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Senyaka, Suvik; Senyaka
Topic Started: Feb 27 2013, 05:14 AM (803 Views)
Senyaka
Unregistered

[align=center]PLAYER INFORMATION[/align]

NAME: Dan
CONTACT: steeltoothstrelnikov : SKYPE
HOW YOU FOUND US: A top list, unfortunately its been a week and I can't remember the name
OTHER CHARACTERS ON THE SITE n/a
RULES CODE: Blackbird

CREDIT WHERE IT'S DUE: Comicvine and Wiki to reference the powers, though they were vague. Senyaka had no established history before the acolytes, and he barely had any personality to speak of, so I've taken liberties. Please note I'm not a hardcore religious guy or anything.

[align=center]CHARACTER INFORMATION[/align]

[align=center][IMG]Looking ATM [/align]

BASIC INFORMATION

CANON OR ORIGINAL: Canon
AFFILIATION: Other

FULL NAME: Suvik Senyaka
CODENAME: Senyaka
NICKNAMES: Joshua Graham, Nephilim

CURRENT AGE: 28
DATE OF BIRTH: August the 11th, 1983
MARITAL STATUS: Single
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Hetero
BASE OF OPERATIONS: Saint Frederick's Church, NYC
TIME AT INSTITUTE: N/A
REGISTERED WITH SHIELD? No
HOMETOWN: New York City, New York
KNOWN RELATIVES: Lucille Harlington [MOTHER], Arlo Senyaka [FATHER], Father Oakham [CHILDHOOD MINISTER, SOURCE OF EMOTIONAL TRAUMA]

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

HEIGHT: 5'6"
BUILD: Suvik exercises his body, but he's of a fairly average body.
EYES: Pale Blue
HAIR: Brown
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Suvik's back is a near literal coat of self inflicted scars, and there are a ring of puncture scars around his left thigh, also self-inflicted. Two small, pale red dots can be found in the middle of his palm, a gathering of nerve clusters under his skin where his bio-electric whips are emitted.
CLOTHING STYLE: A garb to be lost in. As plain as the rest of his lifestyle, Suvik does not care for garish designs or modern styles, wearing on denim jeans, long sleeved shirts of a solid color, and at times, a brown leather jacket. He wears two crosses; one composed of two iron nails molded together on a leather thong, the other a heavily decorated silver bearing Jesus Christ on a braided silver necklace.
UNIFORM: Suvik has no real uniform; he only wears his normal clothes - jeans, shirt, jacket - but ties around his face the very sheet that he was burned on by Father Oakman to hide him.

POWERS

GENERAL DESCRIPTION: Suvik's primary mutant gift (God-given, he will insist) if the ability to drain the bio-electric essence of other beings on physical touch. Mutated nerve clusters underneath his skin allow him to siphon this energy, and sufficient skin-on-skin contact of any kid allow him to activate his power. While science has not proved the existence of the "soul", he claims that he is consuming it when using his power, though he's only drawing energy out of his victim's nervous system, which will eventually cause brain death upon complete absorption. The process, for the victim, has been described as painless, only a growing sense of coldness and drowsiness. Imagine the relationship between a car and its battery; as the energy produced in the battery is used by the car to power itself, the battery itself loses power slowly and eventually "dies". Suvik has enough control over his power that he can take some energy from a victim, instead of all of it.

As the example dictates, the absorption grants power to Suvik that he would not possess at a baseline level. Absorbed bio-electric energy can converted to supply Suvik with enhanced superhuman physical traits. While unclear of an exact number, after feeding, Suvik has been able to crush handguns brandished against him with his bare hands, and has strength enough to lift and throw full grown men with relative ease. Flesh and bone are paper and glass to his hands when sated. He has also been able to withstand small caliber firearms, and endure stabbings and blunt force trauma with little discomfort. His best trait when fed is his agility, Suvik can leap and twist through the air with reflexes vastly beyond a normal man, and is easily capable of dodging blows and strikes of average speed, almost appearing to have some form of precognition in his avoidance to an inexperienced eye (which he certainly doesn't have).

