| “ | You break so easily... it’s fascinating. | „ | |
| ― Xelorian |
Xelorian is an EXE created by Rolianite. He’s an extradimensional entity intensely curious about humanity, not out of truly malice, but to study them. Using Sonic as a familiar and appealing image, he lures humans into his world, a kind of testing ground where he can exercise complete control and experiment with his victims, often pushing them to suffer, all while remaining detached from conventional morality.
The Nothingness[]
Xelorian stands as a being utterly detached from human notions of good and evil, a consciousness born within the Abysmal Void, unbound by empathy, guilt, or compassion. To him, existence itself is a grand experiment, and humanity merely a collection of fascinating subjects. What sets Xelorian apart is not malevolence, but the absence of it. His cruelty, as perceived by mortals, is not driven by hatred or sadistic joy, but by an insatiable curiosity and a detached fascination with the human condition since he is unaware of how sadistic the things he does are to us.
He treats emotion as a scientist would treat data, observing fear, despair, or joy as natural phenomena rather than moral experiences. Every act of chaos he orchestrates serves as a test, a way to study reactions, patterns, and limits. This lack of moral compass renders him profoundly alien, a mind that perceives no difference between beauty and horror, between laughter and screams.
Yet, within this void of empathy lies a strange form of artistry. Xelorian is not a mindless destroyer, but a creator of intricate “games.” He weaves human symbols, culture, and imagery into elaborate experiments that captivate his victims while revealing their deepest instincts. His perfectionism gives his “mischiefs” an eerie precision, as though each event were both a cruel spectacle and a carefully measured scientific trial.
He neither hates nor loves; he simply is. His only drive is the endless pursuit of understanding, though never empathy. He does not seek destruction for pleasure or dominance, but as a byproduct of observation.
Appearance[]
Xelorian’s main avatar takes the appearance of Modern Sonic, particularly the look from the Unleashed/Generations era, with dark blue, longer-than-usual quills, featuring a diamond-shaped pattern on the top quill and white skin. His eyes have a lined pattern, along with glowing blue pupils, most of the time appearing crossed-eyed. He wears worn-out gloves and socks, as well as shoes with a faded red tone. He also possesses an unnaturally wide mouth extending across the muzzle, filled with human-like teeth.
Guardians[]
The current lore of the three guardians (Axoryn, Vexorath, and Nyxtriel) is still unfinished.
The Tale[]
First Chapter - The Prologue[]
The birth of nothingness[]
In a realm beyond nonexistence—if such a thing can even be called a place—the Abysmal Void stretched without end, where the Two Gods clashed in conflict. The collision of their very natures unleashed a cataclysm impossible to contain. And in that very instant—both consciousnesses were instantly annulled, giving birth, in the process, to a new one—the being that would soon become Xelorian.
This being did not inherit the identity of either. There was no divine memory, no ancient purpose, no legacy. It was an accident. A remnant. An echo that learned to think itself.
It knew no limits—how could it, having been born from absolute nothingness?
Nor did it know purpose. It was never meant to exist. But soon—it would discover one.
At first, Xelorian drifted in pure silence. It was thought without language, eyes without sight. Yet, in the Abysmal Void, energies of distant realities from the Nexus (also known as the multiverse) adhered to him weakly—but there was one in particular that pulsed with a peculiar intensity. Drawn by its persistent resonance, Xelorian followed it until he discovered a reality that harbored a unique consciousness—the human dimension.
For the first time, he beheld beings, and through them he questioned himself—life forms who trembled before the unknown and wandered, unaware of the darkness that surrounded them. They were insignificant, yet their consciousness mirrored fragments of his own essence, stirring in him a deep fascination for humanity. Fragile and restless, these beings moved and thought in patterns he could manipulate, like marionettes dancing on invisible strings.
It was then that a purpose formed within him—a realm of his own creation, folded within the Nexus, his paradise—a carefully constructed hive for these fragile minds, where he could play with the limits of their consciousness, like a child toying with an anthill.
Xelorian didn’t really care about the method of drawing humans into his dominion; all that mattered was bringing them there. And it was then—in his silent observation of Earth—that he encountered something curious: the Sonic franchise, a symbol so deeply rooted in human culture that it fascinated millions.
In his wandering across the human dimension, Xelorian discovered something essential: human consciousness was bound not only to flesh, but also to the symbols it worshiped. Stories, images, melodies—these intangible things shaped them as much as blood and bone. They clung to patterns, obsessions capable of suspending disbelief. But among all of them, the blue figure was everywhere—games, toys, comics, costumes, even movies. To Xelorian, it was not a simple mascot but a beacon, the perfect vessel for his influence.
