James Raniac - World's Ending, Mutated Human

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Superhuman, mutated, reluctant hero, end of the world is coming, he's missing his left eye, scars, there will be injuries and deaths probably

Open collab with Lappy

Inspired by this song. (Dylan Espeseth - Falling Faster)

The Opening Exchange

The knock against the door was weak, almost hesitant, but it carried the weight of exhaustion, of desperation. When it opened, moonlight cast its pale glow over the figure standing in the doorway—James Raniac, barely recognizable from the man he had once been. His left eye was gone, concealed beneath a hastily wrapped bandage, and his once-wild red hair hung in tangled disarray. Blood smeared his torn clothing, his knuckles split and raw, his breathing ragged as though each inhale was a battle he wasn’t sure he could win.

He staggered against the frame, fingers gripping the wood with white-knuckled tension, anchoring himself against the pull of collapse. His one remaining eye, fever-bright and glowing faintly from the mutagen still coursing through his veins, flickered with something deeper than pain—something far heavier than the wounds covering his body. The air around him was thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and failure.

James: “…I don’t know how to tell them.”

His voice was hoarse, raw from battles fought in vain. His head tilted slightly, as if searching for the right words, but none seemed enough. He swallowed, grimacing as the movement sent a fresh jolt of pain through his battered body. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter, frayed at the edges.

James: “How do you tell someone that their world is about to change… just like mine did?”

His fingers twitched at his side, a subtle reflex as he fought the instinct to reach for a weapon, for something—anything—to keep himself grounded. The night stretched behind him, dark and watchful, as if the shadows themselves were listening. He had seen what was coming. He knew who the true enemies were now. And whether he wanted to or not, he had no choice but to act.

James: “…They have to know.”

His eye locked forward, not pleading, not hopeful—but resolute. However reluctant, however broken, he would fight. Because he ha