Remnants of the Earth

__________________QUICK STATS
Name Jason Venner
Age 33
Gender Male
Sexuality Demiromantic, pansexual
Species Werelion
Ethnicity Edani
Height 6'5"
Occupation Scrapper
Residence Comodore, Edanith
Voice Vin Diesel
Themesong Burning World by Hedemi Miura

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description
He's big. Huge even. Not quite as big as his grandfather, but with the height on his side the added gods-know-how-many pounds of muscle he's packed on top of it make him an absolute tank. His tan skin is for the most part unmarred, save for the few scratches and battle scars here and there, with a Shen ring tattooed on his throat. His sclera are a dark grayish-black, hinting at his slightly more than human heritage, with burning bright red irises. His lips are thin, and his eyes are shadowed by strong arching dark eyebrows. His hair is shaved in a faux hawk, a deep brown-black with the tips toward the front dyed lime green. The bridge of his nose is pierced, as is the underside of his lip which bears a set of snakebites.

He likes sweatpants, all of his shirts are tight fitting due to his size which is a fact of life he's just come to accept, and sometimes he throws jackets on top--when he can find ones that fit, anyways.

Personality
On his own, Jason is a well-behaved guy for the most part, often not making too many waves and focusing on being around to do his job and do it well. Hunting is something he's exceptionally good at, and he's always on the lookout for danger and threats. When you get him out on the streets he's always on full alert, though he does a great job of hiding it with his relaxed posture, make no mistake--those glowing red eyes of his are always watching.

That being said, get him in his off-time and you'll see a carefree, easy-going guy who's totally up for causing trouble and making a fool of somebody. With Jack he tends to waffle between the level-headed voice of reason and the cunning devil on his brother's shoulder. The look he gets when he comes up with something truly dastardly is definitely one to be on the lookout for, because while it doesn't happen often, his ideas are dangerously great and hell to clean up in the aftermath.

Magic/Abilities
Werelion--

Relationships
Jackson- His little bro who is an absolute riot and a massive dumbass but man he loves him.

History
Raised in Comodore with their father Jason and Jackson were introduced to the hard life of Edanith the moment they were old enough to walk on their own two legs. Their father owned one of the most successful scrapyards in Comodore and when he died on a scrapping mission they ended up taking over. Thankfully Jason had already been studying business to take over the family business one day anyways, so at the ripe old age of 19 he was able to make pretty quick work of taking care of everything to take the reins. Jack works directly under him, and while they may bicker occasionally about differing financial opinions, Jackson backs him wholeheartedly and knows that of the two of them, Jason is the one fit to lead.

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name Shini / Imon / Spu [refers to himself as "This One"]
Age Unknown
Gender N/A (use he/him or they/them pronouns)
Sexuality Technically pansexual, heavy preference towards males
Species Ophiosinensis; informally referred to as "zombie bugs"; the body he currently inhabits is an ancient being known to some as a Qirin
Ethnicity N/A
Height 6'4"
Occupation None
Residence Nowhere; he can't stay in one place long or t h e y w i l l f i n d h i m
Voice Anthony Howell
Themesong Infected by Starset

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description
Most of the time, Spu waffles between two main faces--Imon, and Shini. Shini is a lithe and slender man who looks not a day over 25, with smooth alabaster skin, jet black hair and angular features that paint him as no less than supermodel material. His eyebrows are thin, face nearly perfectly symmetrical, with neon aqua eyes that glow and flash in the light, slanted upwards with thick and long black lashes.

Spu is of a slightly broader stature, built like a boxing champion and covered head to hoof in short beige fur, with gray scales coated with a light iridescent sheen adorning his back, shoulders and outer thighs. He has a long tail with a brilliant plume of jet black hair springing forth from the tip, which matches the voluminous black mane that adorns his neck; sometimes both tail and mane are adorned with neon pink and lime green highlights. He has no face, his head being merely a skull (which seems to be some kind of cross between a deer and a horse) with two short antlers and two tall, almost rabbit-like ears protruding from his mane. His eye sockets may be empty or filled with the light of two glowing aqua orbs for eyes. His tongue is blue and all of his natural body fluids glow a mixture of UV purple and aqua under certain lighting.