The first mask[]
With this realization, he finally had the inspiration to shape the realm he wished to create—a dimension modeled entirely after Sonic’s world, recreating game zones and comic landscapes with obsessive precision, every detail drawn from his distorted imagination. Once his dimension was forged, it was time to visit the Earth that had long intrigued him. His first excursions were through the digital realm, where a whisper of his essence slipped into disks, consoles, computers—waiting. The instant a human interacted with these relics with curiosity, the bridge was complete, and Xelorian would seep through, latching onto their fascination to drag them into his dominion.
As months passed, Xelorian realized that the digital realm was only the beginning. Sonic was more than a character—he was an archetype, a figure children trusted without question. It was then—when he started experimenting further—embedding himself in things beyond the digital, into plush toys, comic pages, and more. With each hunt, Xelorian learned more about the Sonic franchise, discovering new games, worlds, and levels, which he then incorporated and perfected within his own realm to create a version of Sonic’s universe recreated with near-perfect fidelity.
He never truly understood the cruelty of his actions. When a soul was carried into his dimension, he stretched it, fractured it, and stitched it back together—studying how far consciousness could bend before breaking. To him, it was no more sinister than watching ants scurry under glass. He knew humans considered it wrong—but he could not understand the depth of their suffering. Their screams were not torment; they were signals, raw data—a language of emotions he longed to decipher.
Thus, his cycle began. For months at a time, Xelorian wandered Earth, attaching himself to digital fragments or taking shapes that lured the curious. When his harvest was sufficient, he withdrew into the dimension he had forged within the Nexus—leaving behind his Guardians, three beings sculpted from shards of his essence. Their task was to keep the hive alive and restless in his absence, sowing chaos to prevent stagnation.
The three guardians were known as Axoryn, Vexorath, and Nyxtriel—each a different face of the chaos he had breathed into existence.
Every return to Earth was different. Sometimes, he slipped through as a glitch in Sonic games; other times, a toy carried a hidden pulse only a child could perceive. Rarely, he walked the human streets himself, taking the form of a Sonic character with a smiling face. He was not limited to Sonic alone—sometimes he appeared as Tails, Knuckles, Amy, or many others.
Yet Xelorian knew that humans were inherently curious—and that if they saw a figure resembling a cartoon character, they would approach it, or call others to follow—drawing even more attention and causing many to take notice. For this reason, he always moved cautiously, hiding in places where there were few people, in shadows or enclosed spaces—where only he and his target would be present.
Over time, rumors of a “real-life Sonic” began to circulate. No one could tell whether it was true or false—yet they felt little fear, for they had never seen his actions, nor could they comprehend his intentions. Or at least—no one who encountered him lived to recount the full story.
Each cycle followed a precise rhythm. For three months, Xelorian roamed the human world, hunting and gathering new consciousnesses to feed his dominion. Once his collection was complete, he would vanish from Earth—retreating for nine months into his own dimension to study, reshape, and perfect the souls he had claimed—before returning again to begin anew.
Second Chapter - The Hedgehog’s Hunt[]
Tyler arrives home bored - November 26, 2022[]
Tyler got home disappointed, with a knot of quiet anger still tightening in his chest, even if he tried to hide it. And really—who could blame him? After waiting all week for what was supposed to be the best Saturday night of his life, he ended up walking through his front door only a little later than he usually did after his internship shifts. Anyone would feel cheated. Michael hadn’t helped either; he’d spent the whole week pumping up Tyler’s expectations. That’s what happens when someone who rarely goes out listens to someone who lives for the noise and the lights.
Michael walked with him the whole way, trying to smooth things over—trying to sand down the sharp edges of Tyler’s mood.
“Come on, man, admit it—even if it was short, you had fun,” he said, gripping Tyler’s shoulder and giving it a light shake.
“We were there barely two hours, since eight,” Tyler snapped, shrugging his hand off. “I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it, but if we’re gonna leave that early, I’d rather do something else than just go home because there’s nothing left to do.” His voice was angry, but not fully explosive—more like a fire banked under ash.
