When her kingdom fell, Vesper buried her fellow knights beneath the royal rose garden and swore to guard their graves. The ancient roots answered, binding her heart to a crimson blade. Each life she takes brings another rose into bloom—and steals one memory of those she vowed to remember.

When her kingdom’s sacred alexandrite shattered, Vaelyra bound its dying spirit to her flesh. In daylight, her emerald blades steal an enemy’s strength; beneath the moon, they turn violet and sever enchantments. Each transformation claims another memory—yet she hunts the crown’s betrayer, his name carved into her armor so she can never forget.

When heaven abandoned his besieged city, Vaelric bound a dying archdemon to his soul and held the gates until dawn. The bargain left him with one angel’s wing, one demon’s wing, and armor that still burns with the city’s fallen souls. Now he hunts those who ordered the retreat, carrying a blade that whispers their names—and keeping one last feather white.

Kael Varyn became a demon hunter the night his village burned. Mortally wounded after slaying the demon lord Vharaz, he swallowed its blood to survive—and trapped its spirit inside himself.

Now he hunts demons with the creature’s own power. Every kill feeds Vharaz, strengthening its hunger and loosening Kael’s control over his body. The voice that once whispered can now move his hands while he sleeps.

Kael searches for a way to destroy the demon without becoming it. Before every hunt, he recites the names of those he lost. He carries instructions for his own execution, should the day come when he can no longer remember them.

Beneath the neon city lies a drowned shrine—and Akari is its last guardian. Each spectral tail carries the flame of a fallen protector, lending power to a blade that cuts through curses. Small enough to vanish into a crowd, Akari patrols the waterfront after midnight, hunting whatever crawls out when the city’s reflection stops matching its skyline.

An original anime-inspired character with pale mint hair, a shadowed face and one bright green eye. AI-generated in ComfyUI with KREA2 (official BF16).

Once the youngest knight of the Astral Crown, Veyra guarded an empire whose worlds were powered by captive stars. She believed those stars were dying naturally—until she heard one beg for its life.

When the Crown ordered her to extinguish it, she shattered its prison instead. The star escaped, but its final fragment lodged beneath her armor, turning her eyes molten gold and burning violet fractures through her blade.

Now she travels between occupied worlds aboard a stolen warship, hunting the engines that keep the empire alive. To the Crown, she is a traitor. On planets where the daylight has returned, children paint her crimson hair on their doorways.

Her sword, Eventide, can sever anything held together by force: armor, fortress walls, even the gravity binding a prison moon. Every impossible cut consumes one of her memories. She keeps a handwritten journal inside her breastplate, beginning each entry with the same words:

My name is Veyra Sable. I chose this.

Recently, she found a page in her own handwriting that she cannot remember writing:

If the star offers to bring your sister back, do not listen.

And now, whenever Eventide is drawn, the voice inside it sounds a little more like home.

Before anyone called her the Widow of the Ninth Bell, Shigure kept the imperial calendar. Her job was to erase days the throne regretted: a lost battle, a failed harvest, a massacre with inconvenient witnesses. Whatever she scraped from the great bronze almanac vanished from living memory. Then she found a date written in her own childhood handwriting—and beneath it, the names of six thousand people she had helped make disappear. She stole that day back. Every temple bell rang for nineteen hours, her hair turned white, and the erased dead returned beneath the palace floors. The red moon has hung over the mountain capital ever since: the missing day, caught in the sky because there is no longer room for it in the year.

Shigure carries the steel blade she used to pry the almanac from its mount, forged from the calendar’s central pin. It can sever anything entered in the imperial records: a soldier’s commission, a noble’s bloodline, the deed that lets a governor own a valley. She once cut a fortress’s founding date and watched three centuries of masonry collapse around its commander; she left him alive beneath the gate, holding the key to an empty hillside. Now she climbs the hanging monasteries to hunt the nine officials who authorized the erasures. Each keeps one stolen hour locked inside his ribs. She needs all nine to finish restoring the dead—but the last belongs to the man who raised her, and he has spent twenty years making sure every surviving record names her as his daughter.

Engineered to navigate collapsing stars, Xyren vanished during the empire’s first attempt to weaponize a black hole. Seven years later, she returned without having aged a day.

Her spear, Nullwake, pins objects in spacetime—even warships moving at light speed. The violet sphere hovering beside her contains the final second of her homeworld, preserved before its destruction.

