Christopher Marlowe

The Baron of Science

Main Event Winner!

Hall Of Fame!

Survival - 11 Wins!

Brutal - 4 Fatalities


Alignment: Villain

Team: The Fallen


Strength: Weak

Agility: Superior

Mind: Standard

Body: Weak


Personal Wins: 11

Personal Losses: 1


I stood before Queen Elizabeth, weapon in hand, ready to blow the bitch's unholy, undead body back into Oblivion. She had just issued the order for all Christians in England to be ritually slaughtered in the name of The Blood Mother of Avalon. Damn pagans piss me off to no end. You see, in the backwater, f-cked up reality I was born into, Good Old Queen Betty was the first of the High Regent Queens of England, leaders of a reactionary, paganistic sect that took control of England when Betty's daddy, Henry, was murdered in his sleep and replaced with some undead Dark Lord or some other bullsh-t heathen deity. "Henry" promptly said "F-ck You" to the good Catholics of Europe and threw our homeland back into the uncivilized bygone ages of heathen worship. Yes, my world is quite screwed in the head. As for me, I was one of the few sane, rational, devout men left in England. My name's Christopher Marlowe: poet, playwrite, and the bastard that blew away Queen Betty in the name of righteousness. Of course, she stood right back up, blood flowing from the ground back into her daemon-infested body, but it sure felt damn good... so I f-cked up my mission, but it was one hell of an adventure. The next thing I know, the boys from the Guild had me on some stone slab, saying something about reassembing the pieces. Those Guild boys... most of them are heathen blights upon Creation, but they sure do know how to take care of their kind. They know how to take care of other things too, so it goes. The Guild boys and I... we don't always see eye to eye, but we work fine together. Consider me one of their troubleshooters. When the Guild's subtle means are not exactly what is needed, they call up this old, ever-living bloke to make sure that whatever the bastard in question is ceases to breath, move, live, and exist, all in one blow.

Yeah, "who gives a f-ck about history when there are so many divergent universes?" you say. Well, you are going to listen to this history lesson and damn well like it, no matter what you think. If you payed attention in your literature classes, you have heard my name before. Dr. Faustus and all that rot. I wrote that play. Autobiographical, that play is. The version I wrote at least. I was pandering to my pagan audience when I wrote Faustus as succumming to the vile corruptions of purity and light, being destroyed by the angels of Heaven as he was betrayed while kneeling before the altar of God attempting to atone for his sins. You never read that version? Like I said, multiple universes are f-cked, you probably read that version written by that pansy version of myself where Faustus was tempted by Mephistopheles. I flogged that minor daemon's ass back to the Underworld. You see, Faustus was me. I gave myself to the forces of light, purity, and creation. In exchange for my devotion, I was not slaughtered like the fictional Faustus. I was blessed with my sidepiece. The arm of a fallen deity that my god slaughtered aeons ago in the name of all that is right molded into righteous temporal punishment.

The Arm of Dios

     Psychic Vampire: Ultimate

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They say this creature was born of Khazan itself. Such a notion defies everything that I believe to be right. How could a planet of innate purity give birth to a lustful, destructive, hellish beast? This creature, christened Lytherium Weapon, flies about Khazan, destroying all that is in her path, and mates with the other beastial weapons that claim to be the childer of Khazan. Foul f-cking beasts, the whole lot of them. I managed to track down Lytherium Weapon to the docks of Khazan City's Lowtown. She was streaking across the bay, totally aware that I intended to obliterate her whorish, putrid soul from existence. Lytherium Weapon believes herself to be the fastest creature in existence, her speed being the weapon with which she annihilates the parasites from Khazan. She never thought to question the nature of my sidepiece. Pure, concentrated reality, flaming forth through the barrel and directly into the soul of my target. Lytherium's path was halted mere inches away from where I stood. As her empty carcass crashed down into the bay, I could hear the screams of her bretheren cry out, mourning the loss of their whore sister. Her soul funneled through my sidepiece, syphoning off her essence and granting me access to the vast ancient knowledge stored within the limb of the god I call my gun. A real mindf-ck, but an enlightening experience, to have the mind of a god for a brief moment.


