From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
|Archetype:||Brute / Dominator|
|Primary Set:||Stone Melee / Fire Control|
|Secondary Set:||Fiery Aura / Stone Assault|
|Threat Level:||50 / 20|
| Distinguishing |
| ¹Most records of Khariss' existence prior to her arrival at Paragon City have been destroyed by Crey Industries. |
- Phoenix Insurrection (Former)
- Survivors of Vega (Former)
- Obviously, Khariss is not from Vega. She was contracted as a mercenary by Queen Xena for a short time.
- The Last Bastion (Former)
- Inevitable Evolution (Former)
- Der Wille von Mahakali (Former)
Dark brown tresses flow midway down her back. Her body is well toned and fit; the curves of her muscled arms, her broad shoulders and hips exemplify the higher-than-average strength she possesses.
Favoring mobility and utility over fashion, Khariss does not wear tight fitting or extremely loose fitting clothing. Intimidation is a key factor in her mode of dress. The only item that seems to be constant in her wardrobe are her impervium vambraces.
While orange flame flows freely from Khariss' eye sockets, the eyes themselves are perhaps the most odd -- and interesting -- feature about this individual. The eyeball itself is white, her irises azure.
They permit her to see and detect thermal output. This extends to living beings and objects that create heat. Unfortunately for her, she suffers from extreme light sensitivity and weak vision overall. The sun limits her sight significantly, almost to the point of rendering her blind. That said, she is quite near sighted.
On a related note, physical details elude Khariss until she is close enough to make them out.
Khariss' personality has been dictated by circumstance. She is aggressive and brutish, two qualities that were conditioned into her. Completely unfiltered and unreserved, words tumble out of her mouth as quickly as they come to mind. Considering this, she comes off as an extremely rude person. This easily leads to misunderstandings and poor impression.
Khariss shares a unique bond with the earth. She is able to feel the earth and its fiery core when she is close to, or touching, it. This brings with it the power to control seismic activity, as well as magma or lava.
As stated, her control over the earth ends when she has lost her physical connection to it.
Since her abilities were triggered, Khariss has become the embodiment of the living flame. Her body temperature is extremely high, so much that her eye sockets have become a vent to permit the excess heat to vacate her body. Many accidental fires have been caused by her touch or proximity.
While not considered true flight, Khariss can use her pyrokinetics to soar the skies. This method of flight does not permit her to hover in the air and is very taxing on her energy.
Fire does not harm Khariss at all.
While her internal temperature is extremely high, sudden temperature changes can send her into shock, or kill her outright.
It felt like someone was trying to pull them out of their sockets. The young woman rubbed fiercely at those stones that occupied her orbitals. Normally, they were solid and rended her vision useless, yet something had changed. Fissures of light seemed to be invading her otherwise darkened vision. Were those stones cracking?
It didn't help that her cell was illuminated. Light bounced off the gray walls and the steel door, often causing irritation. Those fissures seemed to be inviting more light into her eyes. It was distracting and nearly blinding. As she usually did to avoid the light, she buried her head in her pillow to ward off the pain.
"Get up, 91. It's time to go."
Specimen 91. She was not even a person to them. No, she had been demeaned to a number. The young girl was roused from her bed, if she could call her pile of ragged blankets that. Armed men burst into her tiny cell and were all pointing rifles at her. They were supposed to be security, but they were too well armed and could more appropriately be considered paramilitary.
Their immediate leader was Security Chief Adam Lot, a tall man with close-cropped hair. He was the only one that wore a standard, though tight-fitting, shirt under his harness. Two pistols were neatly holstered at his thighs, but his preferred weapon was the M4 carbine he was carrying. He had a patch on his sleeve that bore a stylized "F."
91 knew what was going to happen. Lot only ever bothered her if Doctor Jennings wanted to experiment. Even if her eyes were plaguing her, she had no choice but to listen, even if it was hard for her to keep up with him. The light in the hallway was much brighter than that in her cell. After the third time she bumped into an obstacle in the hallway, Lot grabbed her arm and dragged her forcibly to the laboratory where Jennings was waiting.
"Strap her in," Jennings ordered. The goateed man's voice was always deep and commanding. Lot never questioned him, and 91 was soon strapped onto the unpadded gurney in the center of the laboratory. Her eyelids were clamped open. "Your eyes, 91. They look like volcanic fissures. It seems a perfect time to remove those covers and see what hides underneath, wouldn't you agree?"