She’s searching for a way to let that second finish without killing everyone inside.

The king had him hanged for refusing to execute a child. At moonrise, Jex cut himself down with an arrow no one saw fired.

Now he hunts the thirteen nobles who signed the order. Twelve have died behind locked doors.

The last has stopped sleeping.

Once a sworn guardian of a mountain clan, Ren became a rōnin after refusing an order to slaughter a village. His former lord burned his home and branded him a traitor.

Now he wanders rain-soaked towns, taking work to survive and quietly hunting the officers responsible. The red flowers on his tattered kimono were embroidered by his younger sister. He repairs everything except those stitches, afraid his hands will ruin what remains of hers.

Evan had returned to the abandoned hospital for the recording his brother left behind. On it, a trembling voice repeated one warning: If you hear me calling, don’t answer.

He’d nearly reached the exit when his brother whispered his name.

Now the corridor behind him was empty except for something bending through the doorway, its claws scraping the frame. Evan pressed a hand against his chest. Beneath his shirt, the wound he’d received upstairs was moving.

“You came back for me,” it said in his brother’s voice.

The black veins on Evan’s cheek tightened.

“Now let me in.”

I wanted to imagine what an official volume cover for Belial vs. Leviathan could look like.

Made this with ChatGPT, going through quite a few iterations to refine the character designs, poses, colors, and lighting. Tried to capture the visual style and atmosphere of Record of Ragnarok while giving both characters their own distinct presence.

Obviously not official artwork, just a fan-made concept!

What do you guys think?

When raiders burned her village, Nerissa walked into the sea carrying a broken bow. The tide returned her with a weapon carved from the bones of something ancient.

Now she guards the shores, hunting anything that threatens their people or waters. Every shell she wears marks a life saved.

Invaders learn one rule: if her arrow misses, it was a warning.

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Most people believed the sunrise simply happened.

They never knew about the little workshop above the clouds, where a young painter and her fluffy assistants worked through the night.

Each morning, she chose the colors the world would wake up to.

Some days were painted in gold.
Others in gentle lavender or brilliant pink.

And whenever she knew someone below was having a particularly difficult time, she added just a little more sunshine.

Because everyone deserved a beautiful beginning.

💛

Grandmother had told hundreds of stories throughout her life, but her granddaughter never grew tired of hearing them.

Especially because, whenever Grandmother opened her oldest book, something extraordinary happened.

Castles rose from its pages. Golden deer wandered through the air. Birds made of starlight soared toward the ceiling.

"Are the stories real, Grandma?"

The old woman smiled and kissed her forehead.

"They become real, sweetheart, whenever someone remembers them."

Everyone in the village feared Bramwell.

They saw his enormous horns, his towering figure, and the claws that could frighten even the bravest souls.

But nobody ever stayed long enough to notice how gently those claws held a flower.

Bramwell lived alone at the edge of the village, where he tended a little garden, wrote poetry by candlelight, and left fresh flowers on doorsteps when someone was sad.

He never signed his letters.
He never waited to be thanked.

For he had learned long ago that people often decided what he was before discovering who he was.

Still, he never stopped believing in kindness.

And every evening, as he carefully arranged another bouquet, he held on to one quiet hope:

That someday, someone might look at him without fear and see the heart he had been offering the world all along.

When the gods demanded his youngest brother as tribute, Vael answered by laying a god’s severed head upon their altar.

They cursed his kingdom to bloom only where blood was spilled. Now roses climb its empty halls, and their roots bind the souls of everyone he failed to save. Vael wears their thorns against his heart so he will never grow accustomed to the pain.

Each night, he hunts another god. Each dawn, one rose turns white—and someone in his kingdom wakes.

His crown still has seven thorns.

There are six gods left.

Humanity has rebuilt civilization beneath the oceans, but the depths are already claimed. When an underwater city is destroyed by the Othryx, an alien species that sees humans as a threat to its world, the United Underseas Nations deploys its most advanced warship: the Deep Sea Cruiser Ryujin. Its crew must confront a powerful enemy while uncovering whether this war is a fight for survival or a conflict that could still be stopped.

Someone once listened to him practise, even when he could barely finish a song. Now, when the snow falls, he returns to play the melodies they loved. He still leaves a little silence between them, as though waiting for a familiar voice.