Half Pint

MARVELS: Streets of New York

M O R B I U S

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^{_{Michael Morbuius ♦ Forensic Consultant♦ Brownsville, Brooklyn ♦}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"I was a man who sought to cure death. Now I am something far worse."}

Morbius exists in a unique space between hero, antihero, and outright horror and as a result rubs a lot of heroes the wrong way, especially those he has come into contact with early into his afflication like Blade or Spider-Man. He is trying to prove himself as a changed man, but altering this image is proving far harder than he wishes.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

I believe that Morbius is a very underrated character within Marvel and there are many stories that can be told from the perspective of a cursed man trying to do good while battling with an afflication that forces him to do bad to survive. I'd love to explore stories surrounding him being involved in the wider hero community and turning their opinion around on him from believing he is a villanous monster into seeing him as a tragic figure who is trying, despite everything, to fight for the right cause.

A throughline of his story would be his desire to cure himself of his Vampyrism. While he fights for good with the power he now has, he'd much prefer to revert back to how he was before. I'm especially interested in exploring his approach to crime fighting in relation to other heroes. He fights in part to sustain himself with blood, and his methods may be darker than most would be comfortable with. His battles may be in part against mobsters, traffickers, and the like, but he could also have an angle to fight monsters lurking in the city's darkest corners. He doesn't have the luxury of being seen as a hero, and I want to play with the tension of whether New York will ever accept him or if he'll even let himself be accepted.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Abilities

• Pseudovampirism – Morbius is a living vampire, possessing enhanced strength, speed, reflexes, and healing. However, he is not undead and posseses few of the weaknesses a regular vampire has.
• Blood Dependency – He must consume blood to survive. Animal blood sustains him, but human blood is far more potent. The longer he starves, the less control he has.
• Echolocation & Night Vision – His senses are adapted for hunting in darkness. He can "see" heartbeats, track movement, and detect fear.
• Psionic Gliding - Morbius lacks true flight but through a combination of his hollow bones and mental powers he is able to glide for long distances.
• Hypnotic Influence – Not true mind control, but he can hypontise those who look directly into his eyes for long enough. He can strongly input suggestion into their heads and the victim is likely to follow their command dependant on how strong their willpower is.

Skills

• Genius Intellect - Previous to becoming the living vampire, Michael Morbius was a brilliant Nobel-Prize winning scientist with a speciality in biochemistry and more specifically hematology.
• Hand-To-Hand Combat - Though not a trained martial artist, Morbius is a ferocious and instinctual fighter, using his inhuman agility, strength, and claws to overwhelm opponents. When in control, he fights tactically, using his environment and speed to his advantage. When starving or enraged, he becomes far more unpredictable, relying on raw power and brutal attacks.

Enemies

• Madame Masque (Whitney Frost)
• The Rose (Richard Fisk)
• Basilisk (Wayne Gifford)
• Hunger (Loxias Crown)
• Doctor Paine
• Kingpin (Wilson Fisk)

Allies

• Dr. Jacob Weisenthal – One of the few people Morbius truly trusts, Dr. Weisenthal is a fellow scientist who has dedicated himself to finding a cure for Morbius' condition. He serves as a confidant and occasional benefactor, providing Morbius with medical assistance, research, and a rare sense of human connection. Without Weisenthal's help, Morbius would have little hope of ever reversing his affliction.
• Martine Bancroft - Morbius' former fiancee and one of the most tragic figures in his life. Once deeply in love, Martine stood by him even after his transformation, desperately searching for a cure alongside him. However, their relationship became strained as Morbius' condition worsened, and was ultimately nullified the night he became the living vampire and fed on her. She is unaware if he is alive or dead at the moment, but still searches for any trace of him.
• Blade – The Daywalker has hunted Morbius more than once, viewing him as another creature of the night to be put down. But over time, their relationship has grown more complex. While Blade still doesn't fully trust him, the two have fought side by side against greater supernatural threats.
• Spider-Man – Peter Parker has often found himself at odds with Morbius, viewing him as a tragic yet dangerous figure. They have clashed repeatedly, but Spider-Man has also tried to help him, believing there is still good in him. Morbius, in turn, sees Spider-Man as a persistent obstacle but, deep down, acknowledges that Peter’s unwavering morality is something he envies.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

The hunger called to him like instinct. It felt like more than an urge, more than the feeling an alcoholic gets at seeing an open bottle, this felt like second nature. Like his body was screaming at him for blood. And yet he resisted, despite everything telling him otherwise he resisted.

Morbius perched on the rooftop of a tenement building, staring down at the alley below. His claws dug into the crumbling brickwork, body tense, motionless, like a stone gargoyle watching over the worst part of town. He didn't need his echolocation to hear the struggle unfolding beneath him. The stench of sweat, fear, and fresh blood already told him everything.