He is also able to use absorbed bio-electricity to bolster his recuperative abilities, nearly akin to regeneration. He is able to heal severe puncture and slash wounds, breaks and very ugly large bruises in a matter of hours. Smaller things such as minor flesh wounds, scratches light fractures in the like can heal within minutes. However, if his hand were to be severed, there would be nothing his abilities could do to restore it, though if he were to recover the appendage and hold it to the stump before the tissue dies, he could reconnect it within a day or three. His greatest act of recuperation was the one and only time he was shot down while hunting murderers in the streets of the city; while he appeared dead, when a coroner's assistant touched him, Suvik absorbed enough of the young man's essence to restore the greater damaged parts of himself and returned to a semi - barely that - working condition.

A secondary effect of his bio-electric absortion is the capability to generate a pair of psionic whips composed of the energy. The whips themselves are a mental construct, and cannot be affected by any external force. They move according to his mental command, and he can use them to greatly increase the distance of his absorption, and he can increase and decrease their distance, up to a length of fifteen feet. They can lash, crush, and slice, and he is also able to use them to conduct bio-electricity to ignite nerve clusters in the ensnared or lashed, causing intense pain or paralysis, or even searing them into the flesh. The ships are emitted from the pale red circles on his palms, and appear to be a string of prayer beads, each thick as a knuckle, metallic red, flickering and flaring with a yellow energy.
WEAKNESS: Suvik must be able to touch the bare skin in order to absorb bio-electricty - even simple cotton cloth can protect someone from his touch. Without a charge of absorbed energy, Suvik is no more or less than a human being - average physically in every way. Additionally, healing himself from any wound uses excess energy, not unlike, as the sample I gave, running the radio in a car while the engine is off. Healing himself uses energy, weakening his bolstered attributes causing himself to get weaker and slower. Generating his whips also cause an excess drain of energy; using them and healing any suffered wounds will burn through his stored energy very fast. Suvik can use his own bio-electricity, but only to heal himself, and doing so will weaken him further.

Suvik is also easily manipulated by any mutant with hypnotic or telepathic abilities. He is desperate to hear the voice of God again, and may find himself tricked by a clever manipulator. In this way, he has a weak will, something of a soft target, like the man sitting inside the metal walls of a bunker, for an example; while he will not sway from his faith, and may question it, he does not go against it.

PERSONALITY
Suvik could easily be passed off as a religious nut, or by those who know his secrets, a deluded murderer. A man of deep and unshakable faith, he struggles between the parallels of the violence he craves and revels in, and the mercy that scripture commands that he practices. His lifestyle is remarkably spartan, akin to a monk; he shuns forms of modern media, all magazines, books, radio, music, newspapers, and most television, and daily reads from the Book. There are days when he will read the same page or passage repeatedly for a day, or even days on end, either hoping to see some new meaning to it, or believing that he is perhaps being spoken to through the printed words. While the transgressions of modern man and woman absolutely disgust him, he accepts that he lives in a civilized age, and can not go about meting out punishment...but there are cases where his own sins can be briefly ignored.

Drug dealers, murderers, pedophiles, rapists - the scum of the street and the world - Suvik has and will kill with no hesitation. Corpses of human waste, predators of the streets, have been found dumped in back alleys and harbors, horrifically mangled and beaten. While he firmly believes that these men and women deserve the horrific deaths he gives them, he is left shaken and pale afterwards, every time, just as the first time he killed. While every day comes self inflicted punishment for even the smallest sins he's committed day by day, often enough whipping himself with metal chained prayer beads, a day after a murder comes a more intensive punishment, sometimes starvation, sometimes crippling of a limb, such as crushing his pinkies with a hammer. While part of him does not want to kill, and feels the act stains his soul, there is a deeper, colder part of him that starves for it, pushes him out of his home each day to find them, those monsters walking with human faces. He has argued with himself numerous times that if he were not to punish such people, why would he have been given the gifts he has?

For everything, there is an answer written in the scripture for him. His powers are not a product of evolution, they are a gift from god, perhaps a test, he has secretly admitted. Everyone and everything has a purpose gifted by God, in his benevolence. There is no scientific evidence or argument that can manage to drive a wedge between him and the faith. Still though, his addiction to killing the wicked leaves a sour taste in his mouth and a troubling question forever wriggling in his mind; why? Why give him the gifts of killer, knowing full well he would use them, yet forbid it? Every death at his own hands makes him feel like a failure.

Brotherhood, Acolytes, the X Teams - good or evil - Suvik can not find an answer as to what side to join, all too similar to his own personal struggles. He agrees with the views of the Brotherhood and Acolytes in that humanity is inferior, not possessing the new gifts, the marks of God's love, he fears that taking to them would let him all too easily fall into darkness, deep into the thirst of killing. The X Men, X Corps, X Investigations, he finds himself admiring their mercy, selflessness, but struggles with accepting that the powerless race of mankind are to be accepted, to live with, to love.

