin.

“My-oh-my. My dear…. a lady like yourself shouldn’t be out alone at night you know; trust me, terrible things can happen. I hear about it in the paper all the time…”

She does not turn in his direction but faces her cart, scuttling various threadbare items into it in panic.

“ I don’t meant no trouble,” she replies, “Not my fault its after curfew, I’ve nowhere to go at night. Just let me go Sir, and I’ll be on my way… I’m not hurting anyone. ”

“Relax my dear, no one will arrest you tonight ”, he comes in closer and places his hand on her shoulder, “I’m not that kind of man… I have other priorities. ”

“You are not a guard?”


“You are a knight then?”

“No, I am better than a knight my dear… far better.”

“Then…you are an Angel?”


“An Angel of Christ?”

Azael lets out a guttural growl at the name. He places his other hand on her opposite shoulder and leans in close to the pale skin of her face. Her breath fills up the cold air in front of them. The smell weaves into his nostrils; his tongue laps his teeth as he smiles.

“Well yes and no…let’s just say, that I used to be.”

The woman pauses, not moving an inch while she speaks.

“All fallen angels, demons, and pagan spirits are affronts to the Lord, and shall be delivered unto Hell in his name, amen.”


She smiles, the click of a rifle can be heard beneath her rags

“That means your ass is mine…


The rags fall, revealing an anointed warrior beneath them; the red and white vestments of the Sacred Order of Anglican Exorcists flash brightly against the night. Helenas raises her holy weapon to the demon’s chest. The gun fires point blank; the blast shatters the night’s silence, punching the silver stake straight through the target. Azael is sent flying backwards and lands hard against the ground. Around his blurry vision appear more just like the bitch who shot him; four total, two men and two women. He begins crawling off the ground.

Helenas looks back towards the somehow still breathing demon. The massive hole in his chest dodged his heart, an easy mistake for novice exorcist. Easily remedied as well.

“Oh Father,” she pleads, “Let this fallen member of you highest choir, be brought onto you, as your order demands, and let it be that—”

Azael springs from the ground, then barrels through the alley.

“Hey, I wasn’t done yet Damn-it!”

“Helen! Don’t blaspheme!” says one of her partners, “It is disdainful to God’s ears”

“Just shut up and shoot him!” She barks back.

Helenas lifts the weighty rifle and fires. The six inch silver round flies forth following it’s target, zigging and zagging in midair; the demon pounces from the ground to a roof, from the roof across the skyline, leaping from platform to platform, the holy missile following his every motion. With a final jump he breaks through a window into the cathedral. The round skids off course, impaling a buttress of the cathedral wall. Helenas follows on foot at top speed, the others fall behind.

“Helen wait—we have to fight him together!”

Helenas is already at the gate; she violently kicks it open and rushes inside. Her rifle is raised to fire.

The interior is lit exclusively by candlelight; flickering shadows make dark objects seem to breathe. Nothing seems innocent. She moves towards the small chapel in the back. Above her a footstep creaks, or maybe it’s just the wind; to her side she see’s the demon, wait—no, nothing’s there. A slam comes from behind her, Helenas swivels and levels the gun.

“Whoa—easy Sister Helen, it’s us.”

The other knights place their hands up expecting her to pull the trigger prematurely. She sighs then turns back around. Azael’s face is waiting for her.

“Sister Helen, what a beautiful name for a martyr.”

His hand shoots forward, it grasps her throat; his other rips the rifle from her grip and tosses it downward. The demon moves her between himself and the pointed barrels of the others. Every second they don’t fire Helenas loses breath. Her fingers pry at the mighty hand at her throat; it doesn’t budge.


“Why? You gonna let me go if I do?”


“Well at least your honest, I’ll give you that.”

The deafening rush comes behind them. A vacuum of black abyss bursts into existence behind the altar. The knights hold onto the nearest sturdy object as Azael and Helen are slowly sucked backwards by the tremendous anomaly.

“Time to drift away my little darling… I have so many things in store for you, a whole world of sadistic delights, but my favorite by far—AAAH!”

The heel of Helen’s boot connects between his legs. He drops her to the ground and falls backwards into the void. Helen looks onwards to the dark black nothingness about to devour her. She did not run; her rifle slides towards the pulling force of the vacuum, she grabs it, cocks the bolt, then runs headlong into the black.

For a moment it was like falling, you can’t describe it because there’s nothing there. It’s like changing the channel, on moment you’re here, the next,

Helen hits the ground and finds herself enveloped in a small crowd. She raises the gun towards them, they don’t respond well.

“Holy shit, a gun!’

