The tales of The City are many. Here are but a few of them.
By night I hunt vamps.
By day it is sirens and succubi.
They say that there is no rest for the wicked; that may well be so but there is even less for those of us who hunt them.
My name is Braeden Wolf.
I have no fancy title, no gang, no secret mystical order, just a lone wolf out on the mean streets. There are others who do, though all seem to have different titles. Hunters and Slayers, Templars and Rippers. Suffice it to say we all share a common goal, to hunt down and destroy the damned.
Sooner or later they all come to my city – The City – a den of vice and corruption so pervasive that it has taken on a life almost of its own and calls out to those of like mind, a call that they answer. They feel at home here, safe, as it were. Safe if it were not for the likes of me.
It is a dangerous line of work. Few last long but there are always more – brave, reckless, deluded souls that they are – willing to follow on and risk the lifestyle. Some do it for the thrill of the kill, others for personal redemption. There are even those who see it as a holy war, a jihad against the damned and the forces of darkness. Those are the ones you want most to avoid. They will see you killed in the process and not blink an eye over your loss if it lets them kill just one more of the damned.
Most of them lack an edge. You can’t fight the damned without one, not and expect to survive. I have it. Jacked up on magical incantations, combat boosters and cybernetic augmentations, I am a fusion of tech and magic and flesh, with wires in my veins and fire in my blood.
Yet even at times that is not enough.