Zahkir Fulstovka

Name:
Zahkir Fulstovka


Race:
Fallen Angel


Racial Attributes:
Pitch Black Wings.


Age:
Appearance wise 22. In reality he's 32 years old.



Gender:
Male



Personality:
A young mind in a body that does not belong to him. Zahkir leaves no room for error as he sees himself as a perfectionist. Constantly honing his craft of the martial arts he attempts to land every hit with the utmost precision. Being apathetic stops him from showing mercy. He feels a complete disconnection from life itself as he feels as though his life is not his. He yearns for answers from his past but to no avail.

Appearance:

Spoiler:

Minus the Helmet in the picture.

Standing at 6'1 Zahkir is of decent height. A somewhat lanky build but also very lean he uses the way his body is built too move fast he chooses speed over brawn. His black hair covers his forehead and goes right above his eyes to ensure it doesn't get in the way of his sight.

Wearing black metal armor and constantly coating his body in electricity he uses his armor as a rod to conduct his electricity through.

He also has dark angel wings that he can summon at his will.

Alignment:
N/A




Occupation:
Wandering Mercenary




Relations:

N/A



Backstory:
Being reborn was the oddest thing. Zahkir knew this new body wasn't his but his mind was his own."How odd" he thought when he came back to life. "This isn't me. But then.. who am I?" He would ask this question over and over again but to no avail. It was a hard adjustment period being an angel. Listening to others who were in charge who wouldn't give him any kinds of answers to the one thing that he seeked more then anything. He grew tired of taking orders and not being allowed to think for himself so he wanted to get out. He was planning on making his escape when one day he stumbled upon the oddest commodity. A sword bound in cloth and shackles. Far too powerful to be unleashed by any mere angel he heard. It belonged to that of the Archangel he was directly under. As time went on he found himself going mad as he was drawn to the sword. It meant something to him he just didn't know what. So one day he acted upon his primal desire and stole it. Attempting to unleash it's power it resulted in nothing happening except him falling from the heavens. He descended upon Bright Ire like a comet. Burning up on his way down as he crashed into a lake.

Time passed and he had to make a living. He may have felt disconnected from this life but this doesn't mean he was in a hurry to leave it. He knew he had to take care of himself and that led to him become a weapon for hire. Fighting countless battles and honing his combat abilities they only seemed to grow. He saw no end in sight going from group to group making ends meets doing whatever job they needed only growing stronger from the more experience he gained. Until he hit the wall. She was unlike anything he'd seen before and he challenged her to a one on one.  

After suffering a defeat at the hands of an enigmatic red haired mercenary, he found himself humbled. Not from her display of strength and skill but rather it's source. A sense of camaraderie for her fellow man. He expected death after losing. The same thing he had given so many others before but instead she offered him his hand and dusted him off. He swore to himself that he would meet her again sometime and get the best of her. Not out of malice or spite, but out of a desire for a true challenge against someone who showed him there was more to fighting then loss of life.