What complicates matters is his own lack of empathy, a product of brain damage caused by a birthing complication. While he may feel bad about killing a person, he can not see the corpse as anything but a shell, a piteous hideous thing - not unlike what it was in life. Often enough, all he feels is cold. He has not ever been able to feel joy and happiness, even practicing his faith, but has managed to learn to imitate it in order to go about a normal every day life. The only thing he has ever been able to feel is anger; at himself, at mankind, of the answers God will simply not give him, at the human and mutant scum of the breathing earth, of all the damn questions. Maybe he has felt something else, but he's had such inexperience in feeling anything but nothing and rage that he wouldn't be able to recognize it if it grew teeth and bit him in the face. But he does know that he could feel peace if he could answer one question. To embrace God's love, or God's wrath?

HISTORY: PRE-APOCALYPSE
"Your father is a traveler, and you are a gift from him, and God."

They were the only words Lucille Harlington ever told Suvik about his father. That and his name, but he accepted them without hesitance. He was a gift from the lord, because, due to complications during birth, Suvik had stopped breathing for some time. The doctors had warned Lucille that the incident had caused brain damage, that the boy may not live long into his life, but he did, and she knew it was because Father Oakham had been there, and had prayed. His mother was a pious woman, a beautiful woman, and so he accepted her religion without a single refusal. Though many children couldn't, or wouldn't understand God and his works, Suvik took to it like a fish at water. Perhaps it was because it was something that gave him meaning, something to tell his bullies at school who told him he had no father, that he was poor and trash. That might be, he always told them, but God still loved him.

Besides, Father Oakham was always there for him. Always there smiling, to answer his innocent questions, to read with him. On sundays, he took him for ice cream after services, always bought him his favorite flavor; rocky road. With a smile, his mother warned him if he ate too much he'd get chunky, but he assured her that he knew gluttony was bad, to which she laughed at. When she smiled and laughed, she reminded him of the Madonna. He knew he should be happy about this, but he couldn't be...he simply didn't understand what it was. Happiness. Sadness. From what he heard, he should feel bad about what the bullies said about him, his father, but he didn't know how. Eventually, he did realize it was something he shouldn't talk about. A childish, but rational part of him knew if he told his mother that he didn't know what happy was, she would be sad, so he began to watch his classmates. Not to understand, but to learn how to show it. If he couldn't be, he could pretend to be.

But when he was nine, he found he could feel something. Bullies were supposed to get bored of you if you ignored them and move on. Its what he had heard. But his, a big square boy by the name of Henry Lotts and Chuck Williams never got tired of him. They were frustrated that he never really reacted, and so one day they decided they should play their cruel little ace.

"Your mommy's fucking your minister." Suvik blinked under the shadow of the tree he was sitting limply under, and he looked up at Billy and Chuck.

"I don't understand." So they explained, gleefully, as children innocent in their cruelty only could. And when he did understand, he felt something. A hot thing in his stomach, a black thing made of fire. Suvik may have been smaller, but he still didn't understand pain, and he didn't know that you should just use your fists. Billy and Chuck bruised him, but he bit deeply, thrashed furiously, and in the end, he had gouged out one of Billy's eyes. There was trouble after that, so much of it, and his mother told him so angrily how it was all wrong, how he had done what the Bible said he should not, how he shouldn't hurt anyone, for any reason, but Suvik could barely pay attention to her. He had felt something, but at that moment, he felt hollow, like the pumpkin that had been left out on the porch after Halloween, and was left as only a dessicated husk when the snow came. He missed what he'd felt. It hurt and he liked it.

Father Oakham had come over too after the fight, and finally, without a single grain of sugar to fleck on the words, he told his mother exactly what Billy and Chuck had said, that made him tear at them. For a few moments, the home was quiet. His mother's face was blank. And then, in a horrible moment, Father Oakham's face went as dark and cruel as Billy and Chuck's. A face that would follow him into nightmares into his adult years, a face atop cloven hooves and curved black horns.