False Brilliance

     Tactician: Ultimate


They say that prick Shakespeare pretty much told every story there is to tell. Let me tell you this, Shakespeare was a hack. Literally. He would take up and coming playwrites, hack them into pieces, and bind their souls into quills and force them to write constantly until they delivered the goods. Of course, try telling that to some pansy literature buff that gets off to King Lear. No matter how f-cking brilliant you think you are, you will never have an original idea. Not even Shakespeare was original. Hell, I ripped off every damn story of corruption and betrayal to write my crap as well. I do know the stories, though, so I can rip them off and use them to my advantage, all the while making it look like I am some brilliant f-cker to all the half-wit wannabe scholars out there.


The Voice of Dios

     Detective: Ultimate


Divine intervention, you damn fool. The Heavens speaks to me. They speak to me in indecypherable tongues that only the righteous would understand. An ancient tongue that makes no true sense, but I still understand The Will. One f-cker called me mad for listening to the Voice. I shoved my sidepiece up his ass and rendered the point moot. Another man said that it was some dark deity that spoke to me. Most likely "that cursed piece of metal you wear on your arm" that was doing the talking. I had to go to confesion for what I did to that man. Not even God would have approved of doing what I did to the bastard, righteous crusading or not. Damn blasphemers piss me off to no end. The Heavens talks. I listen. I learn the best way to seal your ass in a coffin. End of story.


Immunity: Matter Animation

     Immunity: Standard


Lytherium Weapon was almost pathetically easy to destroy. Aim, fire, and destroy the filthy whore. But her brother, Dark Silver Weapon... pain in the ass is an understatement. F-cking MagiSec is its hunting ground. The stench of technology, coupled with the filth of these false gods, berated my nerves. All of mankind's creation, all of this false f-cking idolatry, worshiping technology and wishing for it to bring salvation in the form of the latest gadget that makes modern society more convenient and more unnatural. All of that perverted, humanistic creation giving strength to the Weapon... enough bitching. I simply started firing away. All out abandon. The f-cker tried to form its unity with the perverse technology, melding original metal with modern metal into some f-cking orgy of destruction. My own vainglorious display of violence-as-sexual-metaphor f-cked the bastard up real good. Pity he got away though. My sidepiece could go at it all night. Seems Dark Silver Weapon is the sort to take its f-ck and leave without leaving its phone number.


Immunity: Phasing

     Immunity: Standard


The "truth" can go f-ck its sister for all I care. The First Weapon, unfortunately, is unable to screw Lytherium. Forget the fact that I blew the bitch to Kingdom Come, but the f-cker is incorporeal. Spreads some heathen gospel of humanity as a parasite upon Khazan while being a f-cking cowards and hiding behind dimentional barriers and some sh-t. So I go up to the door of this spiritual barrier, and I knock on the door with the barrel of my sidepiece. I step in, and let loose with my own gospel of erradication of greater "parasites" from reality. But like I said, The First Weapon is a bleeding coward. He sidestepped the brunt of the attack, but he'll know better than to tempt the devout with his pagan propaganda again.


Terrain Familiarity: Steel Cage

     Terrain Familiarity: Standard


You're in the house of God, boy! The Lord's Church! Are you f-cking touched in the head or something, you c-cksucking maggot? You come into the house of our Lord and f-ck with the Almighty's severed arm of justice? Boy... you just don't f-cking comprehend the forces you're screwing with. The Lord is your Shepherd, and you have just entered his slaughterhouse... or some other crappy catchphrase the masses like to embrace. Oh f-ck it, just get over here and die!


Voices From Hell

     Telepathy: Supreme


GET OUT OF MY F-CKING HEAD! OUT BLEEDING DEMONS OUT! GOD IS MY ONLY F-CKING SAVIOR! HELL WILL BURN WITH MY RIGHTEOUS FUROR! *Marlowe's sidepiece begins to tremble, and two eyes form on either side of the barrel, staring into the distance with demonic intent*