He's currently in the process of expelling the rotting innards of his host's body that are broken down with certain amino acids produced by himself, and either replacing them with the copies that he has started to replicate, or repairing what's there. He's going through "growing pains" as his body, the parasite, grows and stretches to fill the body of his host and fully take it over, which leaves him feeling hyper-sensitive and usually constantly in pain. He regularly excretes a thick viscous black mucus from the various orifices of his body--this is completely natural, the literal secretions that the parasite is pushing out of the old host. So it sometimes looks like he has nose bleeds, or is crying or coughing up blood. To him it's no different than having a runny nose.

Personality On a good day, they can be described as being cold, calculating, frightfully formal or polite, and manipulative. He enjoys playing mind games with people, using his powers and newfound millenia's worth of knowledge of people to play on fears and instigate torture, doing unto others what they have done to him and his people for so many centuries. On a bad day, they tend to be far less willing to converse and much more easily irritable, quick to anger and prone to incredible mood swings.

It is blatantly obvious that Imon is not mentally stable. He has dramatic violent tendencies which can be set off at any time with almost any circumstances; he will not tolerate it if someone acts in a way that displeases him or with intent to attack him and he feels he has done nothing to warrant such action. It's advised to be careful when interacting with him, because while he may look only mildly creepy to some, you haven't even begun to scratch the surface of the rot-infested waters that lie beneath.

Spu is incredibly possessive, and heaven forbid if he ever decides to think that he owns someone or something, because he becomes viciously jealous should anyone ever touch that someone or something, and will immediately spring to fight to protect what he owns without hesitation.

Magic/Abilities
Telepathy- Spu is capable of communicating telepathically with anyone he so chooses over any distance with zero problems. This is a naturally occurring ability in his species, however it has been amplified with the powers of the host body he has taken over, and when not careful it may sound as if he is yelling inside your head, or there are sharp and painful echoes when he "speaks".

Teleportation- Imon can teleport anywhere he knows and can think of, which is literally millions of places. However, he's still learning how to control it, and at the moment tries to stick only to short distance jumps while he gets the hang of things. This was originally his host's power, not his own.

Shape shifting- He can shapeshift into any form that he can conjure up in his mind; any creature in the universe. He still has trouble controlling this one and so far can only alternate between a few forms with ease--a bipedal qirin, quadrupedal qirin, and a stunning young man who he knows was at one point named "Shini" when his host was still alive.

And he probably has more powers to come but hasn't figured them out yet!

Relationships

History
To understand Spu, one must first understand the history of his species.

Where he comes from, his kind are considered the scum and villainy of his local solar system. They are looked down upon, thought of as vile and disgusting creatures, and generally considered to be dangerous and abhorrent pests. They barely manage to scrape by, their home planet having long since been overtaken by invaders, and tend to fend for themselves as best they can; when someone sees a zombie spider, they try to kill it. The only ways to survive are by killing and parasitizing host bodies bigger and stronger than their own to protect themselves. Infection of other creatures is always how they've survived and is a part of their natural life cycle, which is something that many other species find incredibly offensive and morally wrong.

They can't help the way they were created, the way they evolved. It's just how they function.

Many are tired of the treatment but there is little they can do to stop it; little they can do to organize when so many are spread across the galaxy with no way of uniting to fight for any kind of rights or a cause.

Spu has been planning his revenge for a long time, waiting for the opportune moment to seize the right kind of body that would grant him the kind of power that he needed; and when he saw his chance he took it.

Spu's current host body is that of a Qirin, an ancient and sacred being with untold powers and knowledge of the universe. And he has every intention of using this body, now that its powers have been passed onto him in ways he never could have imagined, to remedy the curse of his kind and extract his revenge on the universe that dealt them such an unwarranted cruel life.

But first he has to figure out how to use it. And so far that's proving to be the tricky part.