A woman in the alley below, late twenties, cornered with her pulse racing. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her wide eyes darting for any escape, but the walls of the alley seemed to only close in around her. She clutched her handbag to her chest, her knuckles turning white. The copper scent of fresh blood reached Morbius' nostrils. She had been cut, not deeply, but enough to panic her, enough to fill the air with the sweet, sickening perfume that made his fangs ache.

Morbius leapt down from the rooftop behind her assailant in a soundless blur. His feet making no noise as he gently landed behind the hooded figure holding the switchblade, stretching out behind him almost entirely in black like a shadow. He glided over to the mugger, practically already tasting the sweet nectar of his blood as his fangs grew and his claw outstretched. The woman's eyes caught Morbius' own crimson pair, burning with desire. The woman gasped, she would have screamed had her breath not caught in her throat at the sight of the man.

The mugger quickly spun, and for a moment he froze, the weight of the inhuman visage before him rooting him to the ground. Then, instinct took over. He slashed out with the knife in a desperate attempt to kill the monster before him.

Morbius caught his wrist mid swing. His grip was like a vice as he raised his arm, pulling the mugger off the ground, dangling within his grasp. Panic surged through the criminal, his eyes glancing left and right as he squeeked out a desperate request.
"L-let me go, man!"

Morbius glanced up, using his other hand to quickly pull back the hood to reveal the muggers youthful appearance. He was just a kid. He could feel a wave of disappointment crash through him. This was par for the course in Brownsville, kids turning to crime and becoming adults in jail. He let out a sigh before letting him drop to the floor.

"Run."

The boy hesitated for only a second before scrambling out of there, dropping the knife as he stumbled backward. His sneakers scraped against the pavement as he bolted into the night, his panicked footfalls echoing down the alley.

The woman remained, still trembling, still clutching her bag. She had every right to run, to scream, to assume he was worse than the mugger who had just fled. Instead, she stared at him, a mixture of confusion and fear staining her face as she glanced to and from his pale, gaunt face.

Morbius turned away, stepping back into the shadows as his form melted into the darkness. The night would claim him once more.

The hunger was still there, clawing at his insides. But for tonight, at least, he had chosen not to feed.

MARVELS: Streets of New York

It's Morbin Time

M O R B I U S

---

^{_{Michael Morbuius ♦ Forensic Consultant♦ Brownsville, Brooklyn ♦}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

^{"I was a man who sought to cure death. Now I am something far worse."}

Morbius exists in a unique space between hero, antihero, and outright horror and as a result rubs a lot of heroes the wrong way, especially those he has come into contact with early into his afflication like Blade or Spider-Man. He is trying to prove himself as a changed man, but altering this image is proving far harder than he wishes.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

I believe that Morbius is a very underrated character within Marvel and there are many stories that can be told from the perspective of a cursed man trying to do good while battling with an afflication that forces him to do bad to survive. I'd love to explore stories surrounding him being involved in the wider hero community and turning their opinion around on him from believing he is a villanous monster into seeing him as a tragic figure who is trying, despite everything, to fight for the right cause.

A throughline of his story would be his desire to cure himself of his Vampyrism. While he fights for good with the power he now has, he'd much prefer to revert back to how he was before. I'm especially interested in exploring his approach to crime fighting in relation to other heroes. He fights in part to sustain himself with blood, and his methods may be darker than most would be comfortable with. His battles may be in part against mobsters, traffickers, and the like, but he could also have an angle to fight monsters lurking in the city's darkest corners. He doesn't have the luxury of being seen as a hero, and I want to play with the tension of whether New York will ever accept him or if he'll even let himself be accepted.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Abilities

• Pseudovampirism – Morbius is a living vampire, possessing enhanced strength, speed, reflexes, and healing. However, he is not undead and posseses few of the weaknesses a regular vampire has.
• Blood Dependency – He must consume blood to survive. Animal blood sustains him, but human blood is far more potent. The longer he starves, the less control he has.
• Echolocation & Night Vision – His senses are adapted for hunting in darkness. He can "see" heartbeats, track movement, and detect fear.
• Psionic Gliding - Morbius lacks true flight but through a combination of his hollow bones and mental powers he is able to glide for long distances.
• Hypnotic Influence – Not true mind control, but he can hypontise those who look directly into his eyes for long enough. He can strongly input suggestion into their heads and the victim is likely to follow their command dependant on how strong their willpower is.