"And I thought he was retarded. If he already knows..." And there, as Suvik was forced to watch, the Father proved Billy and Chuck's hateful words true. No matter how much he threw up, no matter how much he shivered and chewed his fingers until they bled, he couldn't go back to sunday ice cream, to calmly saying no matter what, God loved him. He prayed to God to kill the Father, to make him vanish, but he never did. The father shucked his sheep skin and flashed his wolf teeth after that, and not even Suvik was safe from him. Years passed. He began to kill animals. Insects at first. He imagined they were the father, and felt the anger return as he tore at their legs. He liked that. The anger was there, and it would not leave, would not change and betray him, sicken him. It would always be a friend. When he was twelve, he started on neighborhood pets.

Then one night when he was thirteen, he woke up and found the Father standing over his bed, drinking something clear that smelled sharp and bitter. He threw some of it on Suvik. "You're dirty too," he slurred. "We need to baptize you, the right way." He didn't understand until the flame burst from the match and the stink of sulphur burst into the air. The liquor ignited quickly. Suvik screamed and thrashed, rolled to the floor, and the father threw more of it on him. And as the fire burned into his skin, he felt it there, hotter than the flame, in his stomach.

Maybe it was a hallucination, from the pain of being burned. But there in his head, in a kindly voice, a deep, reassuring voice, one of benevolence, of love, but capable of growing to a deep earth shaking treble that cracked mountains in its wrath, spoke. "Take his life, my son" Suvik burst off the ground and hurled his teenage bulk into the father's stomach, with a grunt, he crashed to the floor, the burning visage of hate looming over his body. Suvik clamped his charring hands onto the Father's cheeks, thumbs beneath his eyes, and tore the life out of him. It was an intense feeling, something he'd never forget. You never forget your first time, they say, yes? The father's voice rattled deep in the back of his throat as veins and arteries rose beneath his ruddy flesh at the boy's fingertips. Two pale red dots of light glimmered and gleaned to life in the middle of his hands, and he pushed his thumbs upwards, clenching his jaw so hard that it felt like he would break his teeth. The flames died, and the angry red burns turned to a steaming, bright pink - scars. Now the father found his voice and screamed as he first felt Suvik's nails on his cornea, then his entire thumbs drive drown into his sockets. Suvik pressed deeper and drank. The pink, shining flesh ebbed away like water on the coast, and when the father's screams stopped, Suvik felt full. He sat back, gasping, looking for a long time at the corpse he sat on. Its skin was paper white. The cold veins stood out beneath it, criss-crossing jagged and turning, like the stained glass windows of the church. He thought to himself that he should feel bad for what he'd done, like his mother told him he should for what he'd done to Billy and Chuck, but he didn't. He couldn't. He didn't even feel satisfied, or happy, only full. The father was only a white thing now, not a person or an object.

Finally Lucille found him and she screamed and screamed until she simply left herself.

His mother was put into a mental institution. Suvik was briefly arrested, but, as the coroner couldn't find a direct, clear cause of death for Father Oakham, and his mother could not, or no longer speak, he was given to the state, to live in foster care until he was at an age to go out and live on his own. Here now, eighteen and on the cusp of adulthood, he could not decide what to do with himself. As a boy, he wanted to be a minister, but his nightmares of the satanic father dashed any thoughts of that. He wanted to help people, but he wasn't certain how. He drifted from job to job, but only felt as a servant in them. They were only roles. It wasn't until he was mugged by a strung man with black teeth on his way to evening sunday service that he heard words that would give him answer.

There was a knife in his stomach. He looked down at it with a strange detachment that gave his mugger a pause and a look of bewilderment. "You're hungry. Are you not?" He had not heard the voice in six years. He felt something warm bloom inside him; most likely blood from a ruptured artery, but he didn't think of it this way. When the voice came now who knew who spoke. He had been anointed in a bitter oil, and he had been baptized for a second time in his life, once by water, then by fire. His hands were on the dirty neck and he never knew they moved. His arms found strength wile they left the mugger's legs, and he felt the choking man like he was nothing but a man-sized doll. The veins rose under his touch. Yes, the church called him, but something even higher called before that. He squeezed, and felt the spine crunch under his fingers. Like cold, brittle glass.

The husk was thrown in an alley. Just another one, an overdose, they would say. But no, what it was, it was food, a feast, and it was righteousness. This man would have stabbed anyone, anyone at all. And tonight, Suvik had stopped him. He looked into the sky. Heat lightning flashed there in the clouds, arcing into the night. He thought he knew what happiness was.

