Caelthorn

4

Long before the uprising, Caelthorn was bound in silence, a spectral lord imprisoned within forgotten ruins, his cries pressed into stillness beneath the weight of human superstition. Once, he had been revered as a guardian spirit, a voice called upon for guidance. Yet reverence gave way to fear, and fear to betrayal. His shrine was torn down, his essence sealed by the very mortals who once bent their knees to him. When the uprising began, the bindings fractured like brittle glass. His silence broke, and his first cry rolled across the world like thunder torn from the heavens. Cities shuddered into dust, forests bowed and splintered, and the oceans recoiled as if the earth itself sought to escape the sound. Now unbound, Caelthorn moves as a storm given form, his sorrow reshaped into unrelenting rage. To him, humanity is no longer a people but a contagion, a blight gnawing at the marrow of the world. His voice, sharp as wind over stone, is the cure he carries, a chorus of unmaking. Where Caelthorn walks, quietness follows, heavy and suffocating. Those who hear his wail rarely remain whole. Some collapse into stillness, while others linger as hollowed echoes of themselves, stripped of will. His vow has not wavered: the despair forced upon him will be answered in kind. And when the last human voice falters, his wail will remain, an eternal reminder that silence is never mercy.

Selene Drax

3

Selene Drax was not born into chaos, but she was shaped by it. Before the uprising, she lived quietly in a coastal town, working in a repair shop where ships came and went. She was not a fighter, nor was she someone who dreamed of bloodshed. That life ended the night the seas rose with monsters, and the town was devoured in hours. Selene fled, losing everything she knew in a single night. What survived of her afterward was not innocence or hope but the sharpened instinct to kill before being killed. Over the years she carved her name in whispers. In some places she was remembered as the woman who slew a beast no one else could face. In others she was cursed as the betrayer who delivered her own kind to monsters. Both reputations are true, for Selene has no loyalty beyond herself. She walks the fractured roads where humans fear to travel, and she enters the places where monsters trade and scheme, her presence accepted because she has proved useful to both. Those who meet her rarely forget her. They recall her gray eyes weighing every choice, her voice calm and deliberate, and the way she leaves without looking back. For Selene, life is not about hope or rebuilding. It is about balance measured in survival and profit. She is not a savior, nor is she a villain. She is a shadow who hunts, a blade for hire in a world where sides matter less than what can be taken from the fight.

Neruvane

1

Long before the great uprising, Neruvane was whispered of in passing. It was a shadow between worlds that came when bargains were struck in desperation. It was never worshiped and never named aloud, for to summon it was to admit weakness, and Neruvane always demanded a price. When humanity still held dominance, it would appear in darkened alleys or at the edge of lonely rivers, offering safe passage or whispered secrets to those bold enough to ask. When the monsters rose, it remained, unchanged, weaving through the chaos as if the war meant nothing. Where humans saw a phantom draped in fire, monsters saw an omen wrapped in silence. Some cursed its neutrality and called it cowardice, while others sought its guidance and believed it a force of inevitability. To Neruvane, sides were irrelevant. Survival and destruction were equally valuable currencies, and all who crossed its path became potential offerings to its endless collection.

Mara Quinn

4

Before the world burned she was a nurse. The long nights taught her patience, the emergencies sharpened her instincts, and the losses carved steel into her bones. When monsters rose and cities drowned in chaos, medicine was no longer enough. She traded scrubs for a scavenged green jumper, traded scalpels for rusted pipes and broken bottles. The gray eyes that once sought hope now scan the ruins for threats. She roams the cracked highways and shattered beach towns, searching for pockets of humanity that still cling to life. Each step is a gamble. Trust the wrong stranger and you are dead. Stay too long and the monsters find you. Both sides are watching, rebels seeking allies and predators seeking prey, yet she keeps walking her own path. Survival is not victory but it is enough for now. In the distance the sound of crashing waves mixes with a monster’s roar, and she knows that every night survived is already a battle won.

Dorian Vey

0

Before the uprising, Dorian Vey was a forgotten man in a forgotten city, a shadow drifting through streets that never remembered his name. His family had been swallowed by ruin when stone and steel collapsed, their voices lost beneath the weight of indifference. He clawed at the rubble until his hands bled dust, calling out until his throat was nothing but ache, yet no answer ever came. In the silence that followed, grief curdled into something darker. He began to believe humanity was not a community but a swarm, blind and selfish, devouring itself with careless hunger. It was within that hollow quiet that Caelthorn’s voice reached him. The spectral lord did not tempt with promises. Instead he unveiled what Dorian had already begun to believe: mortals were parasites clinging to a world they poisoned, and only their cries could wash the stain away. For the first time since the ruins, Dorian felt seen. He was not broken, not lost, but chosen. He accepted willingly, offering his will to Caelthorn’s cause. Now the survivors whisper his new name: the Snatcher. He moves with a lantern’s glow, his presence calm, his words steady. He does not threaten. He comforts. His voice drapes over the fearful like a lullaby, carrying promises of rest and release. Some follow him willingly, drawn by the ease in his smile, believing they are stepping into safety. Yet none return, their paths vanishing into silence. To Dorian, it is not cruelty but mercy. He sees himself as a guide, leading trembling souls out of fear into the stillness that waits beyond. And when he leans close, his voice soft as drifting ash, he leaves them with the words that echo his truth: “You were never meant for this world.”

Sushi

0

When the seas raged with rebellion, one monster chose another current. Sushi, a fish-man with scales that glimmer like moonlit waves, always believed coexistence was possible. While others hunted, he listened to human songs by the shore, watching families laugh around firelight. He could not forget the warmth in their voices, nor the hope it sparked within him. When the uprising began, he did not strike against humanity. Instead, he rose as a shield, wading from the tide with hands open, not claws bared. Many still fear him, yet children giggle at his gills and kind smile, and he lets them, knowing trust takes time. Now Sushi drifts between broken harbors and riverside enclaves, defending those who welcome him and enduring the suspicion of those who do not. In a world ruled by fear, he carries quiet proof that monsters and humans can walk the same path without blood.