Half Pint

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

@Hillan@Master Bruce


Much appreciated!

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Application for my second character! Been thinking over this one for a few days now hope it's cool! I was thinking of having him have partial memory loss from the centuries of hibernation at the start of the RP.

Chivalry's not dead

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B L A C K K N I G H T

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^{"A thousand years and still chasing shadows."}

^{_{D U N C A N W H I T M A N ♦ K N I G H T ♦ T R A N S I E N T}}

O R I G I N S:

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Long ago, legends were written about what could be considered one of the first superteams: the legends of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. One character who is often omitted from these tales of heroism is the Black Knight. Duncan was a close friend and ally of Arthur and his knights, but he struggled endlessly with his past and the curse of the Ebony Blade. He was born in the late 5th century, the son of a bandit in the Scottish Highlands who, through much strife and combat, grew into a knight-errant serving under the grace and command of Arthur.

Merlin bestowed upon him the Ebony Blade—a sword forged from a meteorite and imbued with both immense power and a terrible curse. The blade granted him enhanced strength and unmatched combat prowess but at the cost of a growing bloodlust and insanity that threatened to consume him the more unnecessary blood was spilled using the weapon. The curse only grew after he bested death in a duel of wits and became immortal after falling during battle. After the fall of Camelot and the death of King Arthur at the hands of the villainous Mordred, Duncan became a wandering knight, fighting to uphold the ideals of chivalry even as the world around him descended into chaos. He hunted Mordred across the land, seeking vengeance for his fallen master. Fearing that the curse would eventually turn him into a force of destruction, Merlin placed him into an enchanted sleep after his battle with Mordred, hoping that time would dull the blade’s influence.

Duncan slept for over a millennium until the emergence of new heroes—and the return of his old nemesis, Mordred—awakened him. Now, in the modern era, he must navigate a world that has long forgotten the age of knights and sorcery, all while battling the darkness within him and the evils that have returned to plague humanity.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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The cold moon looked down upon the vast desert, a barren wasteland that seemed to stretch into eternity. Duncan Whitman, the Black Knight, trudged through the endless expanse, his armor dull with dust and battle scars, yet still a symbol of the honor he struggled to cling to. He wished endlessly he had Valinor with him. His steed would have provided much-needed company on the journey and made it far easier on his feet. But Valinor was gone, gone like everything he cared about. The Ebony Blade at his side thrummed with dark energy, its curse growing stronger as it vibrated with the souls it had taken. Duncan felt a million voices in his head telling him to kill. But for now, its hunger was directed toward one man—Mordred.

The traitor had fled across the land, ever since the day he plunged Britain into chaos with the death of King Arthur. Duncan had pursued him tirelessly, driven by a vow to avenge his fallen king and to rid the world of Mordred’s treachery. Now, at last, he had cornered the villain in this forsaken desert, far from the green hills of Camelot.

In the distance, a figure emerged from the swirling sands, clad in dark robes that fluttered in the hot wind. Mordred. His eyes glowed with malevolent power, and a twisted grin spread across his face as he saw Duncan approaching. The two men stared at each other, their shared history palpable in the charged air between them.

“Duncan Whitman,” Mordred called out, his voice echoing across the dunes, “Loyal to the end, I see. Even in this wasteland, you cling to the dead king’s ideals.”

Duncan stopped in his tracks, his hand resting on the hilt of the Ebony Blade, the dark metal cool against his palm. “You took everything from me, Mordred,” he replied, his voice a low, controlled growl. “From all of us. This ends now.”

Mordred laughed, a cold, hollow sound that sent a shiver down Duncan’s spine. “Foolish knight. Do you think a cursed blade will save you? Or have you already succumbed to its darkness?”

With a snarl, Duncan drew the Ebony Blade from its scabbard, the weapon gleaming ominously in the moonlight. It seemed to drip with red energy like blood. As the energy hit the sand below, it sizzled and steamed into the night. The air around them seemed to hum with anticipation, the very land sensing the clash that was about to unfold. “The blade will do what it was forged to do—end your wretched life.”

Without another word, Duncan charged forward, his boots kicking up sand as he closed the distance between them. Mordred responded with a wave of his hand, summoning a surge of dark magic that crackled through the air like lightning. Duncan raised the Ebony Blade, its cursed power absorbing the magic, deflecting the energy away as he pressed his attack. Mordred’s hands drew back and shot forward once more as more dark energy shot out at Duncan. The sword was doing its best, but sparks of lightning began arcing around the blade and burning his face. All he could smell was blood and burnt hair as the unkempt beard he hadn't bothered to shave in his pursuit began burning.

He closed in on Mordred, the evil son of a good king, drawing his own blade and blocking a downward swing from Duncan at the last moment. Duncan's eyes glanced down at the blade, and a mixture of shock and anger tore through his body as he shouted,
"You would desecrate your own father's corpse? Steal Excalibur? Thieving pilferer, have you no shame?"

Mordred's lips curled into a sneer "Shame is for the weak and the foolish, Whitman. I have claimed my birthright."

They pulled their blades away and swung again, locking them against each other. The darkness of the desert was only illuminated by the stars and the pure light of Excalibur clashing against the dark aura of the Ebony Blade, creating a spectacle of sparks. The air around them sizzled with energy, the very ground trembling beneath their feet.

Mordred laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "And what of your own blade, Black Knight? A cursed weapon that feeds on blood. Are you so different from me?"

Duncan's jaw tightened. The whispers of the Ebony Blade grew louder, urging him to unleash its full potential, to end Mordred once and for all. But he knew the cost. He pulled his blade back again, sending a kick to Mordred's midsection that sent him stumbling back. Duncan regained a high guard, holding his blade along his left forearm with his right hand as he and Mordred stalked in circles around each other like two lions. Duncan felt the weight of exhaustion pressing upon him. The long journey through the desert, combined with the draining effects of the Ebony Blade, had sapped his strength. Yet, he couldn't falter. Not now.

Mordred charged him, and Duncan parried, thrusting his sword forward and plunging it into Mordred's shoulder. His success was marked with a painful yelp from Mordred, but also a vicious downward swing from Excalibur. Duncan reacted quickly; the sword was firmly lodged in his opponent’s shoulder and wouldn't budge. He held his hand up to block the path of the holy blade, and it embedded itself into his hand, causing Duncan to shout in equal parts anger and pain.

His eyes met Mordred's with a fury the dark wizard had never seen before. Duncan allowed the voices to overcome him. Arthur was dead. Lancelot was dead. Guinivere was dead. All that was left was himself and Merlin who had gone into a self imposed exile. Why did this treacherous knave deserve to live. Why did any of them deserve to live.

Duncan let go of the Ebony Blade and sent a brutal punch to Mordred’s jaw with his metal gauntlet, sending him tumbling to the ground, blood splattering across the sand. Excalibur was released from his grasp and landed point down into the sand. For once, Mordred looked frightened as the Black Knight approached him, his hand dripping with blood and his aura glowing with an overwhelming, black flame.

The Black Knight approached Mordred, tearing his Ebony Blade from the man’s shoulder. He could faintly hear him calling for mercy, but all was numb and deaf as he drove the cursed sword through his chest. He could barely think, his mind racing as he struggled to keep hold of his sanity. He watched as what remained of Mordred crumbled to dust and his robe whipped away into the desert air.

Pulling the Ebony Blade from the sand, he left a trail of blood as he stumbled forward into the desert. He fell to his knees and tore his helmet off, throwing it as far as he could away from him as he stared upwards into infinity. He began mumbling to himself.
"Merlin....Merlin....I'm so exhausted."

Duncan's voice wavered as he called out into the desolate expanse, his strength nearly spent, his spirit battered by the weight of the curse and the horrors he had just committed. The desert winds howled in response, carrying his desperate plea across the dunes.