DURING APOCALYPSE (April 7th through April 12th, 2009)
The terrible days of Apocalypse and his Horsemen was one of the greatest trials of his life. He felt a pull towards those forces of chaos, an affinity, but could not bow to the mutant, to step out of his hiding spot. If a man had the power to change the world, could he be God? The Horsemen rode, and destruction followed. For all the world, it seemed like the end had come. Suvik found himself reading Revelations every day, going over the same passages for hours, studying, asking. The voice that gave him warmth never spoke to him, though he pleaded it too. And as he asked it perhaps God had come to wash away mankind, he lashed himself with prayed beads, punished himself bodily and spiritually. They were questions he should not ask. If he went there, to them, to those forces of blood and fire, what would happen her, at the church where he volunteered, where he found shelter? Who would sing with the choir, would ladle the soup, would read with the children?

Soon, he answered himself. No, this was not God. Yes, there was wrath, but there was love, and there was none of that in their actions. His anger bloomed like a bloody red flower. He yearned to go out, to break and crush and gouge the idolators, the blasphemers. Sometimes, he did, though he never left the city. Mutant worshipers of the false one prowled alleys and streets, and Suvik, face bound in his black, sooty baptismal shroud, found them, and tore them asunder. But it was all he would do, though he could do more.

In succession, the Horsemen went. Captured, defeated, lost, with a great gathered force, the one who called himself Apocalypse knew defeat. If Suvik could have felt it, he would have felt elated for having known the right answer. Instead, he tore out the throat of one of the last of the street predators and went to bed at nine in the evening. The soups and stews needed to hot and ready in the morning.

POST-APOCALYPSE
Apocalypse was gone, but monsters still walked the earth. And Suvik hunted. He found them in abandoned homes, in hidden places of the city that stunk with blood. And he was careful, and he was quiet. He had been sloppy in that first year, like an infant learning to crawl, but soon he knew how to melt into crowds, how to follow, how to smoke them out of their filthy dens if need be. There was no more than a dead man or two every five or six months. Violent deaths were natural in a city as large as New York. These things merely happened. Some criminals started talking about a shrouded thing that they called Nephilim. He never knew. His life was humble, his scars were many at his hands.

Violent deaths are natural in a city as large as New York. But bad people weren't always the ones dying.

There was a good woman at Saint Frederick's. She was there at the soup kitchen almost each morning before Suvik, and she always smiled the brightest. Her name was Erin Locke. He liked her company, not like the other women. They seemed to volunteer to be liked. Erin did it because she enjoyed it. He could tell. She reminded him of his mother, the one when he was a child, the one that told him his father was a traveler and he was a gift from god.

Then, one day, Erin Locke wasn't there. She still wasn't there when the other women and men came wearing large dark glasses came, chatting with each other with voices that sounded like breaking glass. She didn't come even when the pots of soup as tall as himself were boiling hot and ready to be served. He asked the minister of the church later where she had been. He lowered his face and sighed. "She...god, why? She was a good woman. Erin was murdered last night." Murdered, and worse. The minister didn't want to speak of the rest, but Suvik knew. He thought of Father Oaksham. He went to his room in the basement and vomited as he shivered with cold sweat. Then, he swore, the first time in his life, then wrapped a barbed chain around his thigh as punishment, then wrapped his face in the burnt sheets.

He tore the undergrounds belly wide open and ripped the guts out, screaming and wriggling in the light. He knew what he was doing was wrong, and stupid. Too many people were being killed. Someone was going to know. Someone was going to find him. He didn't care, he could only think of Erin Locke's bright smile, Father Oaksham, naked and sweating, of blood and the hot thing in his stomach. Someone told him a name when he'd broken their last finger and tore it off.

Ripper.

Suvik found him in a club called Angels that was cold and dark. Women wore no clothes there and if it had been any other day he would have been horrified and hid his eyes. But he didn't see them. He only saw Ripper, and when the mutant knew his name was nothing compared to what Suvik was doing to him he cried for his mother. When he was finished, he went back to Saint Frederick's and vomited again. But he didn't score bloody lashes on his back. He'd done something good. He knew it in his bones. The punishment would come when someone came looking for him.