Skills

• Genius Intellect - Previous to becoming the living vampire, Michael Morbius was a brilliant Nobel-Prize winning scientist with a speciality in biochemistry and more specifically hematology.
• Hand-To-Hand Combat - Though not a trained martial artist, Morbius is a ferocious and instinctual fighter, using his inhuman agility, strength, and claws to overwhelm opponents. When in control, he fights tactically, using his environment and speed to his advantage. When starving or enraged, he becomes far more unpredictable, relying on raw power and brutal attacks.

Enemies

• Madame Masque (Whitney Frost)
• The Rose (Richard Fisk)
• Basilisk (Wayne Gifford)
• Hunger (Loxias Crown)
• Doctor Paine
• Kingpin (Wilson Fisk)

Allies

• Dr. Jacob Weisenthal – One of the few people Morbius truly trusts, Dr. Weisenthal is a fellow scientist who has dedicated himself to finding a cure for Morbius' condition. He serves as a confidant and occasional benefactor, providing Morbius with medical assistance, research, and a rare sense of human connection. Without Weisenthal's help, Morbius would have little hope of ever reversing his affliction.
• Martine Bancroft - Morbius' former fiancee and one of the most tragic figures in his life. Once deeply in love, Martine stood by him even after his transformation, desperately searching for a cure alongside him. However, their relationship became strained as Morbius' condition worsened, and was ultimately nullified the night he became the living vampire and fed on her. She is unaware if he is alive or dead at the moment, but still searches for any trace of him.
• Blade – The Daywalker has hunted Morbius more than once, viewing him as another creature of the night to be put down. But over time, their relationship has grown more complex. While Blade still doesn't fully trust him, the two have fought side by side against greater supernatural threats.
• Spider-Man – Peter Parker has often found himself at odds with Morbius, viewing him as a tragic yet dangerous figure. They have clashed repeatedly, but Spider-Man has also tried to help him, believing there is still good in him. Morbius, in turn, sees Spider-Man as a persistent obstacle but, deep down, acknowledges that Peter’s unwavering morality is something he envies.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

The hunger called to him like instinct. It felt like more than an urge, more than the feeling an alcoholic gets at seeing an open bottle, this felt like second nature. Like his body was screaming at him for blood. And yet he resisted, despite everything telling him otherwise he resisted.

Morbius perched on the rooftop of a tenement building, staring down at the alley below. His claws dug into the crumbling brickwork, body tense, motionless, like a stone gargoyle watching over the worst part of town. He didn't need his echolocation to hear the struggle unfolding beneath him. The stench of sweat, fear, and fresh blood already told him everything.

A woman in the alley below, late twenties, cornered with her pulse racing. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her wide eyes darting for any escape, but the walls of the alley seemed to only close in around her. She clutched her handbag to her chest, her knuckles turning white. The copper scent of fresh blood reached Morbius' nostrils. She had been cut, not deeply, but enough to panic her, enough to fill the air with the sweet, sickening perfume that made his fangs ache.

Morbius leapt down from the rooftop behind her assailant in a soundless blur. His feet making no noise as he gently landed behind the hooded figure holding the switchblade, stretching out behind him almost entirely in black like a shadow. He glided over to the mugger, practically already tasting the sweet nectar of his blood as his fangs grew and his claw outstretched. The woman's eyes caught Morbius' own crimson pair, burning with desire. The woman gasped, she would have screamed had her breath not caught in her throat at the sight of the man.

The mugger quickly spun, and for a moment he froze, the weight of the inhuman visage before him rooting him to the ground. Then, instinct took over. He slashed out with the knife in a desperate attempt to kill the monster before him.

Morbius caught his wrist mid swing. His grip was like a vice as he raised his arm, pulling the mugger off the ground, dangling within his grasp. Panic surged through the criminal, his eyes glancing left and right as he squeeked out a desperate request.
"L-let me go, man!"

Morbius glanced up, using his other hand to quickly pull back the hood to reveal the muggers youthful appearance. He was just a kid. He could feel a wave of disappointment crash through him. This was par for the course in Brownsville, kids turning to crime and becoming adults in jail. He let out a sigh before letting him drop to the floor.

"Run."

The boy hesitated for only a second before scrambling out of there, dropping the knife as he stumbled backward. His sneakers scraped against the pavement as he bolted into the night, his panicked footfalls echoing down the alley.

The woman remained, still trembling, still clutching her bag. She had every right to run, to scream, to assume he was worse than the mugger who had just fled. Instead, she stared at him, a mixture of confusion and fear staining her face as she glanced to and from his pale, gaunt face.

Morbius turned away, stepping back into the shadows as his form melted into the darkness. The night would claim him once more.

The hunger was still there, clawing at his insides. But for tonight, at least, he had chosen not to feed.