Jennings was cruel in his experimentation. Her eyelids were clamped and the scientist pried away at those cracked stones. Then it happened. 91 felt a wave of cold was over her body, then there was heat.
The girl's eye stones shattered as her internal temperature rose. Orange fire burst from her eye sockets in place, melting her eye clamps and Jennings' tools, as well as damaging his hands. She had no idea what was going on.
"Quickly! Bring me a cryogen rifle and put this fire out! Put her out!"
They sprayed chemical retardent from the extinguishers everywhere, including 91's face. When it didn't put out the flames that flowed from her eyes, they resorted to smothering her. She could feel her lungs aching with their denial of oxygen, and then her world faded to black.
The throbbing headache the girl woke with was much preferred to the agonizing pain her eyes were giving her prior. At least the light in her cell was out now, yet something was different.
Despite the lack of light, 91’s vision was clear. The shapes of the walls, door and objects around her were prevalent. She could navigate as clearly as if light struck her eyes as it did with other people.
She could see orange silhouettes, some large, some small. They took the shapes of people, but she could not tell what they looked like.
“I said, wake up.” A deep, male voice accompanied a light tapping on 91’s cell door.
“What do you want?” 91 demanded.
“Shh! I’ve got food for you.” The small sliding window at the base of the door opened, allowing the light from the hallway outside to illuminate a small rectangle on the floor. An invisible hand gently pushed a tray full of food through. “Eat it quicky.”
There was more food than 91 had ever been given before on that offering. A tin mug of milk, some bread, meat and an apple. Though the tin drinking cup melted quickly when she picked it up, she was able to consume most of the milk. The rest of the food was burned when 91 picked it up. Not even the tray provided could withstand her body temperature.
“It’s a shame that they haven’t even given you a name,” the anonymous man said.
“What does it matter to you?”
Silence filled the air until the man pulled the sliding door open to retrieve the warped tray and the wad of tin 91 had melted. “Everyone deserves a name.”
This was the third time she had been moved. The previous two cells they locked her in could not contain the heat she was constantly exerting through her eyes and skin. This new cell, however, was different. The door and walls were thicker. She could barely make out the silhouettes of the people on the other side through it. It didn't help that her own output was reflecting off the walls to interfere with her vision.
It didn't matter. It was time to leave. The fiery-eyed woman stood in front of the door and bent her arm, staring her hand down as she curled her fingers in. Fire encased her fist with a surge of energy, and with a snap of her wrist, she threw the fireball at the door. The door was scorched. More power; she needed more.
She gathered her energy up and unleashed it through both hands at the door. A massive firebolt fled from her arms, searing the door and forcing it to bend, its hinges creaking in agony. Beads of sweat dripped down the woman's face while she struggled to keep her attention on the door. It was exhausting.
When the hinges started popping, 91 stopped. She wiped a bare forearm across her damp forehead. Despite the energy she was using to break that door, her progress encouraged her to continue. Light peeked into the room through the makeshift windows the bent, titanium door provided. It was just about ready. Just in time, too. She could barely make out the orange silhouette of a security guard rushing to investigate the noise.
The woman pressed her hands against the door. Another surge of energy fled to her fingertips, and the thick, metal barrier was blown off its hinges completely. The approaching guard had just stepped behind the door when it threw him against the wall and crushed him under its weight. The bloodied guard was trapped under the destroyed door, yet somehow, he still lived.
"91, no! Please! Don't kill me." He sounded so pathetic. 91 had spent years under Jennings' knife and never complained. It angered her.
"91? My name is Khariss."
She didn't even need to expend any energy after she touched the guard's face. Her body produced enough to melt his flesh right then and there. He screamed, of course. Echoes of his agony bounced off the walls of the long corridor, though when the alarms sounded, his screams were drowned out.
It was time to leave.
- Alcohol burns up in Khariss' system almost immediately after consumption. She never gets drunk. Certain drugs are also ineffective.
- Khariss does not recall her age.
- Her designation was Specimen 91. The name Khariss was given to her and she has become very attached to it.
- Her body temperature has been recorded at a base of 1600°.
- This means she is really hot. Literally. Not only to the touch, but proximity. It is extremely likely that close contact, or even personal space invasion could invite discomfort or harm.
- Khariss cannot read or write.
- She is, quite literally, colorblind.