*This is his current one, may change as his arcs advance*

Gabe was born in the west, the Wild West. In the mid 1800s, 1852 to be precise. In crazy times, even then men and gods almost co-existed however the level of interference between the two was infinitesimal. However it still existed, beings with power still existed. Gabe, wasn’t one of them. Son of a Sheriff he grew up in the small town of Fortitude. The town itself had little crime, everybody knew eachother. Got along well, treated each other fairly. Many were just trying to make their way in life. Like many towns there would be the occasional ruffian however he never truly understood why this time got nicknamed the “Wild” west, in his opinion crime is far more common in the modern era. However he grew up living a normal childhood, or as normal as possible as the son of the Sheriff. While the kids treated him fairly there was an always keen eye on him, both to live up to his old mans reputation as well as to keep him out of trouble or to stop people using him against his dad. Though this wasn’t easy, he earned his dads requirement to help other people, those who couldn’t help themselves or just needed an extra pair of hands. From a young age he would get involved in fights, sticking up for the little man to beat down the bigger man. In his mind they deserved it, they were causing pain so he would stop them. Even if he had to be the one to cause it. It was after one of these times that Gabes father taught him his most important lesson.

”I protect people, and yes sometimes I hurt others. Though one day someone will hurt me, because you reap what you sow. I don’t want that life for you…” The young boy just nodded at the time, and then ran off to go outside to chase his friends. The meaning at the time shaped him but also was lost on him. However as he grew older he began to understand it, he still wanted to help people. However he couldn’t hurt people. If he hurt people how was he any better than they were? He eventually grew into a young man, studying the best one could in the west. Hoping to one day becoming a lawyer, to ensure that those guilty of crimes were punished. However that is when things went awry, and his life took a dramatic change. One that would shape his entire life, and in some ways the world, for days to come.

The train he was on, was derailed. Later discovered on purpose, he remembered the fear and the panic as the train come off the rails. People were thrown out of their seats, tried to grab onto loved ones and possessions as the carriages tumbled and rolled. He remembers waking in the wreckage, his entire body ached. He could barely move, looking up he saw a robed figure and then he once again drifted into darkness. He awoke in some form of cavern, screaming. He could see body parts strewn in a corner as people enchanted in a circle around him. Managing to turn his head he noticed his arms were not right. They were grotesque and scarred. Though on noticing a birthmark on his right arm he noticed they were his. It was patchworked, they were cutting into his arms and inserting liquid. Muscle mass, all the time enchanting.

All the time he spent screaming in agony, till he eventually screamed himself hoarse. Days, he presumed. Turned into weeks. Until they were finished. He didn’t hurt anymore, he didn’t register the pain. Just hatred, pure and utter contempt for what they had done to him. Then they eventually went to stab him in the chest, however while he screamed in agony he did not die. Removing the dagger, the wound closed itself and he began to change again. Screaming in pain his bones shifted, grinding and growing. His entire body convulsed until he stood there, bandaged and broken. Eight feet tall, and covered in more muscles than seemingly possible. The worshipers looked at each other in wonder, they had finally done it. They had created him, what they did not count on him was that he would not be grateful. He let out a roar that shook the cavern, and that is the last thing he himself remembers, before he woke up near the edge of town. Waking up and walking towards it he was immediately outcast. Nobody recognising who he was, just the abomination. He turned to flee, and knew hate. More hate than he had ever know. His life was gone, ruined. Never again would he truly have family, friends.

He eventually came to grips with who, what, he was. Remembering what his father said “You reap what you sow” he picked up a scythe and a .45 from a farm (Technically stealing) and vowed that he would make all those who hurt others pay for what they did, by either facing the pain he had faced or being put to death. For the first couple of years his look changed, until he adopted the black trenchcoat in association with Death and the Reaper himself. His alter ego, the… grotesque beast appeared a couple of times more often in his first couple of years as the self proclaimed Reaper. However he soon learned that this beast was not off him, it was something else. It hurt without caring, it did not fight for justice as he did. It was a mindless beast and he did his best to control it, keep it contained.

Obviously, over the hundred or so years he became skilled, in the art of killing. Staying hidden, even thievery to keep himself fed and clothed (Though only from those who deserved it). The hardest thing was keeping up to date in the ever changing world, and as more and more beings arose with powers that rivalled his own it became harder and harder to keep the beast under control, keep him from appearing. Though he still roams the land, no longer on horseback. Keeping with the times upon a motorcycle he continues to search for those who cause injustice, trying to put them down. Several times however he has encountered other heroes who don’t always agree with his methods for getting the job done. Though he has been at his job so long, it is his way. He barely speaks only to sentence those who face his judgement, preventing himself from forming attachments for as when someone lives as long as he does it becomes problematic and a reason he especially avoided instances such as the war, largely to prevent becoming a pawn in a politician's hands but also to not form close bonds with other people. Now he heads into Lost Haven, hearing about the events going on.

It was time people faced his judgement.

Healing Factor: The only ability to manifest itself on him in his regular state he possesses a healing Factor that allows him to heal from any wounds (Short off complete and utter destruction). His limbs also retain life if they are removed for a short period of time in which he can re-attach them (Including his head) however if too much time passes, or they are moved too far away he loses them. He can force himself to regrow them however but such an act takes time and is excruciatingly painful. He can however be killed, if he is completely destroyed, his head is removed and kept in a confined space though he is also susceptible to the cold which limits his healing factor.

Healing Factor: His Healing factor is transferred over when he completes the change, his skin is also harder to pierce by most but the rarest metals.
Increased Senses: Sight, hearing and smell are all improved. Hearing is improved to the heightened to the point where he can use his hearing as his main sense and even navigate via a form of sonar.
Improved Muscles: They make him faster, stronger, more nimble, for his size. Which post transformation has him 8’8”l, so he is not incredibly nimble but nimble for his size.

His Supernatural form can be incurred for two reasons: As a reflex in the rare situations where his life is in danger (such as under cold attacks), when he is experiencing extreme pain that he can’t even function properly or willingly he can change form. However he cannot will himself to change back.