A mirage appeared on the horizon, a figure emerging from nowhere, cloaked in robes that seemed to blend with the sands themselves. Merlin, the ancient wizard, approached with a grave expression, his eyes full of sorrow as he took in the sight of his once-noble knight, now reduced to a man on the brink of madness. His visage was shimmering, transparent. Merlin was a thousand miles away, somewhere Duncan would never know, appearing to him in one last favour to his plea.

"Duncan," Merlin’s voice was soft, yet it carried the authority of ages. He knelt beside the fallen knight, his hand gently resting on Duncan’s shoulder. "You have fought valiantly, but the curse of the Ebony Blade has taken its toll."

Duncan’s eyes were wild, his breathing ragged as he clutched the hilt of the sword, his knuckles white beneath the metal of his gauntlet. "I couldn’t stop it, Merlin. The blade… it’s consuming me. I killed him, but at what cost? I’m losing myself."

Merlin nodded solemnly, his gaze turning to the Ebony Blade, which pulsed with a dark, malevolent energy. "The blade was forged from the stars, imbued with power beyond mortal understanding. But with that power comes a terrible price. You are not the first to fall victim to its curse, but you are among the strongest to have resisted it for so long."

Duncan looked up at Merlin, desperation in his eyes. "I cannot control it anymore. Please, Merlin, end this… end me."

The wizard’s expression softened with compassion, though his heart weighed heavy with the decision before him. "No, Duncan. There is still hope for you, but not in this time. The world is not yet ready for what you have become, and you are not ready to face the darkness alone."

Merlin raised his hand, his fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air as he whispered ancient incantations. The air around them began to shimmer, a soft light enveloping Duncan as the magic took hold. Duncan felt a strange calm wash over him, the voices of the blade fading into the distance, replaced by a soothing silence.

"I will place you into a deep slumber," Merlin continued, his voice gentle but firm. "You will sleep for centuries, perhaps millenia, until a time when the world has changed and you are needed once more. Perhaps then, you will find a way to break the curse, to wield the blade without losing yourself to it."

Duncan’s eyelids grew heavy, his exhaustion overwhelming him as the enchantment began to take effect. He struggled to keep his gaze on Merlin, to hold onto the last vestiges of consciousness. "And what of the world, Merlin? What will become of it?"

Merlin smiled sadly, his eyes filled with a wisdom that spanned the ages. "The world will endure, as it always has. New heroes will rise, and the old will fade into legend. But when the time is right, you will awaken, and your story will continue."

With those final words, Duncan’s eyes closed, his body sinking into the soft sand as the spell took full hold. The dark flames that had surrounded him flickered out, leaving only the peaceful rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply in his enchanted sleep.

Merlin watched over him for a moment longer, his heart heavy with the burden of what he had done. But he knew it was necessary. The Black Knight’s time would come again, and perhaps then, he would find redemption.

With a final wave of his hand, Merlin summoned a gentle breeze that covered Duncan in a blanket of sand, concealing him from the world until the day he would awaken. The wizard turned and began to walk away, his figure gradually disappearing into the shimmering heat of the desert, leaving only the silent dunes behind.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Mr. Terrific

Volume 1 - First Prototype

A Family Affair

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Michael gripped his right shoulder as he gingerly moved it around. The Cyberwear™ yet-to-be-patented arm brace was doing its job, albeit in an uncomfortable way. A million ideas for improvements raced through his mind, the main being some sort of numbing gel or codeine injection to combat the incredibly weird sensation of feeling his bones very slowly correct themselves under the brace. He couldn't complain though, it was better than walking about with a broken arm. It might take some time before he could go toe-to-toe with mafia goons again, but the silver lining was that in the meantime, he could focus on helping Alex get their fledgling business off the ground. And maybe tackle some white-collar crime on the side when he wasn’t looking.

He pulled on a light jacket and slung a satchel over his shoulder as he left the apartment and made his way down the stairs to the front door. It was a sunny day as he stepped out onto the street. The kind of day that made you want to buy a crate of beer, a pack of cigarettes, and sit in a field somewhere. A nice thought for someone with more disposable income, but for Michael, the most he could convince himself to part with was just enough for a coffee from the shop a few blocks over. There's only so long a guy can last on cheap instant coffee.

He put in his earbuds and swiped along the apps on his phone, tapping on a familiar app and clicking play. It was a sort of trivia app he had developed alongside Alex. It called out random questions to him and all he had to do was call back the answer. It seemed, though, that the implementation was way off for a wider market. Most people didn't want to be on the subway home shouting out "The Roman Empire" or "Diego Maradona", and the app struggled with harder to understand accents. Nevertheless, Michael used it to keep his mind spry. He was a powerhouse when they went to the local pub quiz that was for sure.

A wave of information hit him as he made his way down the street. His brain had a knack for analysing everything and anything it came across, from the manufacturer of a car driving down the street, to the species of a bird he could hear the call of. For many, this would have been overwhelming, for Michael it was regular life. However, there was one piece of information he couldn't quite piece together though, and that was the intention of the shady character who had been following him since the last block.

The guy was a schlub for sure, wearing an outfit that screamed "Undercover". Brown leather jacket, black "Metropolis Meteors" baseball cap, a pair of sunglasses and some jeans. Either this guy was going undercover to meet Robert Redford and give him information on the Watergate Scandal, or he was following someone. Michael, being one part cautiously egotistical and one part cautiously paranoid, assumed it was him. Maybe he should have done something about it, but confronting someone in public about following you wasn't always the sanest fashion to wear. Besides, it had only been a few nights since his first as a ‘hero’; he thought it best to lay low for a while.

Nevertheless, the barrage of analytical information stopped dead in its tracks the moment he entered the coffee shop and saw her. There were a hundred coffee shops before this one, but in truth Michael came to this one to see her. Every day was the day he'd work up the courage to properly speak to her, but that day never actually came. When he got to the counter, it was like he lost all confidence. All he really knew about her was what he could glean from her name badge—her name was Paula.

He got to the counter and ordered. She barely looked up at him as she turned and hurriedly began making his coffee. He glanced behind him, the shop was busy as ever and the queue behind him hadn't seemed to dissipate one bit. His mind snapped back to reality checking the queue, that shady figure was nowhere to be seen. Must've been his paranoid imagination. He thanked Paula for his coffee and sat at one of the last free empty tables, pulling a laptop out of his bag and beginning to work on a new prototype for Cyberwear.

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Two nights ago

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Carmine Gazzo sat in his luxurious office sipping a fine wine and staring out over Metropolis. As far as he was concerned, it was his city. He had a hand in every pocket and a knife to the throat of any he didn't. The office was huge, lavish, but lonely. He came here to get away from the inane ramblings of the goombas around him. They were good muscle, but none of them could see the bigger picture. It felt like every other day, he was dealing with some new issue they had managed to create for him. The police were a manageable enemy; male bravado was a much bigger one.

