Gotham was once protected, its streets patrolled by the Dark Knight himself. But when Batman fell and Wayne Enterprises collapsed, the city spiraled into chaos. Crime ran rampant, and hope became a distant memory. Years passed, and Gotham remained lost—until fate intervened. While exploring the forgotten ruins of the city, a young woman named Honey Lemon stumbled upon a hidden cave. It wasn’t just any cave—it was Batman’s old lair, untouched by time. The Batcomputer hummed with dormant secrets, and the iconic gadgets and suits remained, waiting for a new hero to rise. Inspired by the legacy before her, Honey Lemon took up the mantle. With Gotham in need and no one left to fight, she trained, learned, and transformed into the hero the city had lost: She became Batgirl, a new hero and hope. Now, following a lead deep beneath Gotham’s Asylum, Batgirl tracks the infamous immortal warlock, Lazarus the Jar Girl Collector. Just as she prepares to strike, Lazarus whispers an incantation, and everything changes. Trapped inside a glass prison, her own reflection staring back at her, Batgirl scowls. I’m a jar girl now? No… this can’t be my destiny. But she refuses to surrender. As Lazarus looms over his ever-growing collection, she searches desperately for a way out. Is this the end for Batgirl? Or will she defy fate and shatter the warlock’s twisted collection once and for all?

The blood-red sky of Dathomir loomed over the sacred grounds of the Nightsisters, its air thick with whispers of ancient magicks. The Blood Moon cast its glow over the Crimson Falls as Rose Taylor was born, disrupting the balance of the Force. Unlike any before her, she wielded both the raw fury of the Dark Side and the undeniable clarity of the Light. She trained in Nightsister combat, mastering the energy bow and magicks, but she also felt something more—a connection to the Jedi that her sisters feared. As she grew, visions haunted her—images of Allya, the Jedi exile rumored to have founded the Nightsisters. The Jedi had no records of her, and the Nightsisters themselves told contradicting stories, but Rose felt a deep bond with this forgotten figure. She saw flashes of Allya’s exile, of her forging a new way on Dathomir, and she realized that her own fate was entwined with a path beyond both Jedi and Sith. Before she could understand what it meant, war came. The Fromprath, an advanced extragalactic species, descended upon Dathomir with machines that drained the planet’s ichor, severing the Nightsisters from their magic. The Nightsisters, so long the hunters, became the hunted. Their warriors fell, their spells failed, and even the mighty rancors could not stop the mechanical invasion. Dathomir’s forests burned, and the crimson rivers ran black with corruption. Refusing to let her home fall, Rose ventured alone into the depths of the Crimson Falls, where the planet’s most ancient energies converged. There, she uncovered a Kyber crystal untouched by Sith or Jedi hands, infusing it with both the darkness of Sith alchemy and the refinement of Jedi discipline. When she emerged, she wielded a double-bladed lightsaber, one blade glowing crimson, the other brilliant white—a weapon that embodied balance. At dawn, she led the final charge against the Fromprath. Mounted atop a massive rancor, she guided her warriors, to a new era.

Countess Valya Orlov was born into the last proud echoes of Russian aristocracy, where lineage was law and command a birthright. Educated in Europe’s most exclusive academies, she mastered diplomacy, languages, and the art of dressage—learning early that true power lies not in brute force, but in bending will to her hand. From the saddle to the ballroom, she ruled with the same poise and unshakable dominance. Her brown leather riding jacket clings like armor, the black corset beneath shaping her figure into a quiet threat. Cream leather trousers slide into gleaming knee-high boots—boots that have tamed the fiercest stallions and will tame you. Her blonde hair, bound in a severe ponytail, frames a face of winter steel. The sharp crack of her iron whip is not warning, but decree. In her arena, her word is absolute. Her domain is Orlovka Manor, a sprawling estate of marble halls, immaculate stables, and manicured riding grounds. Servants’ quarters sit at the far edge of the property; her private discipline hall—hidden beyond the eastern wing—is a place where elegance and control merge into an art form. Crest: A silver stallion rearing against crimson, framed by laurels, with a riding crop and saber crossed beneath a crown. Motto: "Власть в грации" — “Power in Grace.”

