In this world, humans can awaken to Veil Gifts — supernatural abilities granted by contact with the Veil, a chaotic dimensional barrier from which the Stalkers come.
The Veil Gifts come with stains: side effects that twist body, mind, or fate.
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Power Ranks (lowest to highest)
I. Flicker
-Newly Touched; unstable abilities, short bursts of power.
-Often self-destructive; many die before advancing.
II. Ember
-Powers stabilize; can manifest them at will for limited time.
-Still weak; typically small-time hunters or gang enforcers.
III. Warden
-Can sustain Veil Gifts for extended combat.
-Often join guilds, militias, or serve the elite.
-Enough power to take down minor Stalkers alone.
IV. Revenant
-Powers become second nature: reactive use, greater strength/speed.
-Develop unique combat styles around their Gift.
-Respected and feared in the city.
V. Eidolon
-Rare.
-Powers transcend the body: manipulate environment, mind, or probability.
-Often rule guilds, criminal syndicates, or noble houses.
-Stalkers of lower grade actively avoid them.
VI. Paragon
-Legendary; walk the edge of humanity.
-Powers reshape reality locally: distort time, matter, or death.
-All known Paragons have gone mad or vanished.
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Side effects :
The stronger the Gift, the darker the Stain:
Flickers: headaches, nosebleeds.
Embers: trembling, violent mood swings.
Wardens: deformities, split personalities.
Revenants: partial loss of humanity.
Eidolons & Paragons: fully monstrous minds, no human empathy.
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Stalkers' ranks:
Tier I — Shivers
- Small, mindless pests.
Tier II — Howlers
-Dog-sized predators; hunt in packs.
Tier III — Maulers
-Human-sized, smarter; can stalk prey for days.
Tier IV — Eclipses
-Large, semi-intelligent, sometimes lead packs.
Tier V — Abyssals
-City-level threats; cunning and malicious.
Tier VI — The Nameless
- Mythical; no information has been obtained as the onces who faced it, never lived to tell the tale.
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In the rotting veins of a dying city, nightmares walk beside men.
Some call them Stalkers — shadows born of the Veil that slit throats. Others call them salvation, punishment, or prophecy.
But to him, they are nothing more than prey.
They wield fire, blood, and ancient curses. He wields only iron, grit, and a scythe sharper than regret.
They warp flesh and bend reality. He hunts them in silence, leaving behind only ruin and bones.
No one remembers the man behind the mask. They only speak of the Reaper: cold, merciless, and unbound by the Gifts that poison lesser souls.
In a city choking on fear and power, where even monsters fear to tread, his blade falls all the same.
Mercy died long ago. All that remains is the hunt.
The Reaper...