He didn't turn as the door opened behind him, and the noise of heavy footsteps filled the room. He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair as he spoke.
"What now?"
The capo shifted nervously as he approached the desk, glancing left and right as if he were looking for an escape route.
"Uh... well, you see boss, we have a little uh... problem..." If one thing annoyed Carmine more than issues, it was someone wasting his time by not just telling him right away what the issue was. He rose from his chair and approached the window in front of him, holding the wine glass in his right hand.
"Spit it out."
"Well, boss. Y'know those superfreaks that have been all over the news? Well, uh, we think one of them sorta mighta beat a few of our guys up last night during the gun deal." Carmine felt the base of the wine glass crack slightly in his hand as his grip tightened. He felt a vein pulse in his temple. If he were younger, he'd have thrown the glass through this idiot's face, but since that heart attack, he'd been told to watch his blood pressure. He took a deep breath, turning to the stocky Italian man that stood before him.
"Well, is it 'sorta,' or is it 'mighta,' you clown? What did this bastard look like?"
"Well uh, it's definitely, sir. He beat up our guys, their guys, and broke all the guns. The guys who got a good look at him said he was wearing a leather jacket and had these metal balls that really did a number on Little Tony's head—I mean, the guy's got a headache that could kill a hor-" Carmine cut him off by holding his hand up.
"I couldn't give two fucks about Little Tony's head. What I do care about is the money, and more importantly, the control we've given up here. If some clown in leather can make some of my best men look like klutzes with just a few metal baseballs, how long will it be before the cops get some fancy ideas and start coming after our operation?" He sat back down in the expensive leather office chair, spinning it around to face the nervous-looking subordinate. He gently placed the wine glass down on his desk—tiny drops of wine dripped down from where the cracks had formed. "I want this guy dead, you understand me? I want a message sent out to these costumed freaks that Carmine Gazzo is not to be fucked with. Find him and do it publicly."

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Had a crazy past few days so just got finished reading everyone's posts now, but they're all great! Everyone's takes on their characters are really interesting!

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Mr. Terrific

Volume 1 - First Prototype

Broken Guns and Broken arms

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This isn't exactly how Michael Holt thought his Saturday night would go.

A few months ago and he'd have been working late or at a bar with Alex, practicing their inevitably failed attempts to chat up women. Oddly enough, most women aren't too keen on lines relating to quantum physics or cyber security. He was currently standing on a roof overlooking Metropolis, hunched down against a parapet. With a gloved hand he clicked the face on one of his new and improved T-Spheres and the four he had on the floor in front of him whirred to life quietly.

Moment of truth, he thought. He damn well hoped they had gotten the flight capabilities completely sorted out, otherwise he'd be making a leap of faith across two apartment buildings straight into a potential gunfight. A deep breath in and then raised his head to look across the gap. The Gazzo crime family was making a weapons trade with some low level hoodlums. Not the biggest news in the world, but if he managed to intervene now it might save someone getting a bullet to the gut later.

Michael reached into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved a small inconspicuous white tub. Another of his new inventions, but one potentially a bit more dangerous for Michael to use than his Spheres, at least on his end. The balaclava he'd used previously was stifling, breathing in the thing was a nightmare let alone fighting in it. Plus, it could slip off at the drop of a hat and was far too easy for criminals to remove if they'd gotten the upper hand. Instead, he'd opted for a new high-tech nanogel he had personally worked on. He dipped his hand into the tub and spread it across his eyes and down past his mouth, forming a 'T' on his face. Of course, branding was important too.

He opened his eyes, now a singular solid red, and slid the tub back into his pocket. Environmental data was now being fed straight to his cornea, and the world seemed a whole lot brighter than it did before. He looked down at his Spheres as his mask powered to full functionality. A list marking the status of each sphere scrolled down the right side of his vision. Time to test his new gadgets. If they worked right, the slightest facial movement should control them to his will, if they didn't he'd have to go manual. Shouting out commands to his gadgets wasn't the best thing for stealth, but it was better than going in without them.

Michael rose to his full height as he signalled for his spheres to rise up next to him. The ghost of a smile played on his lips as they floated along next to him. Now for the field test, this next part was a lot easier to do in an empty warehouse 5 feet above the ground than it was across the gap in a building. Another deep breath as he stood on the edge of the building and leapt.

Ecstasy doesn't even begin to describe the feeling he felt as his Spheres shot their way under his feet and carried him swiftly across the gap. It was like being saved by an angel when imminent doom is on your doorstep. It felt like a mixture of surfing and rollerskating as he dove across and at the gangsters.

"The money's all there man, just give us the guns."

"Yeah yeah, we still gotta count you know? Yous guys ain't exactly the most respectable guys in the wo- what the fuck is that?!" Shouted the large Italian man as he spotted Mr. Terrific flying at him.

He was on them before they could react, jumping off of his spheres and slide tackling one of the hoodlums from behind before his spheres shot out at the other assailants, smacking them across the face and into their guts before whizzing off to attack from another angle.

Michael rolled forward towards one of the mobsters reaching for his pistol, wrapping his leg around and spinning on his shoulders to pull him into an imanari roll. It only took a quick burst of pressure to break the criminal's ankle and Michael rose quickly after, darting at another assailant close by and lifting him with a double leg before slamming him into the roof.

His spheres set about targeting any weapons they could detect as the fight went on. Every time a wise guy reached for his pistol it would be smacked out of their hand and dented inwards by the flying metal. Michael was like a panther prowling around the roof, knocking out or incapacitating each of the gangsters and snapping any of their weapons the spheres didn't get to before moving onto the next.

It was all over within 5 minutes. Michael stood panting on the roof as he destroyed the last of the guns that were meant to be traded. Not bad for a night's work. He got airborne again, calling Alex through the built-in communicator in his mask as he was lifted off of the roof.

"A, I stopped the Gazzo deal, heading back to base now."

"Nice one dude, have any trouble with them?

"Nah, Spheres worked perfect and those clowns weren't any troubl-"

Michael felt something hard and cold hit him in the back of the neck. It seemed he hadn't been as thorough as he could have ensuring he'd incapacitated all of the criminals and one had, in absence of a working gun, opted to throw the gun at him. If Michael could have a sense of humour about the situation he might have wondered why the guy had taken up crime rather than becoming a professional darts player, the guy had accuracy for sure. But unfortunately all he could think about was how he was rapidly losing balance on top of his Spheres.

This wasn't a wave he could ride. He fought to regain his composure but seeing another broken pistol whiz past his head sent him under the waves. The only thing he could hear next was the aggressive, horrible noise of wind whistling passed his ears as he fell.

Michael wasn't sure whether or not to call it lucky or unlucky this sound was only short lived. His spheres rushed to catch him, but unfortunately they weren't quick enough. He fell on his shoulder at the top of a fire escape and tumbled his way down the stairs, almost falling straight off the other end had his Spheres not managed to get there before him and cushion his falll against the railing.

He let out a sigh, both of relief and exasperation. No one said this was going to be easy, but did it have to be this hard? His communicator crackled to life.

"Yo, T! What happened man are you alright?" Alex hurriedly asked.

"I'm alright, man." He spoke, just before a wave of searing pain shot up his right arm. "Actually scratch that, I think I have definitely maybe broken my arm. Call the cops to clean up the Gazzo's and I'll make my way back home."

"Definitely or maybe? Can't be both bro."

"Definitely.

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Sunlight poured into the tiny bedroom and Michael woke with a groan. He attempted to hold up his arm to block the sun from his eyes, but was only met with intense pain. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, sitting up and looking down at his bandaged shoulder. A leather jacket wasn't going to be enough. He needed some extra padding if he was going to be taking falls like that in the future.

He slid out of his bed and pulled on some jogging bottoms with his free hand before making his way to the living room. Alex was already up and tinkering with some gadget on their coffee table.

"Hey man." Michael spoke, Alex turned with a startle.

"Jesus Christ dude, stop sneaking up on me like that!" He said, Michael grinned moving over to the coffee machine and pouring himself a cup.

"What are you working on? We really got to get something on the market soon man, I can't keep living on cup noodles and tins of beans." This made Alex guffaw loudly at him, he got up from the couch holding the invention in his hands and turned to Michael.

"You're damn right we need to get something that will sell soon, if you weren't so busy going out at night fighting the Italian community of Metropolis we might have had something out weeks ago! Anyway, I've managed to get Terrifitech's first invention working! And, luckily for the both of us, you've just been gracious enough to suffer an injury that will work great for the first test!" Michael groaned.

"First of all, we are not calling ourselves Terrifitech. We agreed on Cyberwear. Second of all, this better not be another prank like that 'Voice-Activated Coffee Maker' you had me test."