MARVELS: Streets of New York

I'm working on my application now. Can I ask what the image section with "IMAGE/BANNER" in it is for? Is it for a custom banner of the characters name/logo?

MARVELS: Streets of New York

It's an interesting take, but I do think struggling with his monstrous nature and craving for blood is kind of integral to his character- otherwise, the uniqueness of being a vampire gives way to being a vampire skin on a regular superhero. Having some degree of control over it isn't a bad idea, since it shows he's made progress, but I'd be careful not to just remove one of the character's central conflicts, since that's part of what makes him interesting.

@AndyC

You make an excellent point, I was more married to his characterisation in Midnight Suns than this aspect of his character and definitely agree it would be a lot more interesting with this struggle built in.

MARVELS: Streets of New York

What is the depiction in the game like?

@Retired

Much less feral than he is usually depicted. He's very much in control of his hunger for blood as much as he can be by only feeding on evil people or using a diluted serum to keep it at bay. He's very regretful of his previous actions after first becoming a vampyre, and is well-spoken, pragmatic, and more focused on controlling his condition rather than indulging in bloodlust. I'd sort of be taking hints from this depiction mixed with his short 2013 run if I were to play him.

MARVELS: Streets of New York

Sounds great! I have an idea for Morbius, but would his depiction in the Midnight Suns video game be alright? I genuinely think it's the best depiction of him.

Calling All Heroes and Villains!

Apologies for my absence, I've been busy with training! Unfortunately I think I'll need to drop out of this. The pace is a bit fast for me and I'm having a hard time envisioning where my character will go after the bank heist. I wish you all the best though!

Calling All Heroes and Villains!

Dante Cross

---

A Few Weeks Ago
Ironclad

---

Dante sat at the bar of the Rusty Nail. A dive bar on the bad end of Ironclad that had seen its fair share of lowlifes and hapless wanderers looking for somewhere to drown their sorrows in a place they could avoid too much attention. Dante wasn't sure which best described him, but he hoped it was the latter. He'd been sitting at the bar for three hours, or five years depending on how you looked at things, and was sticking to his usual routine - nursing a beer and feeling sorry for himself. He couldn't help but think that if Marcus could see him now he'd be disappointed. All that work making him into the second Halcyon and it lead him to the bottom of a grave and his protoge to the bottom of a bottle.

Dante swirled the amber liquid in his glass before swigging back another gulp. The Rusty Nail wasn't much to look at with its flickering neon lights, scratched tables, and a jukebox that only played half the songs before skipping. But it was quiet, and the people here minded their business. Most of the time, anyway.

The door creaked open, letting in the cold night air along with a group of three men. They were loud, already halfway to drunk, and wearing that particular swagger that came with a complete lack of self-awareness. Dante barely glanced at them, his eyes instead settling back on his bottle.

He could hear the bark of their laughter behind him, the clatter of chairs as they shoved a few patrons out of their seats. The bartender muttered something in protest, but a sharp, slurred command to "shut your mouth and pour" was enough to silence him.

Dante sighed, his fingers tightening slightly around the glass. Not my problem, he thought, leaning forward as if to make himself smaller. He'd learned the hard way that standing out rarely ended well. He wasn't scared for his own safety, but using his power just painted a target on his back. These guys weren't worth his time, he could piss down any gutter and soak five of these losers, they were a dime a dozen in Ironclad.

Dante could hear their laughter rise above the faint music from the jukebox. Eventually, the conversation turned toward him as the group sauntered over to the bar.

"Check out this guy!" one of them sneered, jerking a thumb toward Dante. "Sitting here all moody, what's the matter buddy girlfriend left you for some other poor bum with a 20 dollar jacket?"

Another laughed, tipping his beer toward Dante's back and spilling it on the floor next to his boots. "Bet he’s writing poetry in his head. 'Oh, woe is me, my beer's gone warm, my life's gone cold.'"

"Looks like he tried to fight a lawnmower and lost." the third said, gesturing at the scars running down Dante’s face. The others burst out laughing, their jeers growing louder.

Dante ignored them, taking a slow sip of his drink. He'd learned a long time ago that responding only gave them fuel. After Marcus' death he'd have relished the chance to push these clowns through the wall, but these days he just wanted to be left alone.

One of the men, emboldened by the lack of reaction, leaned in close. "Hey, buddy." he drawled. "What's with the silent treatment? You too good to hang out with the rest of us?”"

Dante's fingers tightened on his glass, but he didn't look up.

"Leave him alone." the bartender muttered, but his voice lacked any real force.

"Oh, come on!" the man said, turning to the bartender with an exaggerated shrug. "We're just trying to get the guy to smile. He's bringing the whole place down."