Michael wasn’t much of a party guy. In that sense, he was Tyler’s opposite. He didn’t like crowds, didn’t chase nights the way Tyler did. Tyler was always out somewhere, always with someone, always moving. And yet Michael was his best friend. Somehow. Maybe it was the way Michael loosened up once he trusted you. Maybe it was how much he put up with, afraid of rocking the boat. Who knew.
They reached Tyler’s house soon enough. It wasn’t far from the party at all—which should’ve been a warning sign. Tyler usually went at least two towns over when he went hard on his nights out. Close-to-home parties were never legendary. Michael often came along, but if it weren’t for Tyler, he wouldn’t have bothered leaving his comfort zone at all.
“Well, you gotta understand,” Michael said, half-joking, “I’m not the kind of dude who bolts out the door like a dog out of a cage the second he’s free.”
Tyler took it the wrong way. Normally he’d laugh it off—he always did—but tonight the disappointment clung to him like sweat.
“Look, bro, I don’t care anymore,” Tyler said, already turning toward his door. “We’ll talk tomorrow if you wanna come with me, Max, and the rest.”
Tomorrow was Sunday. And Sunday meant Monday was right behind it—breathing down your neck. Michael hated Sundays for that reason alone.
“You know I’ve always said Sundays disgust me, man,” Michael replied. “I’ll see if I feel like it.”
They both knew he wouldn’t call.
Tyler didn’t say anything once he was inside. He closed the door behind him a little harder than necessary and leaned his forehead against it for a second, eyes shut, breathing through his nose like that might be enough to drain the anger out of him.
The house was quiet. Too quiet. He slipped out of his shoes and went straight upstairs, skipping steps out of habit.
In his room, he dropped everything without hesitation. His phone landed face-down on the desk. Wallet, keys, whatever else he had stuffed into his pockets followed—scattered like he didn’t care where they ended up.
He didn’t sit. Didn’t lie down. Sitting meant thinking.
Instead, he headed straight for the bathroom.
The light clicked on—harsh at first—and he stared at himself in the mirror for half a second longer than he meant to. Blond, dressed neatly in a modern style that seemed carefully planned. Jaw tight. Eyes wired. Same look as usual.
He turned the shower on hot and waited for the steam to rise before stepping in. This was what he always did—when he was pissed, when he was sad, when the night left a bad taste in his mouth. Let the water pound the noise out of his head.
Tyler showered unusually slowly, a stark contrast to his usual routine. It was barely 10 PM—the hour when the real party would be just starting—but he was alone at home, bored and starving. Even though there had been food at the party, it had disappeared in the first half hour, right when Tyler was just starting to chat with everyone as he always did.
“Fuck, man, I told her, I told her,” he muttered under the stream of water as he lathered soap over his shoulders.
He had asked Sara, one of the friends at the party, to save him some of the feast. He hadn’t eaten since mid-morning—a pitiful ham-and-cheese sandwich and a bottle of water being all he had. Sure, there was food at work, but none for him personally. Being the intern, he didn’t have the confidence to grab anything, and while he could have, he preferred to avoid trouble. He was extroverted and funny, but never rude. Anyone else might have been desperate enough to raid the snacks, but he’d rather chat, play the loudmouth he was, just like Sara—who had little care and went off to talk with the others.
After stepping out of the shower and throwing on pajamas—he didn’t even check whether they were actually pajamas or just comfy clothes—he went to the fridge. He grabbed the leftover container of pasta that had been forgotten and carried it upstairs, sitting down to eat while scrolling aimlessly on his phone.
Bored, he wandered to the Play Store, looking for games to pass the time. That’s when he remembered Sonic—the blue hedgehog that could run insanely fast. His little cousin Maria had visited the other day with her sister, bringing along her Sonic plushies. He smiled faintly at the memory and downloaded Sonic Forces: Speed Battle, thinking it might make the night a little less dull.
He knew the deal with these types of games, typing “yes” in anything just to start. The default character was, of course, Sonic himself.
With a fork in one hand, stabbing macaroni to bring to his mouth, and his phone in the other, Tyler sat half-reclined on his bed. The game began—Green Hill, Sonic running while opponents materialized like virtual illusions from the particles of the Phantom Ruby during the countdown. Easy for Tyler, easy for anyone with minimal knowledge of how an endless runner works—even if this one was a multiplayer race, not a solo endless path.
Automatically, he started another round. This time it was Sunset Heights. Everything seemed normal, finishing his plate of pasta mid-game—and then Sonic was out of nowhere, changing body. His quills elongated, diamond-white shapes reaching the top of his quill, his skin turning pale, gloves and shoes fraying as if every step wore them down—if he were still taking steps, that is, because now he began to fly.