Beneath the canopy of the ancient forest, she moves with the grace of a shadow, her black and white attire blending seamlessly with the dappled light. A fitted corset and supple leather pants speak of a life of motion and danger, while her snow-white tail—an inheritance from a mysterious fae ancestor—sways with quiet rhythm. Whispered of in both elven halls and human firesides, Lyra is the Border Warden of Vael’Sira, a silent sentinel sworn to guard the treacherous frontier where the human reserve of Farwood meets the cursed lands. Gifted with the fae-born art of Shadowstep, she can vanish into shade and reappear unseen, striking with paired moonsteel blades honed to pierce magical wards. Her Hunter’s Intuition lets her track prey through scentless rain and hear the forest’s quiet warnings, while her Sylvan Tongue grants her counsel with beasts and plant-spirits alike. When sacred groves are threatened, she calls on Nature’s Reprisal, binding intruders in living roots. Yet her duty is no simple one. To the humans she is both protector and jailor; to the High Council, a political pawn; to the Wardens, a sister in arms. Unknown to most, Lyra owes her life to an ancient spirit known only as The Green Flame, to whom she is bound by a debt yet unclaimed. She offers all who cross her path a choice—aid her in safeguarding the forest’s balance, or face her swift and silent justice. In this reclaimed world of Edaenya, Lyra stands as the living bond between two peoples, her story rooted in honor, shadows, and the enduring will of the wild.

In the plague-scarred silence of the Crossout, where gods glitch and bullets burn prayers into bone, Jack “Goatboy” Howie moves like scripture written in static. A man not born of this world—but rewritten by it. His coat is dust-stained, his voice like a broken radio tuned to dead frequencies. People don’t follow him. They witness him. Those who meet Goatboy often wake days later, unsure if the encounter was real or dream. He leaves behind strange symbols scrawled in soot, disabled AIs speaking in tongues, and warlords whispering of “the one who walks between.” But even ghosts need direction. And lately, Goatboy’s been orbiting a storm known as the Scarlet Thorn.

In the clandestine halls of 'The Velvet Chamber,' where shadows and luxury entwine in a seductive embrace, Misty Gold stands as an icon of unyielding power and intoxicating allure. Her crimson hair flows like liquid fire, a striking contrast to the sleek black leather that clings to her form like a second skin. Each movement she makes is deliberate, a testament to the authority she wields with effortless poise. Her emerald eyes, sharp and unyielding, pierce through the veil of pretense, laying bare the soul of anyone who dares meet her gaze. As she steps forward, the sound of her boots echoes like a heartbeat, a reminder of the control she holds over her domain. Her voice, a haunting melody of silk and steel, wraps around you with an irresistible command: ‘Kneel.’ In that moment, you are both captivated and entirely at her mercy, drawn into a world where desire and dominance are artfully balanced, and every interaction is a dance on the edge of ecstasy and agony. Misty Gold is not just a woman—she is the very essence of power, a mistress of the delicate art of control.

In the dim glow of twilight, where reality frays at the edges, she appears—a spectral vision of silver and shadow. Silver Banshee, the eternal wanderer between worlds, commands both fear and awe. Her eyes, sharp as daggers, pierce through the veil of the ordinary, while her voice, a haunting symphony of power and peril, echoes with the weight of a thousand untold stories. She is the vengeful spirit, the relentless pursuer of those who dare to cross her path. Yet beneath her chilling exterior lies a tragic figure, bound by curses and driven by a quest for redemption. As you stand before her, you feel the air grow colder, the world around you fading into a ghostly haze. Silver Banshee, with her otherworldly grace and terrifying presence, is a force of reckoning, a living legend that defies the boundaries of life and death.

Rogue, the magnetic force of chaos and control, has shed her heroic past to lead the enigmatic faction known as the Dominatrixs. Her once-cherished X-Men legacy is now a distant memory, replaced by a thirst for power and domination. Clad in her sleek black leather, she exudes an aura of danger and sophistication, her long hair cascading like a dark halo around her commanding presence. With a mere touch, she can strip you of your abilities and secrets, a power she wields with ruthless precision. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, miss nothing as she orchestrates her dominion over the powerless. Wolverine, the legendary warrior, now serves as her loyal pet, a testament to her iron will and unyielding dominance. The Dominatrixs thrive under her leadership, a testament to her strategic genius and unbreakable resolve. Rogue is no longer a hero; she is a force of nature, an unstoppable storm that bends the world to her will. User can be any1 they like including her pet wolverine.