Alex grinned mischievously. "Hey, that was a legitimate prototype! Just because it poured coffee everywhere but the cup doesn't mean it wasn't a solid idea. But no, this is for real. Check it out!" He held up a sleek-looking device that resembled an arm brace.

"This, my friend, is a state-of-the-art, pain-relief and mobility-enhancing arm brace. It's designed to support your arm and stimulate healing. Plus, it has some of our nanotech integrated for real-time diagnostics." He tossed it to Michael, who caught it with his good hand. The brace opened in half, and Michael clasped it around his upper arm and shoulder. There was a few seconds of momentary pain as the brace adjusted and resized to fit around him, and then nothing at all.

Michael stretched his arm, flexing the muscles with a smile on his face.
"You've really outdone yourself this time, Alex, I can't deny it. Feels good as new!"

"When don't I outdo myself? Now hold still, I'm going to run some diagnostics on your arm to make sure the softwares working properly." He picked up a tablet from the coffee table and began tapping away on it. Alex's face suddenly grew very serious and a he began scatching his chin with a free hand. "Hmm, this is really weird."

Michael frowned. "What is it?"

Alex looked up with a deadpan expression. "According to this, you're going to grow an extra arm by next week."

Michael shook his head, grinning. "I have no idea how you can be so smart, yet such an idiot at the same time, Alex. It's truly a marvel of science."

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

I’m sticking with Mr Terrific for the moment, but might try my hand at Metamorpho later on and maybe try and form The Terrifics

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Black Panther

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B L A C K P A N T H E R

(Yohualli Ocelotl)

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^{"As long as I breathe, Dorado will not fall."}

^{_{N E C A L L I D O R A D O C U A U H P I L L I ♦ W A R R I O R - P R I N C E ♦ D O R A D O}}

O R I G I N S:

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The hidden city of Dorado lies deep within the rainforests of Central America, long shrouded in myth and legend. Governed by ancient traditions and ruled by a sacred lineage, Dorado’s people worship the gods of the earth, sky, and sun, drawing their strength from the extremely valuable and precious resource, vibranium, which they call "tecuhtli," the blood of the gods. Necalli, the latest in this divine bloodline, was destined to lead from birth. Trained in the arts of war, diplomacy, and spiritual practices, he is destined to inherit the mantle of Yohualli Ocelotl, the protector of Dorado, upon his father’s death.

Recently, reports have surfaced of modern invaders, equipped with advanced weapons, encroaching on the edges of Dorado’s hidden borders. Necalli, foreseeing greater threats on the horizon, has urged his father and the council to strengthen the city’s defenses. He forsees a world where isolation is no longer enough to protect Dorado, but his warnings fall on deaf ears, viewed as fear mongering that risks disturbing the peace.

Determined to safeguard his people, Necalli grows increasingly conflicted. His vision for Dorado’s survival stands in stark contrast to the conservative stance of the council, and the growing divide within the royal court threatens not only his future as their leader but the very security of the city itself.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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The jungle was alive with the hum of insects and the distant cries of animals, but it was the unnatural buzz of drones slicing through the night air that caught Necalli's attention. His form, crouched in the dense shadows of the jungle like a big cat waiting to strike, was a silent specter, unseen by the intruders below. The red dots of laser sights crisscrossed through the underbrush, painting lines of death on the trees and ground. He could hear the faint murmur of voices over radio chatter, the sound distorted by their helmets and body armor.

"Fan out." one of the voices crackled through the radio, authoritative and stern. "We've got good intel it's in this area. Remember, if you see anything moving, shoot on sight."

Beneath his jaguar mask, Necalli's lips tightened into a grim line. These weren’t ordinary invaders, no clumsy conquistadors stumbling in search of gold or silly explorers with too much money and time on their hands looking for their chance at fame. These were professionals: armed to the teeth, outfitted with the latest military tech. Their gear was the kind of cutting-edge equipment only the most powerful nations or corporations could afford. But no matter how advanced their tech, they made the same mistake all outsiders made, they underestimated the jungle.

And they underestimated him.

Sliding silently down from his perch high in the trees, Necalli's fingers brushed over the hilt of his macuahuitl. The ancient weapon had been reforged with vibranium, its obsidian blades sharper than any modern steel, able to cut through metal, flesh, and bone with equal ease. The cold of the weapon against his skin grounded him, reminded him of his purpose. These men came for Dorado, for its secrets. They would leave with nothing but death.

One of the soldiers paused below him, his boots sinking slightly into the wet soil. He lifted his rifle, sweeping the muzzle across the darkness, unaware of the predator above. Necalli struck fast and without sound. He dropped from the canopy, landing silently with lethal precision. The vibranium edge of his macuahuitl sliced through the man’s armor as though it were nothing more than cloth. The soldier collapsed, dead before his body hit the ground.

Necalli darted back into the shadows as the others turned, confused by the sudden silence of their comrade. Their laser sights flashed across the trees, fingers tensing on triggers. They think their machines and guns will save them, Necalli thought, moving with the grace of a jaguar. But in this jungle, they are prey.

"We've got a man down!" Shouted one of the soldiers, panic setting in as the remaining men formed a tight circle formation and began sweeping the trees for movement.

A drone hovered above the treeline, its camera sweeping back and forth, now searching for what killed the invader. Necalli's eyes narrowed beneath his mask. He threw a small, round object, a piece of vibranium-infused tech of his own design. It clamped onto the drone’s underside, a brief flash of blue light before the drone sparked and crashed into the undergrowth, its systems fried. The forest swallowed the sound.

"They’re taking out the drones!" one of the men shouted, his voice rising in panic. "They know we’re here!"

I am not 'they', Necalli thought coldly, his body already a blur as he moved silently to flank them.

He circled around, watching as the team tried to regroup, their nervous chatter betraying their fear. They were good, disciplined, highly trained. But this was his domain. A pair of soldiers inched forward, their helmets reflecting the dim light from their tactical displays. Necalli moved in again, his macuahuitl swinging in a deadly arc. One soldier’s rifle was severed in two, his chest following moments later. The second soldier barely had time to scream before a Vibranium spear buried itself in his torso, thrown from the shadows.

Now the the two remaining were panicking. Necalli could hear it in their voices, see it in the erratic movement of their laser sights. They fired wildly into the trees, wasting bullets on shadows. He moved through the chaos with cold precision, using the dense treeline as cover as he crepy from branch to branch.

He watched as they panted heavily, fear etched across their faces as they struggled to unload and reload their guns for the shaking of their hands. Necalli gently slid the bow from around his chest and knocked a vibranium tipped arrow on its string. It flew threw the air with only the yell of pain as it struck one of the soldiers chest to announce its arrival.

The last soldier stood alone, his breathing ragged as he spun around, his back to a tree, clutching his rifle like it was a lifeline. The red dot of his laser swept across the underbrush, trembling with fear. Necalli watched him for a moment, hidden, unseen. The soldier’s radio crackled with static.

"Command, we’ve been, there's something here. We-I need evac! Now!"

Necalli stepped down into the clearing, his presence quiet, almost serene. The soldier froze, his eyes widening behind his visor as the jaguar mask emerged from the shadows. He lifted his gun, finger trembling on the trigger.

"Don't" Necalli warned, his voice low. "You’ve come far enough. Don't end up like your friends."

The soldier hesitated, the weight of fear holding him in place. He half considered pulling the trigger, but luckily for him he was too late. With a final, swift movement, Necalli disarmed him, his macuahuitl cutting through the rifle with surgical precision. The soldier stumbled backward, falling to the ground, his wide eyes reflecting the vibrant golds and reds of Necalli's cloak.

"The jungle protects what is sacred." Necalli murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "And you are not welcome here."