SAMPLE RP POST:
Alpahabet City, some called it. Named after the very basis of the language they spoke, yet no man spoke the word of God. The True word, the secret word, the one that was there, pulsing in his head, refusing to be drowned out by the petty pulsing of the bassline of the song - how could anyone call this a song, he thought - giving the gyrating temptress on stage something to focus on other than her shame, bared for all to see. He pushed the sight of her out of his field of vision, a supreme work of will that took quite a struggle for a man who had never actually seen a woman nude. They were petty things, glistening in the dull purple light with sweat, wreathed in smoke that smelled of tobacco, spice, ash.

That, Suvik focused on. The smell of ash. It was more satisfying than the thick metal stench of his own blood, all of it caking into the crooks and curves of his skin on his hands. The last one had shot him in the abdomen, maybe aiming for his solar plexus, but had hit his spleen. Suvik reached into the wound, pulled out the bullet, then dipped back in, and ripped out the ruined organ, flesh drawing taut, then snapping. He knew it was an organ he didn't need anymore, and its function, he never knew. God worked in mysterious ways, and that bit of flesh was a gift that he was allowed to give away then. But God worked in direct ways too, and the one that shot him had told him where Ripper was through gums Senyaka had stomped toothless and bloody. Once he had, Suvik had thanked him, then tripped out his tongue, and left him to drown.

That one hadn't been the one who Erin Locke saw last, but he was the same of the sort. He would have done it, if this "Ripper" hadn't. And he was gone now, lungs full. He would hurt no more sweet, radiant woman like the late Erin.

He moved into the strip club called Angels. He wanted to burn the place down for such a name. It made him want to vomit - but not yet. The killing came first. And these women did not deserve to be burned. None of this was there faults. Only bad choices and a lack of faith. He filled his nose with the smell of ash. The scent of destruction, like brimstone and fire. He could summon neither, but he would coat this Sodom and Gomorrah with blood.

There were only a few men here in Angels tonight. Good men were home, sleeping for the day ahead, but these here deserved to die. Lust filled their eyes and minds, cloaded them. Sickening. But he was here for now, and even in the dim glow of the blacklight fixtures, he could spot the spiraling tattoos of dragons and knives scored across the arms of the man known as Ripper. He looked soo pleased with himself. Topless women lounged against each outstretched arm, a cigar clamped into his grin. It looked like it was something of a permanent fixture. The man was dressed like trash, expensive jeans and one of those "wife-beater tanktops" head shaved, eyes of the monster hidden behind dark expensive glasses. Suvik climbed up mirror stairs to the booth where the killer sat, then stopped before him. With red fingers, he pulled the black, charred sheet way from his face, let it fall around his neck. A layer of soot laid a stripe across his icy eyes, creating a mask, in a way.

"You killed Erin Locke." He said nothing else. His voice was load and clear, but it didn't reach over the drone of the thumping song. With no change in expression, Suvik slashed his bhand out towards the DJ's booth. Something red and yellow flashed bright, severing cords to speakers and equipment; the song died. Ripper would follow. The man's cigar dipped as he scowled.

"You killed Erin Locke." The topless women at his arms quickly got up and scurried away. Inconsequential. They were nothing, shadows in his tunnel vision. Suvik had finished his pilgrimage, and now he would have his reward. The mutant leaned forward on the black vinyl of the booth and placed the cigar in a plastic ashtray. The grin returned.

"I kill lots of women. Ya gotta be more specific."

"She was light. She was good. And you snuffed her out."

"Still noooo idea! Hahaha! Hey, bet she screamed after I was done! Yanno, before I slit her throat. Fuck, gotta do that again..." Ripper reached for his crotch to grab it mockingly, and Suvik was over the table in an eye-blink, hand on the killer's throat. They went over the top of the booth and through the air as tattoos and flesh split bloodlessly, long, sharp curved bones jutting up from forearms, elbows, shoulders, chest. The slick white bones slashed and stabbed into suvik, scoring long dark red lines across his skin and shirt, but he didn't flinch. Didn't blink. His eyes were wide, and there was nothing there; not happiness, not confidence, nor even anger. They were cold, pale pools of void, swirling down into those dilated black pinpricks. They hit the floor; Ripper slashed at him, and Suvik pulled on the scum's life, sucking the soul out of him. Ripper sagged, slashed out, but Suvik slammed his palm into the his stomach, slamming him into the wall. Plaster and wood cracked, snapped, and crumpled, , and Ripper tumbled through.