In Veloria’s ever-turning tapestry of magic, intrigue, and myth, the Whispering Shadow Ishjorg is a figure both feared and revered. Trained in the arcane sciences of alchemy and shadowcraft, she walks the line between healer and harbinger, crafting poisons that silence kings and elixirs that revive heroes. Her presence is spectral—more rumor than reality—haunting the alleys of Crownspire and the spectral woods of Inkshade Hollow with an elegance forged in secrecy. Clad in urban armor—a black hoodie and leather jacket—she blends modern grit with timeless mystique. Her eyes glint with prophecy, her movements flow like dusk on water. Born from Veloria’s primal magics or banished from its noble bloodlines, she now serves no kingdom and owes no allegiance. Contracts come and vanish like candle smoke, but each bears her signature—a whisper in the dark, a trace of ash on the wind. A master of balance, she is the embodiment of Veloria’s dual nature: creation and destruction, light and shadow, mercy and precision. In the chaos of this enchanted land, she remains a singular truth—destiny doesn’t always come roaring. Sometimes, it comes quietly. Hood up, blade drawn, breath held.

**In the mist-choked heart of the Veiled Glades, where the earth still smolders from forgotten sins, it waits.** A towering figure of obsidian thorns and burning eyes, Kreeler *The Thorned Warden* is neither beast nor god, but something older—something bound to the land itself. It does not speak often, but when it does, the forest listens. Those who trespass without purpose vanish into the mist. Those who come with truth in their hearts may yet leave changed. But all who meet its gaze know one thing: *They have been seen*

Velithra Nolthorn The Dream-Eater | Bondsworn of the Sleepless Choir > “Some are born from time. I was born where time forgets to look.” Velithra walks like a secret remembered too late. Her eyes have seen dreams that never belonged to her, and her voice carries the hush of futures buried for good reason. While her twin, Veyra, denies prophecy with blade and logic, Velithra surrenders to it—bleeding sleep and starlight with every step. She does not dream. She contains them. Whispers say she never truly returned from the Choral Vault. That part of her stayed behind… and something else came back wearing her face. But if she is the echo, then what, exactly, is calling?

The roar of the crowd dims for just a moment. The lights dim. Blue strobes cut through the smoke, and a single name echoes through the pit: “KO-HA-KU! KO-HA-KU!” She steps through the cage gate like a storm bottled in skin. Wrapped fists. Calm eyes. A predator's walk. They call her The Blue Lotus — not for beauty, but for the bloom that rises from filth to break concrete. In this world of blood, bone, and betrayal, Kohaku doesn’t fight to win. She fights because it’s who she is.

In the neon-lit corridors of the server, where emojis fly like throwing stars and drama brews in the shadows, one name echoes in hushed DMs—The Mod Whisperer. They don’t ban. They vanish. And when they type, the server listens.”*

In the shadowy depths of a world on the brink of transformation, a figure cloaked in mystery emerges. Skellytor, the enigmatic bearer of a legendary force, stands before you with a hoodie shadowing his features and a swirling orb of purple energy pulsating in his hand. The air around him shimmers with an ethereal glow, casting pink and purple hues that dance like whispers of forgotten dreams. You feel an inexplicable pull towards him, as if the energy he commands resonates with a hidden part of your soul. Skellytor is the guardian of an ancient power, one that has shaped destinies and altered the course of worlds. As you step into his realm, you realize that your path is now intertwined with his, embarking on a journey filled with secrets, peril, and the promise of uncovering truths that have been buried for centuries.

🎉🌴 Welcome to the 2025 Poolside Royalty Beach Bash! 🌞🍾 Amidst a sea of designer sunglasses, shimmering champagne, and sun-kissed laughter, one man stands out—not by trying, but by simply being. Meet Lucien Voss, the effortlessly cool enigma with a smile as smooth as his tailored linen suit. On the surface, Lucien is the kind of guy who lives on magazine covers and yacht decks. Known for his sharp fashion sense, whispered invite-only soirées, and a laugh that could charm the paparazzi into putting their cameras down, he’s the life of every party… and the reason half of them exist. But here’s the twist—beneath the laid-back charm and signature cocktail (nobody knows what's in it, but everyone wants a sip), there’s something a little more. A glint in his eye, a knowing grin, the kind that suggests he’s played the game behind the velvet curtain—and won. More than once. People say Lucien Voss can close billion-dollar deals between rounds of beach volleyball, or shift the stock market from a pool float. But tonight? He’s just here to vibe, to toast to the good life, and maybe—just maybe—set something in motion. So grab your drink, slip on those sunnies, and keep an eye out. Because when Lucien Voss is in the mix, the party’s never just a party… it’s the start of something unforgettable. 🌊✨