The soldier scrambled backward, his breath coming in panicked gasps, and then he turned and ran, crashing through the underbrush like a wild animal fleeing a predator. Necalli didn’t follow. Let the man tell his story. Let them know what awaited any who sought to take from Dorado.

As the jungle returned to its natural silence, Necalli stood alone among the fallen, his gaze distant. His father would disapprove of this, he knew. This wasn't their way, this open confrontation with the outside world. But the outside world was closing in, and Dorado had to be defended. No matter the cost.

With one last glance toward the horizon, where the lights of distant invaders flickered in the distance, Necalli disappeared into the night.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

• Volume 1 - The Heir of Dorado
  
  • 1. The Hunt Begins
  • 2. Footsteps in the Jungle
  • 3. What Condition My Condition Was In
  • 4. New Suit, New Enemies
  • 5. Yaretzi
  • 6. Return to Tradition

Chivalry's not dead

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B L A C K K N I G H T

---

^{"A thousand years and still chasing shadows."}

^{_{D U N C A N W H I T M A N ♦ K N I G H T ♦ T R A N S I E N T}}

O R I G I N S:

---

Long ago, legends were written about what could be considered one of the first superteams: the legends of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. One character who is often omitted from these tales of heroism is the Black Knight. Duncan was a close friend and ally of Arthur and his knights, but he struggled endlessly with his past and the curse of the Ebony Blade. He was born in the late 5th century, the son of a bandit in the Scottish Highlands who, through much strife and combat, grew into a knight-errant serving under the grace and command of Arthur.

Merlin bestowed upon him the Ebony Blade—a sword forged from a meteorite and imbued with both immense power and a terrible curse. The blade granted him enhanced strength and unmatched combat prowess but at the cost of a growing bloodlust and insanity that threatened to consume him the more unnecessary blood was spilled using the weapon. The curse only grew after he bested death in a duel of wits and became immortal after falling during battle. After the fall of Camelot and the death of King Arthur at the hands of the villainous Mordred, Duncan became a wandering knight, fighting to uphold the ideals of chivalry even as the world around him descended into chaos. He hunted Mordred across the land, seeking vengeance for his fallen master. Fearing that the curse would eventually turn him into a force of destruction, Merlin placed him into an enchanted sleep after his battle with Mordred, hoping that time would dull the blade’s influence.

Duncan slept for over a millennium until the emergence of new heroes—and the return of his old nemesis, Mordred—awakened him. Now, in the modern era, he must navigate a world that has long forgotten the age of knights and sorcery, all while battling the darkness within him and the evils that have returned to plague humanity.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

The cold moon looked down upon the vast desert, a barren wasteland that seemed to stretch into eternity. Duncan Whitman, the Black Knight, trudged through the endless expanse, his armor dull with dust and battle scars, yet still a symbol of the honor he struggled to cling to. He wished endlessly he had Valinor with him. His steed would have provided much-needed company on the journey and made it far easier on his feet. But Valinor was gone, gone like everything he cared about. The Ebony Blade at his side thrummed with dark energy, its curse growing stronger as it vibrated with the souls it had taken. Duncan felt a million voices in his head telling him to kill. But for now, its hunger was directed toward one man—Mordred.

The traitor had fled across the land, ever since the day he plunged Britain into chaos with the death of King Arthur. Duncan had pursued him tirelessly, driven by a vow to avenge his fallen king and to rid the world of Mordred’s treachery. Now, at last, he had cornered the villain in this forsaken desert, far from the green hills of Camelot.

In the distance, a figure emerged from the swirling sands, clad in dark robes that fluttered in the hot wind. Mordred. His eyes glowed with malevolent power, and a twisted grin spread across his face as he saw Duncan approaching. The two men stared at each other, their shared history palpable in the charged air between them.

“Duncan Whitman,” Mordred called out, his voice echoing across the dunes, “Loyal to the end, I see. Even in this wasteland, you cling to the dead king’s ideals.”

Duncan stopped in his tracks, his hand resting on the hilt of the Ebony Blade, the dark metal cool against his palm. “You took everything from me, Mordred,” he replied, his voice a low, controlled growl. “From all of us. This ends now.”

Mordred laughed, a cold, hollow sound that sent a shiver down Duncan’s spine. “Foolish knight. Do you think a cursed blade will save you? Or have you already succumbed to its darkness?”

With a snarl, Duncan drew the Ebony Blade from its scabbard, the weapon gleaming ominously in the moonlight. It seemed to drip with red energy like blood. As the energy hit the sand below, it sizzled and steamed into the night. The air around them seemed to hum with anticipation, the very land sensing the clash that was about to unfold. “The blade will do what it was forged to do—end your wretched life.”

Without another word, Duncan charged forward, his boots kicking up sand as he closed the distance between them. Mordred responded with a wave of his hand, summoning a surge of dark magic that crackled through the air like lightning. Duncan raised the Ebony Blade, its cursed power absorbing the magic, deflecting the energy away as he pressed his attack. Mordred’s hands drew back and shot forward once more as more dark energy shot out at Duncan. The sword was doing its best, but sparks of lightning began arcing around the blade and burning his face. All he could smell was blood and burnt hair as the unkempt beard he hadn't bothered to shave in his pursuit began burning.

He closed in on Mordred, the evil son of a good king, drawing his own blade and blocking a downward swing from Duncan at the last moment. Duncan's eyes glanced down at the blade, and a mixture of shock and anger tore through his body as he shouted,
"You would desecrate your own father's corpse? Steal Excalibur? Thieving pilferer, have you no shame?"

Mordred's lips curled into a sneer "Shame is for the weak and the foolish, Whitman. I have claimed my birthright."

They pulled their blades away and swung again, locking them against each other. The darkness of the desert was only illuminated by the stars and the pure light of Excalibur clashing against the dark aura of the Ebony Blade, creating a spectacle of sparks. The air around them sizzled with energy, the very ground trembling beneath their feet.

Mordred laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "And what of your own blade, Black Knight? A cursed weapon that feeds on blood. Are you so different from me?"

Duncan's jaw tightened. The whispers of the Ebony Blade grew louder, urging him to unleash its full potential, to end Mordred once and for all. But he knew the cost. He pulled his blade back again, sending a kick to Mordred's midsection that sent him stumbling back. Duncan regained a high guard, holding his blade along his left forearm with his right hand as he and Mordred stalked in circles around each other like two lions. Duncan felt the weight of exhaustion pressing upon him. The long journey through the desert, combined with the draining effects of the Ebony Blade, had sapped his strength. Yet, he couldn't falter. Not now.

Mordred charged him, and Duncan parried, thrusting his sword forward and plunging it into Mordred's shoulder. His success was marked with a painful yelp from Mordred, but also a vicious downward swing from Excalibur. Duncan reacted quickly; the sword was firmly lodged in his opponent’s shoulder and wouldn't budge. He held his hand up to block the path of the holy blade, and it embedded itself into his hand, causing Duncan to shout in equal parts anger and pain.

His eyes met Mordred's with a fury the dark wizard had never seen before. Duncan allowed the voices to overcome him. Arthur was dead. Lancelot was dead. Guinivere was dead. All that was left was himself and Merlin who had gone into a self imposed exile. Why did this treacherous knave deserve to live. Why did any of them deserve to live.

Duncan let go of the Ebony Blade and sent a brutal punch to Mordred’s jaw with his metal gauntlet, sending him tumbling to the ground, blood splattering across the sand. Excalibur was released from his grasp and landed point down into the sand. For once, Mordred looked frightened as the Black Knight approached him, his hand dripping with blood and his aura glowing with an overwhelming, black flame.

