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Survival - 11 Wins!


Alignment: Hero

Team: Reavers


Strength: Superior

Agility: Standard

Mind: Superior

Body: Standard


Personal Wins: 11

Personal Losses: 1


It was small, and grey. There's not much else to say. It looked like any other kitten really. Sort of cute I guess. It reared its ears back and hissed at me, its hair standing on end and its fangs bared. It might have been instinct, or maybe my reputation preceded me. It didn't matter. It was over as fast as I managed to lunge at it with my knife. It was one of those perfect moments. I got it right through the middle. There was almost no resistance as I ripped through skin and cartilage and bone and brain and back to bone and skin again, but I could still feel a quivering crunch through my fingers as I did. And then, it began. A spray of blood painted the dead-end behind it. Not just blood, but an impossible lot of it. So much that, once it started gushing, the pressure shot each half of the 'kitten' at either side of the alley with a splat. It just keep gushing and gushing, bloodying the whole damn place. It felt like minutes before the blood started letting up. Once the pressure went down a bit, the insides started bouncing out. Most of the organs either stayed in or didn't fly out all that much, but the innards, big enough for a man and enough to go around for a baker's dozen, shot out like confetti with a high speed 'slicking'. Then, just as impossibly, 'things' started spilling out of them. To tell the truth, after doing this for awhile, I couldn't give a damn what those monsters eat anymore. But it was a perfect moment, so everything was in slow motion for me, and a couple things I noticed were breasts too big for a man, and limbs too small for a woman. It was almost beautiful, how symmetrical it all was. But then, the perfect moment passed, and the smell of too much shit and piss covered up whatever other smell might have been in that dark corner that night, and for the next few nights too I'm guessing. Ah well, not my problem... It's a story as old as creation, almost a fairytale even. God created everything, and Samael, ever the prick, tried to show Him up on that. But he couldn't. He could mix and match, like a handful of snakes, a snake and a bird, a horse and a stag and a lion and a whale, and then there were all the men and women and whatever crap was lying around, but he couldn't 'create'. After awhile, even 'the Venom of God' finally gave up, and for reasons that are perfectly logical to him, he told me, in that 'unique' way of his, to hunt down each and every one of the Chimeras and to kill them, kill them all.

Sorry, I'm not very interesting. I do my job out of necessity, because it was given to me by the Devil. I could philosophise, angst, evaluate, explain, justify or excuse my actions, but it's pointless and unimportant. When the Devil gives you a job, you do it. Maybe I get a thrill from murdering my family, maybe I regret what I have to do, maybe I'm bored of the endlessness of my task or maybe the hunt is never dull because the prey is always different, or maybe, just maybe, I do it out of love for my father... then again, I'm probably doing it out of fear, because no matter how good or bad a person I am, there's a fate out there, that only the Devil can arrange, and it's a hell of a fate worse than the one I have to live with right now.

Yes, I'm that damn good

     Martial Supremacy: Ultimate

  • Multi-Attacks


It's obvious to me, that if you can't presume certain things about me by now, then you're either an idiot, or just too lazy to exercise a little imagination. Let's look at the facts, implied or otherwise. If you've been paying attention, I've already told you that I'm a Chimera myself, and the son of Samael, otherwise known as the Venom of God, the Devil, the Serpent of Eden and whatever else people usually mistakenly refer to Lucifer. I've tangled with all the stupid ones, like Hydra, Hathor, Kirin, Ganesh, Vlad the Impaler, Anansi and Cthulhu. I'm sorry, but when you are aware that the Devil's 'put a hit' on you, you don't advertise yourself by becoming god or something of the sort, not unless you wish to become a 'mythological' divinity. Most of these entanglements ended up quite messy; decapitation, disembowelment, mutilation; that sort of thing. Granted, I couldn't always get the job done, but I've stood toe-to-toe with the lot of them, even the clever ones, like the vampires, werewolves, mermaids, bogeymen and gods you never heard of. Oh wait, I just remembered, if you need me to explain this much already, you don't have the deductive capacity to realise what I'm saying anyway. In simple terms, I "kick ass". I'm not saying this to sate my own ego, I'm just putting it simply, in a way that you'd understand. I've been fighting and killing Chimeras for a very long time now, some of whom you've associate as gods, they're not by the way, but nonetheless, that's what you know them to be. It's obvious to anyone with half a brain therefore, that I can do things that can't normally be done. Think of any martial arts movie fakery, or shoot 'em ups or whatever else that's over the top, I can probably pull off whatever they do in them. But here's the secret: It's not that I'm a Chimera with superhuman abilities, it's because I'm just that damn good.



     Archer: Standard


I told you, I'm that damn good. There is no real reason for me to explain to you each and everything that I can do in detail. Everything has its basics. Be it combative or domestic, throughout history, throughout invention, trends and philosophies, everything has its basics. A bow has ever been a bow. It has always been the tension of the bowstring, the pull and release, to propel the projectile, the arrow. Whether it's a slingshot or a crossbow or a longbow. The principal is the same, and it is the talents of the one who wield this basic principal that separate a novice and a genius. I know as much as a novice, the principals of archery, but it is my genius that allows me to perform what is impossible for the mere novice.


