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Played By: Froople

Adrian by Froople

TEAM: Freelance Villain


KIT CLASS: Master Training

Hall Of Fame!

Survival - 10 wins!

Brutal - 3 fatalaties!

Fight Record
League Wins: 10
League Losses: 1
Out Of League Wins: 0
Out of League Losses: 1
Total Wins: 10
Total Losses: 2
Supremacy - Win 20-5
Kagei's Dragon SafeHome - Win 20-3
Galina Belanov - Win 16-5
Master William Albright - Win 13-11
Iuvenesco Torqueo - Win 13-8
Vladomir the Monk - Win 12-10
Julian Cross - Win 13-9
Sara Lou - Win 10-9
Groovius Maximus - Loss 9-11
Wired // un-death - Win 8-7
Johnny Tuppence Divine - Win 11-10
Lovecraft - Loss 12-14

Lemme tell you a little something about Hell: it fucking stinks. Seriously. Some people hate the heat--others, the endless screaming. Now don't get me wrong, those are all pretty damn annoying, too, but it's the stink that really gets to me. It's like somebody left a steaming pile of feces on the grill, mixed in a little piss, blood, and vomit, threw in a dash of sulfur, then cooked it all up and served it in a rotting carcass. It's one of those horrid smells that you can actually taste all the way down to your stomach. Some people think that just because we're demons, we're supposed to love disgusting crap like that, because, y'know, we're "backwards" like that. Let's get one thing straight: this is Hell, not fucking Bizarro World--I like gumdrops and seashells just as much as the next guy. Still, Hell ain't ALL bad. People think of it as just some desolate, charred wasteland full of human souls being tortured--not so. In fact, most of us rarely even see the humans--they stick mostly to the Outer Rings of Hell, so torturing them is more of a pastime than a full-blown "occupation," really. As you move closer to the Inner Rings, however, Hell starts to resemble a gigantic city more than anything else; I have to give it to those fallen angel assholes--they may be pricks, but they did a helluva job making do with what they had. And so we have the deceptively-named Babylon, Metropolis of the Damned, a massive city carved right into the brimstone, with the Lake of Fire smack-dab in the middle of it. We've got succubi-infested brothels--these are all run by Asmodeus, Hell's own little Prince of Perverts--and dingy taverns here, but most of these places are just shitty little dives that serve shitty little drinks. Interesting thing about the taverns here is that most of them derive their names from human literature--so you've got dozens of places called 'The Inferno' or 'Paradise Lost' or crap like that. But then there's the 'No Exit'--there's only one of those. That's Asmodeus's little hotspot, and with good reason: it's hands-down the best bar in Hell. Now that's the place to go to if you want a REAL drink. They import their beverages straight from Earth, and get this: they're still cold. Y'see, another crappy thing about Hell is that the heat and sulfur make all the drinks here curdle almost immediately--but not at the 'No Exit'. Costs an arm and a leg (literally, in some cases) to get a drink there, but it's worth it--I don't care how great those elitist pieces of shit claim their vaunted Heaven is/was, NOTHING beats sippin' a cold one in Hell. Oh, wait, I forgot about taking a piss in the Lake of Fire--that's a good one, too. Especially right when some fledgling demons are being crapped out; welcome to Hell, bitches.


Personality: I can't stand angels, but I downright LOATHE fallen angels--yeah, you heard me. You'd think that since we're on the "same team" and all, I'd learn to tolerate 'em, right? Nuh-uh. If they're not thumbing their noses at you, they're bitching and moaning about getting kicked out of Heaven. Boo-fucking-hoo. I swear, if they spent as much time actually DOING stuff as they do whining, we'd all be in a helluva lot better shape. But obviously, that's not the case. See, you basically have two types of fallen angels. First you've got...well, the First Fallen--now these geniuses apparently thought it'd be a SMART thing to try and challenge God, then spent the next few millennia crying about it because they lost. Then you've got the Second Fallen, consisting of pretty much every other angel that's fallen since the First War. These guys are just glorified hedonists who got kicked out because they couldn't keep their dicks in their pants longer than five seconds; not that the First are much better--they spend all day droning on and on about "revolution" and "tyranny" and crap like that. Just shut UP. Please. Then, of course, you have high-ranking fuckers like Moloch...ugh, Moloch; that colossal waste of space embodies just about everything I hate about the collective Fallen (or "Exiled," as they sometimes prefer to be called), so you get both the whining AND the wanton sodomizing. Fun.