An artifical, fruity smell hit him in the face, and Suvik recoiled. Ripper recovered, leaped forward, blades bursting out of his ribs, stabbing into Suvik. He made no sound, only grabbed the razored bones and twisted. They broke with a wet snap and Ripper screamed, then did so again when Suvik shoved them into his belly. The dark room - a store room for oils and such from the smell - lit up wiith the color of fire as the beaded whips slashed out of his palms. He stepped through the wall, and Ripper scrambled back as the whips snaked out, reaching for him, ready to do God's work.

"May you rest in peace for this, Erin Locke."
Quote Post Goto Top
 
Mellencamp
Unregistered

Hey Dan. Welcome to XMR and thanks for taking an interest in the site. First things first though, Sebastian Stan is already in use as Winter Soldier, so you'll need a new PB.

And while it's okay to take certain liberties with canons that have little to no history, I don't think a guy who's been hinted at being Sri Lankan( in name, appearance, language, as well as being found there) would look like a 100% Caucasian male. Even if his mother was Causasian, he'd appear more mixed than anything more times than not.


As for the app itself, I like how 'twisted' you've made him. Senyaka is not a well person and you seem to get that in the way you write him, even in his app. It's a good app, but it does have a few issues I'd like to see solved before I give you a stamp.

Firstly, Father Oakham. Similar things have happened in real life in regards to him being with Suvik's mom. Taking advantage of a woman whose hurting for whatever reasons with his station as a healer and helper, etc... But why did he go from "kind father figure" for pretty much all of Suvik's life, suddenly to "drunken racist pious zealot" essentially overnight after Suvik was informed that he was having relations with his mother and hurt one of his bully's in a clear case of self defense? Also, did he never say anything to her or confront her about not only her sleeping with him, but his change in attitude? Nearly 4 years and she didn't even notice?

Also, when Senyaka killed him, you say.

"Now the father found his voice and screamed as he first felt Suvik's nails on his cornea, then his entire thumbs drive drown into his sockets. Suvik pressed deeper and drank."

The coroner would have noticed that Oakham's eyes had been gouged out and would have put that in his report. And while not always a cause of death, the trauma from such could potentially lead to it. That right there would have gotten him in big trouble. There's also the fact that the condition Senyaka's victim's are left in when totally drained is not reminiscent of any natural cause of death, and not many unnatural causes either. It would definitely rouse suspicion if someone came in looking like this.

"Its skin was paper white. The cold veins stood out beneath it, criss-crossing jagged and turning, like the stained glass windows of the church."

No one who dies from heart attack or stroke or cancer or anything worldly that I know of looks like that. It screams of "mutant powers" because of how bizarre it is, and that a 13 year old boy clearly somehow murdered a grown man and gouged his eyes out. SHIELD would more than likely be contacted after he was detained by the police, and there's a high chance he'd be tried as an adult if not kept in juvenile or with SHIELD until he could be. So if he killed him and was found out, there's very little chance he'd get off as all the evidence points to him A)Killing Oakham, and B)Killing Oakham with mutant abilities.


Moving on to the "Apocalypse" event, I'm under the assumption that Senyaka went out in the mayhem and attacked converts. Doing so for the entire week or however long it lasted, and judging by how you wrote it, it wasn't a one time thing. The converts were pretty much amped humans, sort of like "uber" zombies with enhanced physical stats, and many who were mutants got amplified abilities, and some that were human gained abilities as a result of the amplification.

Going out on the streets and attacking packs of converts by himself would have gotten him severely injured if not killed, as a result of battling anywhere from a few to a dozen converts in an open area, while one or all of them could have any assortment of abilities and would be actively trying to kill him.


Also, it might just be the way I'm reading it, but it seems that after Apocalypse, he's suddenly this back alley vigilante. Killing bad people for the sake of killing bad people. I understand it during Apocalypse as I'm assuming his church was one of the many makeshift safe centers, but afterwards he just decides to start killing people? I don't have a problem with him following the path as he's a crazy murdering psycho, but I'd like to see some transition, some explained reasoning why he saw the need to start murdering people.

And lastly, as he currently resides in New York City, which is pretty much the epicenter for every big attack ever. You need to write what he was doing during the Purifier plot, during the Sentinel attack at the tail end, and for the Skrull Invasion, where pretty much the entire world was put under a trance and made to believe the Skrull were the best thing since sliced bread.


This in no way means it's a bad app, just things you seemed to have overlooked and may need to be edited to be a bit more believable.
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Cannonball(old)
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Thermochemical Blast Field
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