The Executioner serves his purpose with little questions asked.

Really, he’s not any different from the others in the cult; disobedience to their gods is prohibited, after all. However, there is one aspect of him that is not so similar to the average cult member.

His full past is unknown. Not even he remembers where he lived, let alone where he came from. Alas, whoever he may have known from his childhood is unimportant, but it’s not like it would make much of a difference if he recalled.

What is known, however, is that he hunted monsters, both big and small. Wielding two spears, he showed them no mercy, shedding blood across the battlefield without breaking a sweat. After a while, that tends to desensitize someone, and the man was certainly no exception.

Gold was traded for axes. Money for hunting knives. Oh, and women were traded for the creatures he once beheaded, too, but they couldn’t get to those ladies in time before they were slain.

He risked life and limb. Went through trials and tribulations. Loved and lost.

And yet the townsfolk shunned him.

They said he was “too dangerous”. They thought he would stab them in their backs if he had the chance. They saw nothing beneath the helmet that didn’t even mask his face; they judged him by the amount of blood he spilled.

It wasn’t long before he left.

To him, he saw no purpose in serving them. What did he get in return? Stronger weapons, of course, but even one could sculpt such material from stone. At the time, it wasn’t as special as it seemed, no matter how limited society was.

But he ran into a problem miles outside of what was once his home: where else would he go? The creatures he hunted would try to take his life, that was certain. He could fend for himself, but he knew that without shelter, he could meet his end.

That’s when, one day, on the riverside while he was spearing fish, a peculiar individual with a dark, dreary robe walked up to him.

This individual told him about strange and yet mesmerizing things, such as supposed “gods from the heavens”, those who sought after humans as cattle, and would have invaded a long time ago if not for the cult this person was a part of; one that could save the world as they knew it.

The man wasn’t too trusting, but he was curious nonetheless. He had seen the supernatural before, so perhaps this wasn’t out of the question. Abandoning his meal, he followed the robed figure, wondering where the rest of this supposed cult was…

And that’s when his vision went dark.

How did he end up in the hellish base? He did not know. He did not even want to know, as when he opened his eyes, he was met face to face with a creature beyond comprehension or any rational thought; its eyes swirled like galaxies in space and its black body was covered in… not skin, scales, feathers, nor any texture he had ever seen.

At that moment, he felt like a mere child being confronted by a nightmare. He wanted to get out. He had to run.

…But staring into this beast’s eyes, he knew better. He would be eaten alive if he even so dared to move a muscle. Torn to shreds like so many were by him.

And yet, even in spite of that, he was torn apart instead.

He screamed. Almost nothing was spared as the beast took its sweet, slow time. It felt like he was in Hell, perhaps worse. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Hell was better than this. His arms–everything beneath the shoulders–were torn off, his legs meeting the same fate, while his torso was skinned, and his head was split open. Perhaps this thing was a demon; he had read stories about such vicious creatures, and yet now he was at the mercy of one.

The sobbing, pulpy, mutilated mess that was once a man lay there, wondering how he still wasn’t dead. Even as the creature started pressing… something (he didn’t know what it was) against his open, festering wounds, all he wished for was to die. All he wanted was the sweet release of death to take him over.

That wish wasn’t granted to him.

Instead, the pain suddenly stopped, as if nothing ever happened. This internally confused him, as he still felt the missing limbs, the torn skin, the lack of blood…

And yet suddenly, he felt better than ever before.

He felt like all of his energy came back to him in an instant, being applied to him ad infinitum. He felt stronger, with his muscles expanding more than they ever could, his wounds repairing themselves as the best was yet to come.

And when it did, he burst out into laughter (Of joy? Of madness? Maybe both.).

He was like the creature now. The beast repaired his body into something even better than what he once had before. Sure, he had to go through unimaginable pain that felt like it went on forever and ever and evermore, but it was all worth it in the end.

Why? Because a mere human wouldn’t have survived. And yet he did. He wasn’t a scared child, constantly running away like a coward to benefit himself; he was now braver than ever before, an unstoppable machine the godlike beasts conjured to benefit them.

And each and every victim that falls before him proves his point.

With limbs and armor as black as the night, eyes that could see everything (each and every atom), and an expansive mind that allowed him to hear every word given to him from his saviors, he was eternally grateful. They treated him much better than the ones who cast him out like a used and broken toy, did they not? It was all he desired. And he got it in return.

No matter all of the limbs cut off, jaws snapped in half, heads split, hearts crushed, bones broken, eye sockets pulled, blood pooled out onto the floor… he knew such a fate would be inevitable for every mortal to have walked the earth.

The ones pleading for their lives would be at the pearly gates above after facing The Executioner’s wrath, he always tells them.

-

Yet another fucked up backstory. And I decided to make this guy a little more threatening by including the remains of one of his unfortunate victims... a decapitated head. Things didn't go so quick for that poor guy, let's just say.

This priest would rather inflict pain onto others rather than suffer the same fate. He sees how he survived as a "special case", since the penilian he encountered had to break him in order to make him stronger. Is he a coward on the inside? Definitely. But somehow, he doesn't see it that way.

Here's the guy without a background: