The Maskerade

Quincy

Name: Artemis Davidson

Age: Ageless, but looks to be in mid to late twenties.

Personality: He is very intelligent, and able to think very quickly on his feet. Artemis is a natural born leader, and a genius of military tactics. Once upon a time, he prided himself as an inventor. From time to time, those thoughts resurface. But recently, they've been few, and far between. As far as his attitude is concerned, he'd usually very laid back, and sarcastic, even in the heat of battle.

Over his many, many years, Artemis has seen too many tragedies, and too few reasons for humanity to continue living. He doesn't hold the dead in very high respects, either. As far as he's concerned, the whole world, both dead, and living, needs to be saved, from itself. He has become very cold, callous, and bitter, following no one's orders but his own. If the world won't silence itself, then he will be the one to lay it to rest. The Quincy rarely refers to himself as such anymore. Now he knows himself only as the Maskerade.

Description: Time has treated the old Quincy very well, almost as if it learned to enjoy his company. Brown hair, that was once long, and unkempt, now lay neat, and short, only an inch long with any given strand, save for the bangs, which cover the width of his forehead, and rest just below the brow. While time may have been kind, stress has not. The brown is littered with specs of silver, and once inviting, warm, brown eyes have become cold, and filled with disdain. His face is smooth, minus the small patch of brown fur in the middle of the chin.

His basic attire consists of a pair of loose fitting, blue jeans, the cuffs of which are frayed, and torn. His feet lay in a pair of black and white, vintage, worn, but still in tact, shoes, with white laces. Weaved into the belt loops of the jeans, is a woven, leather belt. Along the belt, there is a leather band, with a snap button keeping it together. Along this one band, a stock of silver rectangles is usually kept. They usually jingle like a ring of keys, unless the stock happens to be running low. Artemis' torso is usually covered in his signature, white button up. These days, though, he wears nothing underneath, but a bare chest, and more often than not, has the shirt buttoned up. Hist left wrist is an odd pigment, almost seeming to be perpetually bruised, internally, with yellow-golden tints in the skin. If one were to look closer, they would see that the yellow bruises take the shape of an ornate cross, and a small chain. This shape belongs to that of a relic he'd long since forgot: His Quincy Cross.

While he seems to be a very normal, aging man to the majority of the human population, for those who are capable of seeing the spiritual side of the world, there are two major differences. The obvious one, is his face. He refers to it as the Maske From the bridge of the Quincy's nose, down wrapping around the curves of his lower jaw, and chin, sits a bone mask. The edges of the mask lay where his jawline meet his neck, and under the bottom jaw, just above the jugular. While it's mostly one, smooth piece, there are lines etched near the area that the mouth should be, almost as if someone tried drawing teeth in the mask with a knife. The overall appearance is quite similar to the bandanna used by bandits in western films, to cover their face, and conceal their identity. This bone mask does not interfere with Artemis' speech, or breathing.

History: Artemis was a child prodigy, gaining the ability to speak fluently before his first birthday. He was born to a family of entrepreneurs, in Phoenix, Arizona. During his youth, he was always pushed harder, to become something more, something his parents could be proud of, like his older brother, who was an up and coming lawyer. Artemis succeeded rather early, having cleared his way through elementary school by age eight. He never made any real friends, none that anyone else could see.

After that, he was sent to Pennsylvania, to attend a private school that lay in the countryside around Philadelphia. After six more years, he had obtained his diploma, and made haste for Harvard. During his stay at the university, Artemis took various courses, from simple business management, to advanced electronics, to quantum physics. Even a few semesters of Japanese made it onto his resume. He spent a total of four years at Harvard, and walked away with several degrees at the age of eighteen. Still, the only ones who actually knew who he was, were the ghosts that still haunted the university's halls.

From that point, he set his focus on ruling the Capitalist world. He started a small business, selling phone service. The business took off, as his rates were much lower than the competitors. It also helped that he was honest in his offers, and didn't simply scam people by hiding one of the zeros on the bill. From that foundation, he branched out, developing new technology, and researching better, faster ways to route the world's traffic of information. Of course, his empire would be put on hold while the government sluggishly debated approval of his new concepts. As he began focusing more on his business, there was no more time for the ghosts, and they soon stopped appearing before him.

At age twenty-one, Artemis decided to expand his tentative corporate empire, taking a trip to Japan. Once there, he met with a few executives, most of which took little interest in his developments. His lack of interpersonal skills didn't help matters much, either. It was a futile effort. As if his failure wasn't enough of a blow, he received a call from his vice president, with very grave news. His empire was no longer on hold, but in ruin. As it turned out, he'd made a few 'not-so-legal' shortcuts, and the operation, as a whole, was instantly seized and terminated. Artemis had lost everything, including a way home.

Not even having the funds to pay for a room at a local hotel, he wandered the streets that night, simply looking for a place to escape the wind and rain. Perhaps it was due to his sudden shock, perhaps it was an effect of reality sinking its teeth in, or maybe it was just Murphy's Law, but the ghosts appeared once more, and not the pleasant kind.

Down a particularly dark alley, Artemis was confronted by a strange creature, the like of which, he'd not seen before. The beast appeared to be a gorilla, with a white, bone, mask for a face, and a gaping hole in its chest. Whatever it was, it didn't like him. The creature chased him out of the alley, and a few miles through town. It didn't seem to be capable of catching him, but it was determined to. Suddenly, a golden flash illuminated the streets. That very flash saved his life, piercing the creature's mask, forcing it to dissolve into thin air. The origin of the flash: An older man, more than likely in his sixties, with a hand pointed directly over Artemis' shoulder.

The old man listened to his story, and even took him in, offering shelter, and a home, until Artemis was able to get back on his feet, financially speaking. That first night, Artemis questioned the events that occurred, from the masked ape, to the golden bolt of light. The old man seemed eager to explain that the creature was known as a Hollow, and that he was something called a Quincy. He went so far as to express that Artemis was one of these 'Quincy' as well.

For four years since that night, Artemis stayed with the old man, learning about the world he really lived in, the one with spirits, and those that fought against the evil ones. He also spent a large portion of that time training, learning how to use his new found powers. He'd gotten nearly to the point the old man was at in a very short period of time, respectively. It had seemed that Artemis had an uncanny gift for the ways of spiritual war.

Unfortunately, the old man fell ill in his old age, passing away in his sleep. He'd left a note a few days earlier, when he felt the end coming, for Artemis to take his glove, to seek out the other Quincy, and to defend the weak in his stead. Artemis gave him as proper burial as he could, and took the glove.

Since, he'd spent time in solitude, mastering his new skills, especially Ransotengai and Hirekyaku. He found new ways to use these abilities, such as using spirit threads to fortify areas of his body, cushioning impacts, or strengthening the skin to resist being cut. His Hirenkyaku is now capable of allowing powered kicks, and even the ability to stand on the air, even in the real world.

He had left the past behind him, forgetting about Capitalistic races, and a world rules by money. In the four years he'd spent with the old man, his eyes were opened. His only goal now was to defend humanity from the beasts known as Hollows.

That was the initial plan, anyway.

Quicker than he could fathom, Artemis was thrown into a world of chaos. Fights broke out between the clans of the damned. The once oblivious Quincy witnessed unimaginable things first hand. It was through this constant state of war, that he came to know Shinigami, Vaizards, Bounto, and Arrancar. More often than not, he found himself fighting the Hollow, and their hybrid offspring, only to be told that he was getting in a Shinigami's way. Eventually, he gave up trying to be part of the solution, and feigned ignorance, like the rest of humanity.

While the fighting continued without him, he killed only what attacked him, which was small game, mostly. Still it was enough to keep his skills sharp. In the meantime, he decided to bring his focus back to his own life, and pose an attempt to regain what he'd lost when he'd been stranded. Finding a very nice job as an electronics engineer for Sony, he made himself quite a bit of money, in a small amount of time. Most of it was used to keep himself alive, spent on food, health care, and rent for a run down apartment in south Tokyo.

Still, one cannot hide from their purpose. Within a year, after calling it quits, the fight pulled him back in.

It had been a late night, and he'd been out drinking, attempting to celebrate some sort of holiday with his colleagues. His path back home took him through a couple back alleys, not ones with which he was very familiar. He'd come across a Hollow, or rather, stumbled into it. The creature had been in the middle of a meal, feasting on an older man in ragged clothing. In a mere second, he was struck sober, pinned against a brick wall with a bone spike through his gut. A fierce battle ensued, nearly an hour, with each hitting as hard as they could. In the process, Chimera, the glove he'd inherited from the old man, was ripped from his hand, and torn to shreds. He was only able to use his cross, and use it he did, until his wrist was cut open, and the silvery object embedded itself within. Were it not for his drunken mistake giving the enemy the first, very critical attack, the Quincy would have won within mere seconds. Unfortunately, being impaled affects one's combat skills in a very negative manner. At the end of the brawl, both Artemis, and the Hollow he'd fought, were beaten, on the brink of death. But the Hollow had other plans.

The creature unveiled one, final ability, white tendrils flowing from its body, and into the Quincy, through the chest, back, and mouth. The pain was unbearable, as the invader slowly took over his body, devouring him from the inside out. Another hour passed, their one on one war continuing through a battle of sheer will power. During the process, the Quincy's heart stopped, and for a moment, he was dead. But his soul refused to let it end that way. In the end, Artemis was able to remain in control of his body, but the damage had already been done. His life was taken, but he was far from dead, now belonging half to each side. His body was transformed, the Hollow having left its mark where it invaded. It was a blessing in disguise, he assumed, as he was now, technically, immortal, unable to die from natural causes, such as old age, or disease.

But immortality came with a price.

No more, was Artemis alive. He was merely physical, a living body, piloted by a dead soul. He truly was on both sides of the fence now, with one foot in the grave, along with the leg, and arm, and half of his being. While he could carry on with life, he was destined to watch those around him grow old, and die. People always wondered why he never grew older with them. He couldn't give them the answer. Who would actually believe that he was half ghost? He no longer needed food, nor sleep. He simply needed to keep moving, to exist. Before long, he began to question whether or not he really did exist anymore.

Two hundred years passed. He's cut off nearly all emotional ties to what he used to call life, becoming more beast than man. Over the years, the fighting continued, on both ends. It seemed that no one was satisfied with this thing existing among them, neither the living, nor the dead. The chaos, it seemed, wouldn't let him rest. He has vowed, now, to put an end to that very chaos, by any means necessary.

(I will state now that the Maske (German for 'mask'.) serves no real pivotal function. It merely provides aesthetics, agelessness, and maybe - if stretched a bit - a small amount of defense where the bone is..)