The other two joined him at the bar, snickering as they loomed on either side of Dante.

"Maybe he's one of those wannabe superheroes." one said, nudging the man next to him. "Probably with some loser power. Control over dairy products or something!"

The first one smirked, leaning in closer. "What's the matter? Someone break your heart? Or just your face?" The group let out another laugh, taking their drinks and moving over to a table in the corner of the room. Dante and the bartender caught eyes for a moment, he could see the relief on his face.

Then, a scuffle broke out behind him.

The woman at the next table stood abruptly, yanking her arm out of one of the men's grip. "Don't touch me!" she snapped, her voice firm despite the tremor beneath it.

The man leaned back, smirking. "Oh, relax, sweetheart. We’re just trying to have some fun. You’re the one getting all uptight."

"Leave me alone!" she said, stepping back toward the bar.

"C'mon now." the leader said, taking a step toward her, his voice oozing false charm. "No need to be rude. You could at least say thank you when a guy's being friendly."

Dante closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose.

When the woman shoved past him to put more distance between herself and the men, the leader's mask slipped. He grabbed her by the arm, his grip tight enough to make her wince. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

"Let her go." Dante said, his voice calm but carrying an edge. He hadn't moved from his chair yet, only moving his eyes to track them from the corner of his vision.

The men froze, glancing at him before bursting into laughter.

"You serious?" the leader asked, squaring up to Dante. "You gonna play the hero tough guy? You didn’t learn the first time? What’re you gonna do, tough guy? Drink us to death?"

Dante pushed back his stool and stood, his towering frame forcing the man to crane his neck slightly to meet his eyes. He kept a palm pressed firmly on the top of the bar, he felt a bit unsteady from the drinking.

"Last chance." Dante said, his tone steady as he stared the man down. "Let her go, and you walk out of here."

The man sneered, his free hand darting into his jacket. The glint of metal caught Dante’s eye just as the pistol came up, pointed at his chest.

"You don’t scare me, hero." the man spat, squeezing the trigger.

The shot cracked like thunder, silencing the bar. Dante staggered back a step as the bullet struck his arm. He gritted his teeth, the gravity field instinctively dampening the impact, but the pain still lanced through him as the round embedded itself shallowly. Blood seeped through his sleeve, the wound a dark stain against the dim light of the bar. The clown had the audacity to shoot him, and worse yet he'd put a hole in his second favourite drinking arm.

The leader blinked, his confidence faltering as Dante straightened, flexing his fingers. The room felt heavier, the air pressing down on them with an almost imperceptible weight. Dante shook his bleeding arm, cracking his neck as he clasped his hand around the barrel of the small pistol and snapped it upwards.

What was that quote about letting sleeping dogs lie?

---

Present Day
Nova City

---

The mid-morning sun gleamed off the mirrored glass of Nova City's towering skyline, casting patches of light across the busy streets below. Dante walked with his hands in his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched against the weight of the world. The fresh scar on his upper arm throbbed faintly, a grim souvenir from his last run-in at the Rusty Nail. He barely remembered how he'd gotten home that night, only that the lowlifes hadn't been walking by the end of it.

His steps carried him into the heart of downtown, where the hum of life was louder and more chaotic. Office workers rushed along the sidewalks, coffee in hand, while cars honked in the gridlocked lanes. A street musician strummed a melancholic tune on a guitar, its melody briefly catching Dante's attention. For a moment, he paused, his gaze distant, before the buzz of his phone jolted him back to reality.

Reaching into his pocket, Dante checked the cracked screen. It was a news notification: "BREAKING: Armed Robbery in Progress at Bank of Nova City – Hostages Reported."

He frowned. The location was only a few blocks away.

Dante swiped the notification away and tucked the phone back into his pocket. Not his problem. Nova City was crawling with heroes these days, flashy types with big names and bigger egos. Someone else could handle it. He was still on the fence about returning to the hero business. He'd drunkenly made a pact with himself after that night in Ironclad that he'd dig up Marcus' legacy and start doing some good again. Right, sure, and maybe next week he'll quit the booze.

But as he turned the corner, the distant wail of police sirens drew closer. People were clearing the streets, their hushed voices and hurried steps thick with anxiety. He passed a mother pulling her child along, fear etched across her face.

"Isn't anyone going to do something?" the woman muttered to no one in particular.

Dante clenched his jaw. He kept walking.

His path veered into an alley, where he leaned against the brick wall and stared at his reflection in the cracked window of a boarded-up shop. His scruffy hair, tired eyes, and the weight of disappointment etched in every line of his face stared back at him.