As soon as he infected his host body and killed the Qirin itself, the eyes of the universe all turned to him, and now he's on the run--a criminal to the highest degree, having caused a major ripple in the fabric of fate, space and time, and every being in charge of the universe is after him to stop what he's about to do. And yet, something is... Off. The Qirin is dead and yet it isn't. The soul of the creature seems to haunt This One, saying over and over that it forgives it and understands yet the guilt of murdering something so pure for personal gain continues to eat at Imon night and day. It sees flickers of visions of the original Qirin in its peripherals, and hears his whispers of kindness in the dark.

It's a strange feeling to wrap his head around, controlling this mythical body yet sharing it still with the original somewhere deep inside, and he's still reeling with the aftereffects, and will be for the next few years as he slowly takes over his host body to completion and learns how to manage control when he bit off more than he could chew.

It'll all be worth it, in the end.

Quick notes-
Imon is mainly meant as a horror character though I may throw in some comedy with him bc it's me and I can't not, but I want to stress that he is severely unpredictable, violent, and gory. Most if not all of his threads will have an M rating, so if you'd like to plot with him consider this your warning. :v

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"I'm hardly restraining you," came Kayse's breathy reply, unhooking his fingers from her pants and instead resting the flat palms on her outer thigh, slowly stroking over the fabric. He knew she had to go somewhere, but perhaps he could tempt a little reluctance into her and drag out the moment.

Regardless, he wouldn't resist her if she wanted to pull away from him. Thinking with a little foresight, he spoke up again.

"Shower's that-a-way," he said, motioning behind himself with his head.

"Could also just reset your avatar, but where's the satisfaction in that?"

Tucked next to her behind a rock, it wasn't hard to notice the sheer dread that washed through Annabelle right then and there. This specific scenario, pinned behind cover with stresses running high, was perhaps his most familiar one as a former soldier.

Her words started choking out, and he put a stiff, steadying arm against the front of her shoulder.

"You won't. Those suits are rated for void combat, user's completely insulated," he said, and with a tap on the side of his helmet, his visor shimmered away. Annabelle would see bright yellow pupils staring at her, surrounded by dark brown irises and a black sclera. These eyes, set into an angular, squareish face that was definitely not human (as if the dark blue skin wasn't a giveaway), looked back at her with the hard sympathy only a soldier could give. Now that his body was directly exposed to the charged storm, Annabelle'd be able to see small lines of energy run along the bony plates on his jaw and set around his eyes as his body redirected the static in the air.

"But if we can fry the suit itself, guy inside's going to take a little lie down whether he likes it or not," he started. He would've continued, had a voice not come booming out from the storm ahead, a man's voice amplified by a helmet's speaker.

"Phylips! Come on, is this any way to treat some old friends?" came the voice, speaking in a spacer's thick drawl. At the sound of his name, of that voice Saendyr's fingers tightened audibly on his rifle.

"And to think Trenk wanted to see you again! You haven't lost your touch, he's deader than a doorknob now. Why don't you walk the little bitch over to us and we won't make this any more unpleasant than it has to be, hmm? Maybe I'll even talk Jess out of cutting your crests off after that pussy shit with the net."

The entire time the man was speaking, Saendyr had his head leaned forwards, helmet leaned against the sight rail of his weapon, shoulders rising and falling with his breathing, now heavier and deliberate.

His expression was that of surprise, apprehension, and just a little bit of... grief? He bumped his helmet a few times with his rifle as he smiled grimly and muttered something to himself.

"Idiot. Always knew that back-up pistol would get him killed..."

Lynn paused for a moment, something behind her eyes going dark. Then she gave her head a little shake and shot Serina another quick smile.

“Yeah, I’d heard that. About the Fey blood, I mean. Fascinating. There!”

She turned to the dwarf with the written incantation in her hand, holding it out. “Go over that a few times, and when you feel like you’ve got it down, we can get started. I can help with some pronunciation, if you need it.”

She glanced around at her little makeshift pentagram and nodded to herself. “It should do…”

It would have to.