Sword Master

     Sword Master: Standard


Man is weak. But man is strong. A fool, thinking he's clever, pronounces that man is the weakest of all animals. For all man's size, natural longevity and the thing which the fools have forgotten, the fools pronounce that man is weak. That is why they are fools. For they forget, that man is not a mere animal. With the thing which the fools have forgotten when they make their proclamation, the thing that is stronger in man than any other of God's creation, with the mind of man, coupled with the intrinsic viciousness of man, the most basic of intentions have been wrought by the hands of man, given solid form. Yes, to kill. To maim. To dominate and take by might. To sin. It is the simplest of intentions. Be it a club to cave in the skull, spilling out its contents through the ears, or an edge that's stronger than flesh, to pierce the skin, severe meat and tendons, and release the pressure of the blood within its natural container, the basic principals are once more, the same. Regardless of shape, the purpose of the means is always to exert more force than resistance. The methods are immaterial. *Sigh* For God's sake... colloquially, I'm saying that the basic purpose of any melee weapons-bearing methodology, is to deliver the weapon towards its intended victim, with more force than resistance. Whether it means to do a feint before running the epee through, or simply to not be seen when you blackjack them, weapons mastery is always simply to kill before being killed, the survival of the fittest.



     Marksman: Standard


I'm a crack-shot. Thought it would make no real difference even if I were not. I told you, I'm simply that damn good. Even if I could miss the broad side of a barn at twenty paces, one way or another, whether or not my actions seem supernatural in their movements, I'd get the job done. By this point, my voice is beginning to tire, essentially repeating to you that "I am that damn good". Take it as a fact of life and deal with it, before I feel the need to point out to you again that you're an idiot.


Martial Arts

     Martial Arts: Standard


By this point, you should know what I'm about in terms of ability. I am skilled in all manner of combat oriented talents, and I can take the basic principals of all these talents, and take them toward an outright supernatural level. A product of my long years of service toward my lord and master. Think not of me as a villain however, for to do so would be folly, for to put me in a position where your preconceived notions take precedence, would be to place yourself at a disadvantage, when I do the unexpected. Still, I guess that's not too important, it won't be my problem should you handicap yourself, should the time come. In any case, should you have forgotten, I hunt my fellow Chimeras. That is all there is to me right now really. What else can I say? Where else can I receive my amusement, outside of calling you an idiot? Which you are by the way. Why? Because you expect me to give you an explanation as to why I would even bother myself with learning the methods of unarmed combat. It's so bloody obvious! I fight creatures, some of whom are as large and strong and heavy as an elephant, with a head surmounted on a long serpentine neck, possessing of curved teeth like serrated daggers about an inch and a half long, and as it so happens, my weaponry is beyond arm's reach. What else am I to do except to run? But what if there is no path of escape? Then it is time to fight, or die and be damned.



     Acrobat: Standard


Very well then, I shall reign in my impatience and accept the fact that you are not so much an idiot as you are a retard. With whom I have no desire to soften the blow with the more politically correct term of "intellectually challenged". Insofar as I'm concerned, that's as stupid as "vertically challenged" or "democratically insignificant". Thus, I will say plainly, yes, I am agile. Yes, I really can run up sheer vertical walls, maintain my balance while fighting on a tightrope, which was an interesting experience I must admit, and yes, avoiding bullets.


Thrown Objects

     Thrown Objects: Standard


In the beginning, man was oddly enough, not eaten by the animals. Perhaps it was God's will, perhaps it was something else, who knows? But then, virtually unprovoked, man took up wood and stone, and tried to kill the animals around him, or perhaps it was but an incidental outcome of man trying to kill his fellow man. And it was during this exercise, that man found he could neither out-chase nor out-run his 'prey'. And so, from an extension of his body, man made the weapon he carried, an over-extension of his body. In other words, he threw it. And it worked. And that is the basis of throwing. To simply throw. Everything else is just a trick. The flick of the wrist, the ricochet of the projectile. Point-blank or long ranged, make the projectile an over-extension of yourself. Throw, and kill.


The means justify the ends

     Weapons Creation: Superior

  • Ranged Attack Only


Finally, we've come to the end. For all my ill-mannered remarks, I'm glad you've stayed to listen. In my life, there is only 'focus'. The focus of one thing and one thing only, and everything else, is but an amusement. I'm a simple man, or Chimera if you wish for me to be more precise. It is not a simplicity that's a chosen style of life, but of one of necessity, for as I've told you, I was charged with my task, by the Devil himself. Samael, is neither forgiving, nor merciful of failure. But to me he offers freedom, so long as I get my job done. By any means necessary he told me, "accomplish thy task my son". Chimeras, by definition, come in all shapes and mentality. Be it the mythological beasts and gods you've watched in movies growing up, or the newer generations, who hide their Chimeric ancestry through their normality. Oh yes, oh yes indeed, they've bred. And after so very very long, some of them, are "normal" to the indiscernible. Some are easier to spot than others, like the kitten who lures its victims into complacency. If it didn't just so happened to have been one of the 'evil' ones, I might have missed it completely. Fortunately for me, it had a thing for gnawing off women's breasts and the rather unimaginative devouring of children. That it died rather spectacularly was an icing on the confirmation cake. For all I know, the Chimera could be an immortal adolescent who makes sure to always have a ready, if hidden, supply of enough armament to win a gang war thrice over. For all I know.