Standard Normal human strength.Agility:


Supreme This fighter can dodge and move
with superhuman fluidity.


Standard Normal human endurance. Mind:


Weak BELOW normal human mental power.
Not the sharpest tack in the drawer.

The Crap of Existence

So you've got your First Fallen, you've got your Second Fallen, but then you've got my kind: the Rabble. Simply put, we're by-products of the filth and corruption that make up the Lake of Fire. If you think of the Lake of Fire as being the gaping rectum of existence, we're what it craps out every so often. Funny, 'cause we get treated that way, too. We're where the traditionally monstrous depictions of demons usually stem from. Having been bred in a gargantuan cesspool of corruption, we inevitably emerge with some deformity or other that can manifest itself in any number of ways: fangs, claws, horns, wings, a tail, hoofed feet, maybe even an extra dick or two. Fortunately, some of us are able to conceal our little deformities so that we don't stick out like a sore thumb. I've got claws, myself--six jagged inches of razor-sharp death, stained a sickly blackish-red from the blood of humans, demons, angels, and other nameless celestial monstrosities that I've butchered. I don't mind 'em too much--they certainly come in handy when it comes time to rip out somebody's throat or leave some jerk-off with a gut-wound he won't soon forget. Sometimes it pays to be cosmic crap.

Immunity: Fire

It may come as little surprise when I tell you that being born in the Lake of Fire isn't exactly a pleasant experience--in fact, it's fucking excruciating. You're suddenly "blessed" with sentience, only you don't know who you are, what you are, or where you are; the only thing you DO know is that you're in pain--a lot of pain. Most of us just flail about frantically, kicking our arms and legs in some pathetic attempt to escape that scalding, God-forsaken womb. It certainly doesn't help that the Lake of Fire is big--I mean, REALLY big. I was "lucky" enough to be born within a couple miles of the shore; some poor bastards have the misfortune of being born way out in the center of the lake--I wouldn't be surprised if most of them have been out there for centuries, still blindly looking for a way out. Plenty of demons are driven stark-raving mad by the time they get to shore--it's almost a mercy when we put them down. Needless to say, after being conceived by the hottest damn thing in existence, regular fires just aren't that intimidating.

First-Hand Experience

If there's one thing you learn as a demon in the Rabble, it's this: if you're not good at fighting, then you'd better be good at fucking. Seriously. Those of us that don't make it as grunts or mercenaries inevitably find themselves working in Asmodeus's brothels as succubi or incubi. And as much as I enjoy a good lay, I'd rather NOT spend the rest of my days serving as some demon lord's playhole. So I wised up and toughened up. They say there's nothing like first-hand experience, so I made damn sure that I got gallons of that. For a good long while, I had the reputation of a being a hot-headed asshole who'd fight anybody for any reason: if someone stepped on my toe, I fought 'em; if they bumped up against me, I fought 'em; if they looked at me wrong, I fought 'em; if I didn't like their name, I fought 'em; and if I'd fought 'em before...well, I fought 'em again. A trip to the bar inevitably led to a brawl (and let me tell you, a bar-room brawl in Hell is no small thing!), which got me banned from a number of places. That's actually how I met my buddy, Dorian: I picked a fight with him for no other reason than he was one of the biggest fuckers I'd ever seen. He's a tough bastard, though, so the fight just devolved into the two of us pounding the crap out of each other's faces until we both finally passed out. When we came to, I slapped him on the back and bought him a drink. We've been pals ever since.


I'd say that Dorian's relationship (or lack thereof) with Eloa best describes the lug's infatuation with anything beyond his reach; y'see, Eloa's an angel--a rare sight in Hell, as you can imagine. Asmodeus somehow managed to get his greasy hands on her awhile back and dragged her down into Hell to serve as his concubine. So now she's the main attraction over at the 'No Exit'--they'll drag her out in chains every so often and force her to cavort around onstage, much to the delight of the patrons. Whenever she's up there, communication with Dorian becomes impossible; the damn fool is utterly incapable of taking his eyes off her, dumbstruck by her every gesture. I don't know why he's so obsessed with her--I mean, sure, she's hot and all, but a demon with Dorian's sterling reputation wouldn't have any trouble taggin' a fine-lookin' succubus or two if he wanted. It's rumored that Asmodeus occasionally "loans" Eloa to high-ranking demons in the Infernal Hierarchy, which means that she's strictly off-limits to our kind--Asmodeus doesn't want his prize "tainted" by Rabble dregs, after all. Naturally, this doesn't sit too well with Dorian, not being able to even talk to the woman of his dreams. And much as it grates my nerves to admit it, he really does seem to harbor some genuine affection for the poor broad--but if he even THINKS of muttering the "L" word, I'm gonna punt his naive ass right back into the Lake of Fire myself.