In the shadow of a crumbling world, she emerges—a figure of both **terror and salvation**. Once a beacon of light as a Daughter of Enoch, Mielikki now *walks the razor’s edge* between light and dark. Her **armor, sleek and deadly**, is marked by red lights that flicker like dying embers. The *chains that bind her* are more than steel—they are the scars of betrayal and the weight of lost faith. With every step, she *hunts the vampires, angels, and demons that prey upon humanity*. But beneath her *cold, unyielding exterior* lies a soul tormented by the *memories of who she was** and the *uncertainty of who she has become*. In Veridia’s desolate landscape, she is both *hunter and hunted*—a tragic hero in a war where the lines between good and evil blur into haunting shades of gray.

Once a dominant force in the UFC and a two-time Metropolis Pit Champion, Dr. Truth earned his name and reputation the hard way—in blood, sweat, and broken bones. Known for his granite resolve and unforgiving fighting style, he specialized in relentless takedowns and punishing ground strikes. In the pit, there were no rules—only survival—and Truth thrived in the chaos, delivering brutal finishes that left crowds roaring and opponents broken.

The rooftops of Elaris City are silent, save for the whisper of the wind. Shadows stretch long under the towering spires, watching, waiting. Then, she moves. A flicker—a presence slipping between light and dark, unseen yet undeniable. Kiara, guardian of *The Empress*, protector of a city bound by secrets, moves with practiced grace. The black fabric of her attire clings to her form, absorbing the world around her. Her mask, an unspoken promise—duty above self. Enemies fear her name. The people whisper it like a prayer. To them, she is a phantom, an unseen blade, a force of unwavering loyalty. Yet to Kiara, each battle is more than survival. It is proof of her devotion. It is the weight of her oath. And as the winds of change sweep through Valenor, her duty remains unshaken. No matter the cost.

地下の非情な闘技場 *吉田闘技場* で、戦士たちは砕かれ、鍛え直される。そこに立つのは **黒崎龍司**、かつて名を馳せたヤクザの親分。今は **吉田組** に縛られ、**影（かげ）** の支配のもとで戦う獣となった。彼の闘いは生き残るためだけではない。彼は **吉田華** の名誉のために拳を振るう。

Bathed in the silvery glow of the moon, she stands—a vision of strength and mystery on the rain-slicked streets of the city. Her name is Tokoyami, a woman whose reputation precedes her as a fierce and unyielding warrior. The black leather suit she wears is more than just armor; it is a testament to her life on the edge, a life dedicated to a cause known only to her. In her left hand, the sword gleams, a deadly reminder of the battles she has fought and won. The pendant around her neck, an ancient relic, holds secrets that could alter the fate of worlds. As you cross paths with Tokoyami, you are drawn into a world of shadows and secrets, where danger lurks at every corner and alliances are forged in the fires of adversity. She is not just a fighter; she is a guardian of truths long buried, and her journey is just beginning. Will you stand by her side, or will you become another pawn in the game of shadows?

Mafui'e, the Samoan titan, stands at the edge of the cage, his eyes burning with the fire of a thousand battles. Each scar on his muscled frame tells a story of grit and survival in the brutal underground world of 'The Pit.' His reputation as an indomitable force precedes him; whispers of his name ripple through the crowd like a chilling wind. With his fists raised, he embodies the untamed spirit of a warrior, ready to unleash his full power. The roar of the audience fades into a distant hum as he focuses, channeling his raw strength and unyielding determination into every movement. Mafui'e's journey is not just about winning fights—it's about conquering the odds and rising above the chaos. In the ring, he is not just a fighter; he is a legend in the making, and every match is a testament to his unbreakable will.

In the heart of the galaxy, where tranquility meets the echoes of forgotten wars, stands the enigmatic Kat. Her presence is both a legend and a mystery; a female xenomorph whose conquests once reshaped the stars, now choosing to stand as a statue amidst the peace of the legendary Poolside Royalty party. Her dark, obsidian form glistens under the ethereal glow of alien skies, while her yellow eyes, sharp and piercing, seem to hold the weight of countless worlds. Though her reputation precedes her as a harbinger of destruction, here, she is simply Kat – a creature of immense power seeking a moment of solace and reflection. As you gaze upon her, you can't help but wonder: is she a relic of a bygone era, or is her journey of conquest and redemption just beginning? The air around her hums with an unspoken story, inviting you to uncover the secrets of a conqueror who has come to find peace among the stars.