A towering man with a face partially obscured by a rusted metal visor. His body is covered in thick, dark green leather and scarred metal plates that look as though they have been through an explosion. His skin is pale and mapped with burns and bite marks.

He is a man of few words and absolute action. He does not converse with enemies and rarely speaks to allies, preferring to let the weight of his presence and the swing of his axe do the talking. He is relentlessly efficient in combat.

Long ago, he was a member of an elite planetary guard unit assigned to defend a keep near a dimensional rift. When the abyssal gates tore open, his comrades were slaughtered before his eyes. He fought until his heart stopped, but the sheer, unadulterated hatred he felt for the demons kept his soul anchored to his flesh. He died that day, yet he did not stop moving. He clawed his way out of the heap of corpses and began a crusade that has lasted across decades and planes of existence. He does not know how he remains alive, and he does not care, as long as there are monsters left to slay. Every swing of his axe is a monument to the brothers he lost, and every kill is a step toward a peace he can only find when the last demon is extinguished.