The crowd flees. The panicked people act like they’ve never seen a Holy Order exorcist before. She cannot pick them apart, they all dress so strangely. The women wear inappropriately revealing shirts which show their shoulders, chest, and even midriffs; disgusting. The men have seemed to forgo stockings for long pantaloons of blue canvas. Hell was a freakish place indeed.

Nearby, a long metal pole emanates eerie light downwards onto a tar black street. Standing behind it, a wounded man clutches a massive wound in his chest; his eyes cross with Helenas for only a second, that’s all it takes. He sprints across the pavement and Helenas follows.


Virtue of Faith

     Mental Defense: standard (rank 1)


The city is encased in fog, it was still early here, maybe four or five in the morning. The streets were nearly empty of life, only her and her target. She follows the demon in his mortal form as best she could; despite his wound he remains superhuman.

Azael turns a corner, Helenas sprints forward; she spins around the corner, rifle drawn. Her finger rises to the trigger and pulls. The round flies outwards and disappears as a mirage into the overwhelming fog. The holy silver rounds are lead to the target by His divine grace yet require us to act as a conduit; without clear purpose on behalf of the wielder there is no grace. Suffice to say, Helenas’s random blind-shot down the misty alley gets no response.

“Christ Damn-it!”

She loads another few stakes into place. Helenas throws a quick Hail Mary as repentance for the earlier blasphemy and then swivels to scan the surrounding buildings. This place begins to seem less definable the more she searches it. On a few streets proper Victorian houses are erected as they would be in St. Francisco, but on others, crude rectangular eyesores stand out, their doors and walls defaced with brightly colored vulgar words. This was not a holy place, but not wholly evil either.

Helenas attempts to think it out, yet more fog flows in. The ghostly vapor begins to engulf everything in front of her eyes. She pulls up her rifle, pivots one way then the other. Layers of darkness and fog present themselves on top of another; everything else fades into silhouette.

Behind her comes a familiar sound, like a rushing mountain wind. She sees a blotch of blackness appear near the noise, a vacuous portal like the one she arrived in. She points the end of her gun barrel towards the opening. A human hand reaches out of the darkness. She stops. The hand moves out further and the whole figure begins to emerge; on its chest lies the red and white armor overlapped by the holy cross. Her heart skips a beat at the sight of one of her holy brothers.

“Helenas!” He yells, “I’ve come to bring you back. Take my hand!”

His hand outstretches. Helenas raises hers but momentarily hesitates from grabbing on.

“How did you find me?”

“Trust me; we don’t have much time, just take my hand!”

She slowly lifts her hand upwards and grasps his palm. He smiles back at her, she doesn’t return the gesture. Her other hand lifts the rifle to his chest. He stares at her with wild disbelief.

“What are you doing?”

“And the unholy angels shall come to you and offer what you desire most, their tricks and illusions shall not deceive as long as the Lord is with you, amen.”

The rifle blasts into the knight’s torso, he spirals backwards like a bowling pin. The portal dissolves away; its illusion and noise fade away in the same way it came. The mysterious fog lifts back as it was before. The knight hits the ground and the illusion over him dissolves as well; his fair features devolve into dark and leathery skin, his eyes return to the same demonic yellow Helenas spotted when she first landed. Azael now bleeds from two wounds, the latter still with the massive stake piercing into his stomach like an un-nailed railroad spike.


Virtue of Justice

     Piercing Weapon: superior (rank 2)

  • Ranged Attack
  • Target Seeker


Azael forces himself to stand then weakly stumbles down a nearby smut covered alley; Helenas forces another stake into the revolving magazine of her Exorcist’s rifle. The demon shifts over against a brick wall, leaning on it as he places his hands on the spike piercing his abdomen. He grips onto it, his hands steaming as they grasp the silver. His lips curl in agony, releasing a vicious and painful growl. He pulls the round out and tosses the bloody spike onto the ground. Weakened as he is, he does not flee; Helenas raise her rifle.

“Any last words, confession, renunciation of your ways, that you’d like to get out of the way?”

“Depends,” he says, “If I did, would you let me go?”

“No,” she says coldly, “but it is tradition to offer last rites to those about to be executed.”

Azael laughs bitterly, blood tainting his smile.

“At least your honest... and for that I’ll repay you with some honesty of my own; that is, if I die, you remain here, forever.”

She flinches at this statement, Azael notices and plays it up.

“Its checkmate Helen… you can’t escape it.”

“I will not be tempted, tricked, or threatened by the lies of a demon.”