"You're better than this, kid." Marcus’s voice echoed in his head, unbidden. He could see the old man staring back at him in the murky reflection of the broken window.

Dante's fists tightened. He didn't need a lecture from a ghost. But as much as he wanted to shove the memory aside, it clung to him. He reached into his pocket, pulling out Marcus' old red bandana and staring at it for a second. With a low growl, he pushed off the wall and turned back toward the street.

The bank was just ahead now. A police barricade had been set up, officers crouching behind their cars, weapons drawn. Through the glass doors, Dante could see flashes of movement, vines creeping up and rooting hostages in place, gas seeping up from the floor, and what looked like rats scurrying about on the floor.

Dante stopped at the edge of the scene, keeping to the shadows as he assessed the situation. He felt the familiar pull in his chest, the gravitational power that simmered just beneath the surface, begging to be unleashed. He didn't need to get involved. He could walk away, disappear into the chaos like he always did.

But then his gaze landed on one of the hostages, a boy no older than ten, clutching his mother’s arm with tear-filled eyes.

Dante exhaled sharply.

Enough.

Stepping out from the shadows, he strode toward the barricade, tying Marcus' bandana his head as the scars underneath his eyes began to glow that same shade of red. The officers tensed, their attention snapping to him. One of them raised a hand to stop him.

"Hey! You can’t go in there!"

Dante didn’t stop. "I'm not asking permission."

Before the officer could argue, Dante stepped past the barricade, the gravity in his steps already shifting as he climbed the steps to the bank doors.

That’s when the temperature dropped. A sharp pulse of cold air spread outward like a wave, sending shivers through the assembled onlookers. The light bent and darkened for a fraction of a second before a figure appeared in a burst of black, otherworldly energy.

"HeLLo! Don’t WorRy everybody! Glutton fights for YOU! For JUSTICE!"

The declaration cut through the tension, though it left the crowd more confused than reassured. Dante's sharp gaze locked onto the being, a hulking figure standing six feet tall, its unnatural grin and piercing red eyes more menacing than comforting. Dante instinctively felt his feet plant into the ground and his hands raise in a fighting stance. For a moment he thought he was involved in the robbery, but his gut told him otherwise. Whatever this thing was, its motivations had nothing to do with the money in that vault.

He let himself relax, standing straight as he hooked a thumb underneath his belt. The hero business sure had changed since he'd been gone if this guy was being called in to save hostages. He rubbed his chin.

"Justice, huh?" He let out a grin, glancing down at the crowd looking up at them. "We look more like the villains than the ones to dish out justice here, pal. The only thing stopping those cops down there from sending some hot lead our way is the fear that you'd just eat the bullets." He moved over to the door, trying the handle only to find it securely locked by vines that must have been as strong as a metal bar. "Tell you what, you look capable enough, hows about I get this door open and we get to work before the boyscouts in leotards get here?" He said grinning back to the row of teeth behind him. This wasn't exactly the team-up he'd envisioned to kickstart his return to heroism, but he couldn't help but feel it made more sense than working with some of the guys he'd seen on the news. If anything they had similar taste in jackets.

He concentrated his energy through his body, and the air immediately felt heavier around them as the gravity within him grew stronger, heavier. He raised his boot and with one mighty kick he burst open the doors and blew free the vines holding them in place. Taking a step inside the bank as he motioned for Glutton to follow him.

Calling All Heroes and Villains!

Dante

Name:
Dante Cross

Alias:
Halcyon II

Alignment:
Antihero

Powers/Abilities:
Gravity Manipulation: Dante has the ability to alter gravitational fields around his body. He can increase the density of his punches for devastating impact, reduce gravity around his feet to leap great distances, or anchor himself to resist knockback and force. His control is primarily physical and instinctive, amplifying his MMA abilities rather than being flashy or overtly supernatural. His power is greatly affected by his emotion, and in times of great emotional duress he has been able to alter gravity to lift things at a distance or even float.
Enhanced Strength and Durability: His gravity manipulation grants him superhuman strength by increasing the mass behind his strikes. He can also reinforce his body against impact, making him extremely hard to injure when focused.
MMA Mastery: Dante is a highly trained mixed martial artist with a focus on striking, grappling, and submission techniques. His fighting style blends raw power with technical precision, honed under Marcus Kane's mentorship.

Weaknesses:
Sharp/Cutting attacks: His enhanced durability only applies to things he can dampen the impact of. Blunt objects have little effect on him, but slashing weapons hurt him as much as they would a normal human.
Emotional Instability: Dante's guilt over Marcus's death and his difficult past often cloud his judgment, making him reckless in combat and prone to self-destructive choices.
Limited Power Control: His gravity abilities are powerful but mostly focused inward on enhancing his physical capabilities. More complex or ranged applications require intense concentration and exhaust him quickly.