And With Me as Always ...

People see Dorian and almost always get the wrong impression; I mean, here he is, this massive fucker, standing nearly eight feet tall with these huge muscles and a war-hammer that's almost as big as he is. So people see him and figure that he's just some big, dumb brute. Not so. In fact, Dorian's probably one of the smartest guys I know--he's also the voice of reason between the two of us. Even though it seems like we fight (verbally or otherwise) half the time, we get along well together; he seems to enjoy my so-called "fuck you attitude," and I enjoy the fact that he's so easy to make fun of. Believe it or not, the two of us have become something of "folk heroes" amongst the Rabble--it might be because of our free-willed outlook, but it's probably just because we kick unruly amounts of ass. Dorian's a bit of an idealist, which I think draws our kind to him. He often blabbers on about "equality" and "injustice" and whatnot. Don't ask me why--he shuts up whenever I ask him about it--but at times I think he's privately ashamed of what he is. He claims to loathe the angels (fallen or otherwise) as much as the rest of us, but I suspect he quietly envies--even admires--them. I suppose he's awed by their alleged "nobility" and by the respect they seem to command. Hmph. Maybe he both loves and hates them--loves them for what they are, and hates them because he can never be one of them. Silly sod.

Hard Day's Work

  • Power: Martial Supremacy
  • Level:Supreme
  • Kit Power Link: Master Training
  • Multi Attack Attack can hit multiple times during one strike.
Dorian and I have been doing this mercenary gig for centuries now, and if I do say so myself, we're two of the best in the business. Sometimes we'll get hired to go out into the Outer Rings and round up some humans for auctioning; other times we'll get paid to knock off some idiot that's pissed off the wrong demon lord. My favorite jobs, however, take place on Earth; now THAT'S where the real action is. Of course, you've gotta be careful up there--the Ophanim don't take too kindly to demons. Y'see, the angels claim Earth as being under their jurisdiction and so, just as it is in Heaven, demons aren't allowed up there. The Ophanim are your typical guardian angels, simultaneously charged with watching over the humans and killing any and all demons on sight. As a result, the most popular jobs we get hired for are what we like to call "misdirection runs." These essentially entail wreaking as much random havoc as possible so as to draw the attention of the local Ophanim; then, while they're off dealing with us, our employers can go about their Earthly business, unnoticed by the Guardians. Asmodeus is one of our most frequent clients for these "misdirection runs"--he likes to go topside every so often to indulge his pedophiliac tendencies (since Hell is mercifully devoid of children). Not the most noble profession, I'll admit, but I do love to go toe-to-toe with those uppity, angelic pieces of shit. As I said, Dorian and I are two of the best in the business, so we both know how to rumble with the best of 'em. Dorian favors that ridiculous war-hammer of his, but I prefer to slug it out sans weaponry--it only slows me down. I just roll up my sleeves, crack my knuckles, throw a smile my enemy's way, and then get to work. End of story.

Just Follow Your Nose

Like I said before, Hell smells like shit. That's why I love going up to Earth so much--it smells so fucking GOOD there! I practically cream my jeans (no joke!) every time I get a gig up there. Aside from our usual misdirection runs, Dorian and I also get hired to hunt down the occasional escaped human soul. It's more a matter of pride than anything else that makes us go after them; if we demons have to put up with Hell, then so do they--period. It's pretty damn funny how easy they are to find--I have a bit of a hyperactive sense of smell, so that telltale stench of brimstone and sulfur gives them away every time. I remember one fugitive had the balls to call me "a mongrel" when he realized how I'd tracked him down; I took my sweet time with that stupid wise-ass before sending him on his way back home. He'd better pray I don't run into him again--death offers no relief in Hell.