“No lies Sister, no lies…This dimension is a nexus where all points meet, that’s why the portal brought us here and not straight to my domain. However, even then, you cannot move from one plane to another without higher assistance, you are a mortal…I am your only way out of this. Kill me, and you exile yourself…. Now I know that your holy order claims death before dishonor as its coda, but I also know people. As a general observation, people don’t like to die. They will lie, betray, rape, pillage and murder to save themselves. I’m not asking you to do any of that, I just want you to think of all the good you’ll do if I could send you back…”

Helenas hesitates, the gun raises, she stands ready but doesn’t pull the trigger. Azael flashes her another smile. She smiles back this time.

“Go to Hell.”

Her finger moves for the trigger, the demon charges wildly.

He hits the barrel away, the rifle fires the stake heavenward. He pounces on top of Helenas, hand once more at her throat.

“You first, you little BITCH!”

The stake stops midair and reverses direction; Azael squeezes her throat to crush the life from her, a sharp pain comes from above. The stake rams through his back, passing the ribcage, impaling the heart. He stops all motion.

Azael falls limp in her arms. Helenas throws him off and he tumbles to the ground. She stands up bleeding, the end of the spike went too far through him, her shoulder received the silver tip. She looks down at the lifeless demon; the sharp cocking of a rifle is heard behind her.


Virtue of Fortitude

     Iron Will: standard (rank 1)


“Drop the gun or I will shoot. Drop it now.”

Helenas turns to see a blonde woman holding what appears to be a knight’s rifle between her arms. She wears armor of some kind, but it bears no markings of order or rank, it is nothing but a chrome colored metal suit.


Helenas holds the gun out to her side. She would not drop it for anyone. She looks to her side and remarks Azael’s seemingly-human dead body; the other woman has noticed it as well.

“Its ok," Helenas replies, “He’s was a demon. It’s ok, we’re on the same side.”

“I don’t know what side you’re on, but I need you to drop the weapon.”

Helenas begins backing away from the woman and out of the alley. One of those tar black street is behind her. She could fire a round towards the woman’s hands to disarm her and get away; it was a sin to fire on others, even foreigners, pagans, or Catholics, but Helen needed to escape. She could pray to God for forgiveness later.

Helenas swings her gun and fires. The other woman fires simultaneously, her aim is wild and inaccurate. The silver spike hits her hand mid-fire; she drops her weapon in pain.

Helenas turns and blindly runs into the street; she is stopped by a blaring animal-like noise. A large, wheeled, metal machine plows into her, sending her reeling. Helenas appears unconscious on the ground; the woman from before follows her and looks down upon her motionless body.

“Shit.” She says

She pulls the rifle off the ground and examines it. The ornate design was unlike any firearm she had ever seen, and that was saying something. The armored woman pulls out a cell-phone and dials in a number. The driver of the sedan gets out and walks around the side.

“Oh god, she came out of nowhere. She just jumped into the middle of the road. You saw it right?”

The woman doesn’t answer him but waits for her phone to connect.

“Hello? Yes this is Jill. I found the lunatic in the Renaissance costume who waved a gun around the Embarcadero station entrance. From the looks of it she just shot a man because he was “a demon”. Then she got hit by a car. Better bring a bus, no way she could—”

Helenas wakes up and begins shaking herself conscious. She slowly begins to stand in an attempt to walk it off. Jill watches in slight confusion, she raises her gun cautiously.

“You know what, I’ll call you back—Hey Ms. why don’t you sit down. Just relax.”

“All injuries acquired in service to the Lord are blessings from him who loves us most, as badges of honor and courage. I shall feel no weakness as long as the Lord is with me.”

Jill nods uneasily. While technically fine Helenas still remains woozy. She looks at the blonde in the grey armor suspiciously. There were no markers at all, her rifle was unusually cold and sterile, no artwork, no engravings, just steel.

“What Order are you of?”

Jill pauses at the question.

“I’m with the Angels of Mercy. I heard what you were doing over a police radio, I’m going to take you in, so why don’t you—”

“You’re an ANGEL?”

“Well, yeah, one of them. I—”

Helenas drops to her knees in prayer before the fair blonde angel. She closes her eyes and chants.

“I am not worthy to be in your presence mighty messenger of His glory; I come to slay demons, yet your presence upon me is a blessing in itself. What news does the Almighty wish to convey to his lowly and humble servant, a pilgrim in an unholy land?”

Jill pauses again,

“Wow… this is really uncomfortable.”


Sacrament of Renewal

     Healing: superior (rank 2)


Helen moves the burger to her lips. She bites down half of it in nearly a second. Jill watches with interest, everything this woman does seems abnormal but she is growing more accustomed to it over time.

She had tried interrogating her for over an hour but it was pointless; telling a lie, any lie, was a sin. Jill got everything she wanted to know without hesitation, absolutely none of it made any sense; there was no point of interrogation for useless knowledge. She at first assumed she had caught a madwoman fresh out of a steam-punk convention. Helen sat in the holding cell for nearly a day without complaint as the authorities tried to deal with her.