Personality:
Dante is a gruff, intense individual who speaks little but feels deeply. His sarcasm and blunt honesty make him difficult to befriend, though his loyalty runs deep once earned. He carries a profound sense of loss and guilt, which he masks with stoicism. He often seems like he's constantly bracing for a fight, even when calm.

However, beneath his hardened exterior is a fierce protector driven by a need to make amends. He believes in justice but operates outside the law when necessary, unwilling to be shackled by bureaucracy or the constrictions of the judicial system.

Background:
Dante Cross grew up on the wrong side of Ironclad, raised by his father, Jackson Cross, a disgraced MMA fighter whose career ended in a match fixing scandal that spiraled into violence against officials. Jackson was bitter, angry, and abusive. More focused on turning Dante into the fighter he never was than raising him as a son. His idea of parenting was drilling lessons through pain, teaching Dante that strength was the only way to survive. Love was absent in their household.

By sixteen, Dante was already a fixture in underground fight pits his strength and durability already exceeding normal human limits. Though he didn't yet understand the truth of his gravity warping abilities. They would surge in moments of anger or desperation, his strikes hitting harder, his body enduring punishment no normal fighter could withstand. He could even swear it felt like he was floating when he was in real trouble. Jackson saw it as an edge, exploiting his son's gifts for profit and pushing him to fight harder, longer, and more ruthlessly.

It ended the night Dante went too far. A brutal, unsanctioned match left his opponent permanently injured. Arrested for assault, Dante was hauled away in cuffs. His father didn't even bother to say goodbye. That was the last time Dante ever saw him.

That's when Marcus Kane found him.

Once known as Halcyon, Marcus had been a hero from another era, one of bright ideals and simpler battles. Time, however, had taken its toll. His body had aged, his strength faded, and his once mighty presence was now confined to the quiet life of an old man who had hung up his cape long ago. His retirement wasn't from failure but inevitability, time had finally caught up with him. But Marcus never stopped being a hero where it counted.

When Marcus heard about a teenage fighter with unnatural strength making waves in an underground fight ring, he wasn't surprised to learn the kid had ended up in juvie. A friend in the police force tipped him off, and Marcus made it a point to visit. What he found wasn't just raw power, it was a young man consumed by rage, wielding his strength with reckless brutality, and teetering on the edge of self-destruction. For Marcus, looking at Dante was like staring into a mirror from his own troubled past, and he knew he had to step in before the boy lost himself entirely.

He didn't come with promises of redemption or speeches about potential. Instead, Marcus used his connections to get Dante out of juvie, offering himself as the boy's reluctant guardian. The arrangement wasn't ideal for either of them. Dante mistrusted the older man, convinced there was some hidden agenda, while Marcus struggled to break through the walls Dante had built. Their bond formed slowly, almost imperceptibly, as Marcus gave Dante space while quietly setting boundaries. He didn't push, but he didn't leave, either. He'd offer small lessons in discipline, whether it was correcting Dante's stance during an impromptu sparring session or showing him how to channel his anger into precision rather than recklessness.

Over time, Marcus became a steady presence in Dante’s life, teaching him discipline, restraint, and the true meaning of strength, not just power, but the ability to protect. He never forced the idea of heroism, only the idea of responsibility.

It was under Marcus's quiet mentorship that Dante's powers began to make sense. His gravity manipulation wasn't a weapon, it was a reflection of himself. The surges of strength and durability weren't just bursts of energy; they came from emotional intensity, his body reacting to how he felt. When Marcus explained this, Dante finally understood why his strikes hit harder when he was angry, why his body seemed heavier under stress.

Marcus helped him harness that power. Control it. But more importantly, he gave Dante something his father never did, the belief that he could be more than a weapon. The belief that he could do good in the world and not spend the rest of his life smashing peoples faces in for money.

But even heroes can't escape fate.

The day Marcus died wasn't part of anyone's plan. He and Dante had been walking home after a late dinner at a small diner, their usual spot to unwind after training. It should have been a quiet night until the world erupted into chaos.

A fight between a hero and a villain broke out in the streets, the kind of explosive battle that only served to remind Marcus why he'd stepped away from the cape. Fire and debris rained down as they clashed, and a nearby apartment building groaned under the strain. The two combatants seemed oblivious to the destruction, their battle causing walls to crumble and sending civilians fleeing for their lives.

As screams filled the air, Marcus didn’t hesitate. He was no longer the man who could leap into the fray, but he still knew what it meant to be a hero. While Dante stood frozen, grappling with the chaos around him, Marcus acted.