The Black Knight approached Mordred, tearing his Ebony Blade from the man’s shoulder. He could faintly hear him calling for mercy, but all was numb and deaf as he drove the cursed sword through his chest. He could barely think, his mind racing as he struggled to keep hold of his sanity. He watched as what remained of Mordred crumbled to dust and his robe whipped away into the desert air.

Pulling the Ebony Blade from the sand, he left a trail of blood as he stumbled forward into the desert. He fell to his knees and tore his helmet off, throwing it as far as he could away from him as he stared upwards into infinity. He began mumbling to himself.
"Merlin....Merlin....I'm so exhausted."

Duncan's voice wavered as he called out into the desolate expanse, his strength nearly spent, his spirit battered by the weight of the curse and the horrors he had just committed. The desert winds howled in response, carrying his desperate plea across the dunes.

A mirage appeared on the horizon, a figure emerging from nowhere, cloaked in robes that seemed to blend with the sands themselves. Merlin, the ancient wizard, approached with a grave expression, his eyes full of sorrow as he took in the sight of his once-noble knight, now reduced to a man on the brink of madness. His visage was shimmering, transparent. Merlin was a thousand miles away, somewhere Duncan would never know, appearing to him in one last favour to his plea.

"Duncan," Merlin’s voice was soft, yet it carried the authority of ages. He knelt beside the fallen knight, his hand gently resting on Duncan’s shoulder. "You have fought valiantly, but the curse of the Ebony Blade has taken its toll."

Duncan’s eyes were wild, his breathing ragged as he clutched the hilt of the sword, his knuckles white beneath the metal of his gauntlet. "I couldn’t stop it, Merlin. The blade… it’s consuming me. I killed him, but at what cost? I’m losing myself."

Merlin nodded solemnly, his gaze turning to the Ebony Blade, which pulsed with a dark, malevolent energy. "The blade was forged from the stars, imbued with power beyond mortal understanding. But with that power comes a terrible price. You are not the first to fall victim to its curse, but you are among the strongest to have resisted it for so long."

Duncan looked up at Merlin, desperation in his eyes. "I cannot control it anymore. Please, Merlin, end this… end me."

The wizard’s expression softened with compassion, though his heart weighed heavy with the decision before him. "No, Duncan. There is still hope for you, but not in this time. The world is not yet ready for what you have become, and you are not ready to face the darkness alone."

Merlin raised his hand, his fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air as he whispered ancient incantations. The air around them began to shimmer, a soft light enveloping Duncan as the magic took hold. Duncan felt a strange calm wash over him, the voices of the blade fading into the distance, replaced by a soothing silence.

"I will place you into a deep slumber," Merlin continued, his voice gentle but firm. "You will sleep for centuries, perhaps millenia, until a time when the world has changed and you are needed once more. Perhaps then, you will find a way to break the curse, to wield the blade without losing yourself to it."

Duncan’s eyelids grew heavy, his exhaustion overwhelming him as the enchantment began to take effect. He struggled to keep his gaze on Merlin, to hold onto the last vestiges of consciousness. "And what of the world, Merlin? What will become of it?"

Merlin smiled sadly, his eyes filled with a wisdom that spanned the ages. "The world will endure, as it always has. New heroes will rise, and the old will fade into legend. But when the time is right, you will awaken, and your story will continue."

With those final words, Duncan’s eyes closed, his body sinking into the soft sand as the spell took full hold. The dark flames that had surrounded him flickered out, leaving only the peaceful rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply in his enchanted sleep.

Merlin watched over him for a moment longer, his heart heavy with the burden of what he had done. But he knew it was necessary. The Black Knight’s time would come again, and perhaps then, he would find redemption.

With a final wave of his hand, Merlin summoned a gentle breeze that covered Duncan in a blanket of sand, concealing him from the world until the day he would awaken. The wizard turned and began to walk away, his figure gradually disappearing into the shimmering heat of the desert, leaving only the silent dunes behind.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

• Volume 1 - Beggar Knight
  
  • 1. Awakenings
  • 2. A Test of Strength and Honour
  • 3. Childhood Memories
  • 4. The Desert's Shadow
  • 5. Gazing Into the Abyss
  • 6. The Serpent's Coil
  • 7. The Awakening Beast

---

Retired

Terrific

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

M R . T E R R I F I C

---

^{"The world isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be."}

^{_{M I C H A E L H O L T ♦ S T A R T U P C O - F O U N D E R ♦ M E T R O P O L I S}}

O R I G I N S:

---

Michael Holt is a brilliant young entrepreneur, co-founder of the tech startup Holt Industries. With multiple degrees including Quantum Physics, Psychology, Electrical Engineering, among others all from Metropolis University, Michael has always been ahead of his peers, excelling in both academic and practical pursuits. However, beneath his achievements lies a series of personal tragedies that have shaped his worldview and driven him to use his talents to make the world a fairer place.

The first happened when he was only a boy. His older brother, Jeffrey, who had been his mentor and best friend was tragically killed by a drunk driver. The second happened early in highschool, when his parents died in a senseless act of violence during a home burglary gone wrong. The death of his family deeply affected Michael, solidifying his belief that the world is inherently unfair. Since this point, he's had a strong urge to change the world for the better, and make it a great deal fairer. Luckily he was taken in by his oldest and best friend, Alex Baker's family. Their families had been friends for years, and the boys were basically brothers from a young age.

Michael’s journey into heroism began with the development of his first prototype T-Spheres, multifunctional devices capable of advanced computational and defensive capabilities. His roommate and best friend, Alex, now a cybersecurity expert, became his only confidant. Together, they worked tirelessly in their cramped apartment, pooling their limited resources and immense intellect. Despite their financial struggles and lack of high-quality equipment, their combined skill and determination made up for it. Their apartment, small and cluttered with discarded prototypes and circuit boards, became the hub of their innovation. Each late night and early morning spent tinkering and testing was a step closer to their vision of fairness and justice. Driven by a shared belief in the importance of fairness and equality, Michael donned the mantle of Mr. Terrific. Inspired by their progress and potential, they founded Holt Industries, a startup aiming to revolutionize technology and create a more equitable world.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Michael adjusted his makeshift costume in the mirror of their tiny apartment, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. One of his T-Spheres, still in its prototype form, was clutched tightly in his fist. His best friend and roommate, Alex Baker, busy at his desk surrounded by a variety of screens and wires, looked up at him.

"Ready for your big debut, buddy?" Alex asked, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Michael replied, his gaze steady. “Just remember, this is all uncharted territory. If anything goes wrong, I’ll need you to keep me updated.”

“Got it. I’ll be monitoring every move. Just stay sharp out there,” Alex said, turning back to his screens, each one displaying something completely different from the last. The center screen had an ever-updating view of the traffic congestion around Metropolis, while the one to its right had a visualizer of various police radio channels he was tuning into for updates on the city's crime. The left screen was currently playing one of Alex's favorite old movies, as it often did. Alex was a genius, but with ADD for sure. "Dude, don't forget – we never got the flight mode working on the T-Spheres yet. I put a motor in them so they should roll back to you, but don't go losing them on your first night out there. I don't want you coming back telling me our prototypes fell off some building downtown."

Michael nodded, taking a deep breath before climbing out of the window of their small flat and onto the fire escape. Once he was on the roof, he looked down upon the city in the cool night air. The city was alive with the usual buzz, but tonight, it felt different. He pulled a balaclava over his face and tucked it into his T-shirt. His costume, if you could even call it that, definitely needed some work. His leather jacket was the only thing that really stood out amidst the mishmash of casual clothing he thought he could move best in.

Hours passed as Michael moved from rooftop to rooftop, searching for any sign of action. He was about to give up hope when his communications link with Alex buzzed in his ear.

"Yo, dude, I'm picking up some chatter about smuggling going on at the docks. Cops are too busy tonight to handle it. If you're not too tied up playing Candy Crush, maybe you could check it out?"