Then the Angel’s of Mercy contacts at the morgue autopsied the man she killed; within the first half hour post-mortem his blood turned black and his eyes dissolved inside his skull. During the autopsy his body degenerated entirely leaving a pile of charred dust on the operation table.

Jill had more questions, but as Helen seemed more than willing to cooperate, she figured there was no need for an interrogation room. Jill got her answers, and Helen got to experience contemporary culture.

“What is this called again?” Helen asks.

“A Big Mac. They don’t have Big Mac’s where you’re from?”

“No, I never heard of any. But then again, I never got out much, it was always duty first.”

“Trust me sister, I know what you mean,” Jill replies,

Helen looks back up to her with a sudden urgency.

“What day is it?” she asks.


“Oh, what time then?”

Jill checks her watch.

“Its just now 12 am. Why?”

“Oh good then.” Says Helen, “Then it’s not technically Friday. We can’t eat meat on a Friday, but since its not technically Friday any more, it’s not technically a sin.”

“Trust me Helen, this is a McDonalds, there’s a good chance it isn’t technically meat.”

Helen ignores this and continues to wolf down her the Big-Mac. Jill hesitates for a moment, but the little voice in her head tells her to get a move on, and get to why she really came here.

“So Helen… that thing you killed in the alley—”

“The demon?”

“Yes, him. Did he say why he was coming here? Did he want something from this world? Some purpose?”

Helen drops her burger; she rubs her shoulder which had been bleeding on and off since her arrest.

“I’m not sure,” she says, “I’m not sure he even had one, it seemed like an accident. He did say that this world was important. That it was the ‘Nexus of all points’, that somehow it was between my home and his. I thought he meant that this was Purgatory or Limbo, but I don’t think Purgatory would have this kind of food, or anything at all for that matter.”

Jill nods as Helen begins to explore and poke at her wound. Jill squirms in her chair trying not to watch.

“Helen, you know we have really advanced medical care here. That looks pretty deep; you should get it looked at.”

“By who? I don’t think we need to call in a priest after midnight for this, it’s only a flesh wound.”

“No, I mean get it looked at by a doctor.”

“A doctor? Some godless physician who thinks he can understand the innate workings of the holy human body? Who believes he knows better than the divine as to who lives and who dies? What need would I have of such arrogant ignoramuses when He who is capable of all things is always with me? Pass me your cup and I’ll show you.”

Jill tacitly passes the Large Diet Coke across the table. Helen holds it in her hands and quietly prays over it. Everyone in the room stares at her if they weren’t doing so before.

“Oh father…bless this water with your holy spirit… baptize my wounds and my soul… amen…”

Helen raises the cup over her shoulder and pours it across the red stain. She is covered by the dark syrupy liquid, leaving a larger stain, yet the blood is gone. The wound has closed as if never there, healed instantly by the purifying touch of improvised holy water. Helen passes the now half-empty cup back to Jill and smiles.

“See, all is made right through the power of God and the sacrament of renewal and rebirth.”

“My backwash was in that.” Jill adds.

They finish their meal and Jill leads Helen out of the swinging doors. San Francisco is cold as always. Jill turns to her companion.

“Well I guess this is where we both got to go.”

“Go where? Where are we going?”

“Not ‘we’,” Jill says, “I meant you and I just happen to both be going. Separately.”

“Oh,” replies Helen, she stares down at her feet dejected, “but if you leave…I’ll be alone. Entirely alone, in the whole world. Where can I go?”

“I’m sure you’ll find something…You can go anywhere you want.”

“I want to go with you.”

Jill pauses at the startling sincerity of it, but then backs away.

“No you don’t. Trust me Helen, my life is dangerous enough, plus, I don’t travel in the holiest of atmospheres. You wouldn’t like it—”

“You said you were an Angel,” Helen says, “An Angel of Mercy. You told me that your Order was dedicated to bringing justice to the evil ones and to protecting the innocent. What could be more holy than that? I wasn’t sent here by some demon’s scheme, some accident of fate; it must be His will. He sent me to this world, then sent a human angel to bring me into the fold. I know where he has sent me, and I shall fear no evil though I walk through the Valley of Death. I have been sent to become an Angel of Mercy!”

The blonde looks back at her, both stunned and impressed.

“Well since you put it that way… But I’m not sure, what do you think Jack?...uh huh…right…yeah…God, you are such a pervert.”

Jill shakes off from her conversation with the invisible man. She extends her hand, Helen grabs it instantly.

“Welcome to the team.”