He rushed into the collapsing building without a second thought. Dante snapped out of his daze and followed, but by the time he caught up, Marcus was already holding up part of a crumbling wall to let trapped civilians escape. His once legendary strength had long since faded, but his sheer will refused to give out.

Marcus commanded the young man to get the civllians out. Dante didn’t argue. He focused on pulling the last group of people to safety as his mentor struggled with the last of his power against the weight of the building.

But the building's structure was too far gone. The villain's final attack rattled the foundation, and Marcus' grip faltered. He shouted for Dante to get out, his last act of kindness for the boy.

Dante turned back just in time to see Marcus buried under the collapsing debris.

When the dust settled, Dante clawed through the rubble with a desperation he'd never felt before. His powers surged, bending gravity to his will as rubble flew through the air weightless, but it was too late. He found Marcus pinned beneath the wreckage, dead.

Dante emerged from the wreckage clutching Marcus' red headband, his face streaked with blood, tears, and ash. His grief ignited his powers in a way they never had before, and in that moment of raw, uncontrollable emotion, crimson marks seared down his face an imprint of the energy unleashed within him. Though they fade when dormant, the marks resurface every time he uses his abilities, a reminder of that day. They are a part of him now, a silent reminder of the man that taught him how to control the darkest parts of himself.

Dante never took the name Halcyon II publicly after that day. He didn't care for titles or heroics. But each time his powers flare, each time the invisible weight crushes down on him and those red streaks blaze to life, he remembers the man who showed him what strength truly means.

It's been years since that day and he has become something of a spectre. He spends a lot of his time in bars or on the road, only so often using his powers to help someone. But recently, with the latest influx of villains something has been stirring in him, and it'll only take the smallest flick of a match to set the fire inside him off once more.

He returns to Nova City for the first time since Marcus' death a different person. Older, more calloused, more powerful.

Appearance:
Dante Cross cuts a rugged, weathered figure, marked by years of grief and self-imposed exile. His lean, muscular build, though still powerful, shows signs of wear. His regimented training has taken the back seat during his travels, and yet he still stands imposing in any room. His long blonde hair is shaggy and slightly unkempt, often falling messily over his forehead and into his eyes, giving him a rugged, almost wild appearance. The crimson streaks etched into his skin which glow faintly when his powers activate serve as a constant reminder of his transformation and the pain he carries.

He typically wears practical, worn clothing: a battered black leather jacket with crimson accents and fur lining, scuffed boots, and faded jeans. A red headband, tied loosely around his arm or tucked into his pocket, is his sole remaining keepsake of Marcus Kane.

Affiliations:
Unaffiliated: Dante has withdrawn from the hero community and avoids forming lasting alliances. The occasional street-level vigilante or underground contact may recognize him, but his drifting nature keeps him from forging strong bonds.
Underground Fight Circles: Once a key part of his life, these are now places he avoids as much as he seeks. Sometimes he fights for cash; other times, he drinks away the night in their shadowy corners.

Motivations:
Dante is a man at a crossroads, haunted by the loss of his mentor and consumed by guilt over his inability to save him or properly carry on his legacy. Since Marcus' death, he has struggled with his sense of purpose, drowning his sorrows in alcohol and running from the weight of his responsibilities. Deep down, Dante knows he cannot continue like this. His call to action will force him to confront his grief, rediscover his strength, and decide who he truly wants to be.

Relationships:
Marcus Kane (Deceased): Dante' mentor and the only person who saw potential in him when no one else did.
Jackson Cross: Dante's estranged and abusive father. Their relationship remains a source of deep-seated anger and self-loathing, one he hasn't fully confronted.

Base of Operations:
Currently he is staying in the remains of Marcus Kane's gym.

Signature Gear:
Marcus' Headband: A crimson cloth that Dante carries with him at all times.
Customized Jacket: His fur-lined combat jacket is lined with lightweight armor for protection, blending style with practicality.

Public Perception:
Dante Cross is a ghost of a man who once could have been a hero. On the rare occasions he intervenes, whispers of his exploits surface, painting him as a ruthless vigilante operating in the shadows. For those who remember Marcus Kane, Dante's fall from grace is a painful reminder of what was lost.

Combat Style:
Even in his diminished state, Dante is a formidable fighter. His style, a brutal mix of MMA techniques and gravity-enhanced strikes, is both precise and devastating. Years of grief and anger manifest in his combat, making his attacks ferocious and unrelenting. However, his lack of focus and self-discipline often leave him reckless, relying on raw instinct rather than strategy. His upcoming journey will test whether he can recapture the precision and control Marcus once instilled in him.

Calling All Heroes and Villains!

-accidental post-