"On my way," Michael replied, turning around and picking up the pace toward the docks.

He arrived at the docks to find a group of burly-looking men unloading crates from a boat under the cover of darkness. He sidled up to a wall and peeked around it, counting the hostiles. There were four, no, five of them, but only three seemed to be unloading the crates. He watched for a few moments more, wishing he hadn't after seeing the situation get a whole lot more complicated.

Two other men emerged from the boat, dragging a dejected-looking woman with them. Drug trafficking was one thing, but human trafficking was a whole other level. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out two of his spheres. They were rudimentary, and as he faced potential death, he definitely wished he'd done more testing on them, but they'd have to do. He thought about the best way to go about this. Confronting them head-on wasn't smart; he was outmanned and had nowhere to sneak up on them. If he didn't act fast, though, they'd be out of here with those girls faster than he could catch up. His eyes darted to a wall next to him, then to the smugglers' boat and the warehouse just behind them. For the first time tonight, a smile grew on his face.

He held two of his spheres between his forefinger, middle finger, and thumb. His eyes flickered back and forth between the three targets he'd identified, his brain doing a thousand calculations a second. Finally, he locked on. He could see the exact velocity and angle he needed. He drew his arms back and let them loose.

The spheres flew at speed, ricocheting off each target before bouncing off each of the smugglers' heads, knocking them unconscious. Then the unexpected happened. One of the last criminals, who had been escorting their victim to the car, pulled her in tight and moved her into the path of the sphere. Time almost went in slow motion as Michael called, "Weight!" and the sphere dropped to the floor. They hadn't installed many upgrades to the spheres yet, but in their efforts to develop self-propelled flight, they'd managed to invent a variable weight system for the gadgets. Michael thought they'd just be handy in preventing any criminals from stealing his hardware. Little did he know it would prevent him from hitting an innocent girl.

The kidnapper slid a switchblade out from his pocket and held it to the woman's throat. "Come out now, or she gets it!" he demanded. Michael had to oblige. He emerged from his cover, his hands up at his side. His heart was beating out of his chest as he timidly approached the man, his bravado and confidence suddenly gone as he was face-to-face with real danger.

"Come on now, man, put the knife down and no one has to get hurt," he pleaded. The man laughed.

"Seems like the only one who's going to get hurt here is you, bozo. What are you dressed up as anyway, dork? Halloween's not for another few months." He let out a sneering laugh. Michael didn't find the situation so funny, though. And for every laugh that escaped the horrible man's mouth, another twenty thoughts ran through his head as fast as a freight train.

Eureka.

Still holding his hands in the air, he made a slight gesture with his hands, not big enough to be noticed, but just enough to send a command to his spheres. Silently and gently, they began rolling from their respective positions towards him, circling round him before stopping quietly at his right boot. The kidnapper pointed his knife towards Michael.

"Say, how about you take that funny mask off now that I hold all the cards. And after that, why not tie yourself up so me and my boys can give you a bigger headache than the ones they're bound to wake up with?"

"I don't think so," Michael spoke, a look of shock passing through the criminal's eyes. "You might think you hold all the cards, pal, but I always like to keep a few up my sleeve." As he finished his sentence, he sent a walloping kick to the spheres at his foot. They flew at just the precise trajectory to hit their targets—the knife and the forehead. The man toppled backward, falling into a crate of the merchandise they had planned to shift.

Michael smiled beneath his mask, tapping into his communicator and telling Alex to get the cops to the area pronto. He collected the spheres and slid them back into his jacket pocket as he approached the woman. She looked terrified by the ordeal, but for the first time in history, a woman was actually glad to see a man in a balaclava approaching her at night. She jumped at Michael, wrapping him in an unexpected hug and thanking him profusely as he could only react with bewilderment. He did his best to put on a voice that sounded like he knew what he was doing.

"You're safe now," he said, gently extricating himself from her embrace. "The police are on their way."

The woman nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you, thank you so much. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't shown up."

Michael gave a reassuring smile, though his mind was already racing, thinking about what needed to be improved on his equipment for next time. "It's what I’m here for. Just try to stay calm until the authorities arrive."

As he turned to leave, the woman called out to him. "Wait! Who are you?"

He hesitated, unsure of how to respond. They had prepared everything except an alias. Just as he was about to shrug it off, the woman pointed at the back of his jacket.

"It says 'Terrific' on your jacket," she said, a faint smile breaking through her fear. "You really are... Mr. Terrific."

Michael glanced over his shoulder at the faded word stitched onto his leather jacket. He smiled. The jacket was a thrift store find, not exactly something he thought would become part of his identity. But alas.

"Mr. Terrific, huh?" he mused, a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, I guess that'll do."

With a final nod to the woman, Michael turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows as the sound of approaching sirens filled the air. His heart was still pounding, but now there was a thrill of triumph mixed with the adrenaline. He’d done it. His first night out, and he’d actually made a difference.

As he made his way back to the apartment, Alex's voice buzzed in his ear. "Hey, you okay? I heard the chatter on the police radio. They’re on their way."

"Yeah, I’m good," Michael replied, the excitement still coursing through him. "And guess what? We’ve got a name."

"Oh yeah?" Alex sounded intrigued. "Lay it on me."

"Mr. Terrific."

There was a brief pause before Alex laughed. "You serious? Mr. Terrific? Alright, man. If the shoe fits, right?"

Michael chuckled, climbing back through the window into their cramped apartment. "Exactly. Now let’s get to work on those spheres. I’ve got some ideas."

As he settled back into the familiar chaos of their workspace, Michael couldn’t help but feel a sense of purpose. The world wasn’t fair, but tonight, he’d taken a step towards making it a little better. And with Alex by his side, he knew this was just the beginning of something truly terrific.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

• Volume 1 - First Prototype
  
  • 1. Broken Guns and Broken Arms
  • 2. A Family Affair
  • 3. Childhood Memories

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

@Simple Unicycle Chow Yun Fat as the punisher is such a sick idea

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Terrific

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

M R . T E R R I F I C

---

^{"The world isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be."}

^{_{M I C H A E L H O L T ♦ S T A R T U P C O - F O U N D E R ♦ M E T R O P O L I S}}

O R I G I N S:

---

Michael Holt is a brilliant young entrepreneur, co-founder of the tech startup Holt Industries. With multiple degrees including Quantum Physics, Psychology, Electrical Engineering, among others all from Metropolis University, Michael has always been ahead of his peers, excelling in both academic and practical pursuits. However, beneath his achievements lies a series of personal tragedies that have shaped his worldview and driven him to use his talents to make the world a fairer place.

The first happened when he was only a boy. His older brother, Jeffrey, who had been his mentor and best friend was tragically killed by a drunk driver. The second happened early in highschool, when his parents died in a senseless act of violence during a home burglary gone wrong. The death of his family deeply affected Michael, solidifying his belief that the world is inherently unfair. Since this point, he's had a strong urge to change the world for the better, and make it a great deal fairer. Luckily he was taken in by his oldest and best friend, Alex Baker's family. Their families had been friends for years, and the boys were basically brothers from a young age.

Michael’s journey into heroism began with the development of his first prototype T-Spheres, multifunctional devices capable of advanced computational and defensive capabilities. His roommate and best friend, Alex, now a cybersecurity expert, became his only confidant. Together, they worked tirelessly in their cramped apartment, pooling their limited resources and immense intellect. Despite their financial struggles and lack of high-quality equipment, their combined skill and determination made up for it. Their apartment, small and cluttered with discarded prototypes and circuit boards, became the hub of their innovation. Each late night and early morning spent tinkering and testing was a step closer to their vision of fairness and justice. Driven by a shared belief in the importance of fairness and equality, Michael donned the mantle of Mr. Terrific. Inspired by their progress and potential, they founded Holt Industries, a startup aiming to revolutionize technology and create a more equitable world.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Michael adjusted his makeshift costume in the mirror of their tiny apartment, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. One of his T-Spheres, still in its prototype form, was clutched tightly in his fist. His best friend and roommate, Alex Baker, busy at his desk surrounded by a variety of screens and wires, looked up at him.

"Ready for your big debut, buddy?" Alex asked, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Michael replied, his gaze steady. “Just remember, this is all uncharted territory. If anything goes wrong, I’ll need you to keep me updated.”

“Got it. I’ll be monitoring every move. Just stay sharp out there,” Alex said, turning back to his screens, each one displaying something completely different from the last. The center screen had an ever-updating view of the traffic congestion around Metropolis, while the one to its right had a visualizer of various police radio channels he was tuning into for updates on the city's crime. The left screen was currently playing one of Alex's favorite old movies, as it often did. Alex was a genius, but with ADD for sure. "Dude, don't forget – we never got the flight mode working on the T-Spheres yet. I put a motor in them so they should roll back to you, but don't go losing them on your first night out there. I don't want you coming back telling me our prototypes fell off some building downtown."

Michael nodded, taking a deep breath before climbing out of the window of their small flat and onto the fire escape. Once he was on the roof, he looked down upon the city in the cool night air. The city was alive with the usual buzz, but tonight, it felt different. He pulled a balaclava over his face and tucked it into his T-shirt. His costume, if you could even call it that, definitely needed some work. His leather jacket was the only thing that really stood out amidst the mishmash of casual clothing he thought he could move best in.

Hours passed as Michael moved from rooftop to rooftop, searching for any sign of action. He was about to give up hope when his communications link with Alex buzzed in his ear.

"Yo, dude, I'm picking up some chatter about smuggling going on at the docks. Cops are too busy tonight to handle it. If you're not too tied up playing Candy Crush, maybe you could check it out?"

"On my way," Michael replied, turning around and picking up the pace toward the docks.

He arrived at the docks to find a group of burly-looking men unloading crates from a boat under the cover of darkness. He sidled up to a wall and peeked around it, counting the hostiles. There were four, no, five of them, but only three seemed to be unloading the crates. He watched for a few moments more, wishing he hadn't after seeing the situation get a whole lot more complicated.

Two other men emerged from the boat, dragging a dejected-looking woman with them. Drug trafficking was one thing, but human trafficking was a whole other level. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out two of his spheres. They were rudimentary, and as he faced potential death, he definitely wished he'd done more testing on them, but they'd have to do. He thought about the best way to go about this. Confronting them head-on wasn't smart; he was outmanned and had nowhere to sneak up on them. If he didn't act fast, though, they'd be out of here with those girls faster than he could catch up. His eyes darted to a wall next to him, then to the smugglers' boat and the warehouse just behind them. For the first time tonight, a smile grew on his face.

He held two of his spheres between his forefinger, middle finger, and thumb. His eyes flickered back and forth between the three targets he'd identified, his brain doing a thousand calculations a second. Finally, he locked on. He could see the exact velocity and angle he needed. He drew his arms back and let them loose.

The spheres flew at speed, ricocheting off each target before bouncing off each of the smugglers' heads, knocking them unconscious. Then the unexpected happened. One of the last criminals, who had been escorting their victim to the car, pulled her in tight and moved her into the path of the sphere. Time almost went in slow motion as Michael called, "Weight!" and the sphere dropped to the floor. They hadn't installed many upgrades to the spheres yet, but in their efforts to develop self-propelled flight, they'd managed to invent a variable weight system for the gadgets. Michael thought they'd just be handy in preventing any criminals from stealing his hardware. Little did he know it would prevent him from hitting an innocent girl.

The kidnapper slid a switchblade out from his pocket and held it to the woman's throat. "Come out now, or she gets it!" he demanded. Michael had to oblige. He emerged from his cover, his hands up at his side. His heart was beating out of his chest as he timidly approached the man, his bravado and confidence suddenly gone as he was face-to-face with real danger.

"Come on now, man, put the knife down and no one has to get hurt," he pleaded. The man laughed.

"Seems like the only one who's going to get hurt here is you, bozo. What are you dressed up as anyway, dork? Halloween's not for another few months." He let out a sneering laugh. Michael didn't find the situation so funny, though. And for every laugh that escaped the horrible man's mouth, another twenty thoughts ran through his head as fast as a freight train.

Eureka.

Still holding his hands in the air, he made a slight gesture with his hands, not big enough to be noticed, but just enough to send a command to his spheres. Silently and gently, they began rolling from their respective positions towards him, circling round him before stopping quietly at his right boot. The kidnapper pointed his knife towards Michael.

"Say, how about you take that funny mask off now that I hold all the cards. And after that, why not tie yourself up so me and my boys can give you a bigger headache than the ones they're bound to wake up with?"

"I don't think so," Michael spoke, a look of shock passing through the criminal's eyes. "You might think you hold all the cards, pal, but I always like to keep a few up my sleeve." As he finished his sentence, he sent a walloping kick to the spheres at his foot. They flew at just the precise trajectory to hit their targets—the knife and the forehead. The man toppled backward, falling into a crate of the merchandise they had planned to shift.

Michael smiled beneath his mask, tapping into his communicator and telling Alex to get the cops to the area pronto. He collected the spheres and slid them back into his jacket pocket as he approached the woman. She looked terrified by the ordeal, but for the first time in history, a woman was actually glad to see a man in a balaclava approaching her at night. She jumped at Michael, wrapping him in an unexpected hug and thanking him profusely as he could only react with bewilderment. He did his best to put on a voice that sounded like he knew what he was doing.

"You're safe now," he said, gently extricating himself from her embrace. "The police are on their way."

The woman nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you, thank you so much. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't shown up."

Michael gave a reassuring smile, though his mind was already racing, thinking about what needed to be improved on his equipment for next time. "It's what I’m here for. Just try to stay calm until the authorities arrive."

As he turned to leave, the woman called out to him. "Wait! Who are you?"

He hesitated, unsure of how to respond. They had prepared everything except an alias. Just as he was about to shrug it off, the woman pointed at the back of his jacket.

"It says 'Terrific' on your jacket," she said, a faint smile breaking through her fear. "You really are... Mr. Terrific."

Michael glanced over his shoulder at the faded word stitched onto his leather jacket. He smiled. The jacket was a thrift store find, not exactly something he thought would become part of his identity. But alas.

"Mr. Terrific, huh?" he mused, a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, I guess that'll do."

With a final nod to the woman, Michael turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows as the sound of approaching sirens filled the air. His heart was still pounding, but now there was a thrill of triumph mixed with the adrenaline. He’d done it. His first night out, and he’d actually made a difference.

As he made his way back to the apartment, Alex's voice buzzed in his ear. "Hey, you okay? I heard the chatter on the police radio. They’re on their way."

"Yeah, I’m good," Michael replied, the excitement still coursing through him. "And guess what? We’ve got a name."

"Oh yeah?" Alex sounded intrigued. "Lay it on me."

"Mr. Terrific."

There was a brief pause before Alex laughed. "You serious? Mr. Terrific? Alright, man. If the shoe fits, right?"

Michael chuckled, climbing back through the window into their cramped apartment. "Exactly. Now let’s get to work on those spheres. I’ve got some ideas."

As he settled back into the familiar chaos of their workspace, Michael couldn’t help but feel a sense of purpose. The world wasn’t fair, but tonight, he’d taken a step towards making it a little better. And with Alex by his side, he knew this was just the beginning of something truly terrific.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

Changed my application a tad. Rather than having him be a college student I've had him be the founder of Holt Industries at it's early levels, and changed the last paragraph of his origins to reflect this. Also changed him from New York to Metropolis for the moment.