“Is this some new form or something?” Tyler thought, curious.
The game progressed and, as expected, he finished first. The camera angle shifted, as usual—but the results screen never appeared. Instead, it went back to Sonic and he began to go back to where the race had started.
Suddenly—during mid-game—Sonic’s head snapped to him very quickly. Or more than snapped: he seemed to jump from one frame to the next. His muzzle stretched unnaturally, larger than normal, forming a wide, unnatural grin full of human teeth. Patterns of jagged lines ran through his eyes while his pupils glowed an eerie blue.
Tyler froze, a chill running down his spine—yet he kept playing. Everything flowed, but that face staring at him refused to let him relax. Who would have thought SEGA would allow something like this in their game?
The game ended at the finale—which was actually the beginning—and finally the results screen appeared. It didn’t list the players’ names—three, four counting Tyler—but instead, each word appeared in a separate box:
HELLO
MY
NEW
RESIDENT
“Man, screw this,” Tyler muttered aloud, a stabbing fear pressing against his chest, because he knew that wasn’t normal. He closed the app, taking the chance to put the pasta container and fork in the sink.
But then—
A long, pale hand wearing a worn white glove shot out from the phone, shattering the screen.
Before he could react beyond a scream, It grabbed him—dragging him into the depths of the device. Darkness swallowed him, the world bending and twisting around him as the digital landscape consumed reality.
A single thought raced through his mind as he fell into the unknown:
this wasn’t just a game anymore.
And there—suspended in the void of glitched light and digital echoes—Tyler disappeared, leaving only the pasta container and fork with the phone screen broken.
It all happened so suddenly, leaving the night silent and Tyler’s room empty—except for the broken phone on the bed, screen flickering faintly like a heartbeat in the dark.
Martha goes for a walk - December 6, 2022[]
It was around 8 PM. Martha was leaving the university later than usual; that exam would define the entire business administration degree she had been studying for the past three years. Even so—as was her habit—she decided to delay her return home by wandering through the city. If only, just for that night, she had chosen to go home and keep studying, she would still be with us. She took the same alley as always, the one where corners opened into patches of darkness that looked like the end of the road—or maybe not. In the total absence of light, there was no way to know for sure—unless, of course, you stepped inside.
Martha walked with her hands buried deep in the straps of her backpack, the familiar weight of notebooks and loose papers pressing against her spine like a quiet reminder that she should already be home, studying for the exam. The city breathed differently at that hour. Streetlights flickered with tired determination, and the pavement still held the warmth of the day, though the air had begun to cool—not normal at all for the usual walks she took, as if something were tampering with the atmosphere for no reason at all. Her long blonde hair swayed gently behind her, catching the amber glow of passing lamps, her formal clothes looking oddly out of place and disheveled after such a long day, among shuttered storefronts and graffiti-stained walls.
The alley seemed dirtier the farther she went, its walls more decayed with every step. This was not unusual—or at least, that’s what she told herself. She had taken this route countless times. Yet something felt misaligned, like a street missing from a map.
By 9 PM, the city felt completely different, as if it had loosened its tie and let its shoulders slump. Streetlights buzzed overhead, some flickering like tired eyes that refused to stay open. Unless the city council had stopped maintaining the place altogether, Martha couldn’t explain why things looked this way. As she walked through the alley, she noticed a small supermarket she had never seen before. True, there had been construction in that spot before—the same situation just two days ago—but the workers must have put in an unbelievable amount of effort.
Before she could overthink it, she stopped at the small supermarket nestled between two aging but still livable buildings, its windows clear and its warm lights glowing softly against the evening. Inside, it was surprisingly comfortable—small, but welcoming. She picked up a simple cup of instant noodles. As she paid, the clerk asked—
“Would you like to eat them here, dear?”
Grateful, Martha replied—
“Oh, that would be a great favor, truly.”
The supermarket even offered the service of preparing them there. The clerk poured boiling water into the cup and handed it to her.
“You know how these are, I imagine—just wait three minutes and they’ll be ready.”
“Yes, yes—really, thank you very much.”
She carried them to the long table meant for eating. Seeing an outlet nearby, she took the opportunity to charge her AirPods, since her phone battery was still fairly full. While the noodles cooked, she checked her phone to see if she had received any notifications—despite having checked just before entering. When she finished her meal, she gathered her things and got ready to leave.
“Good night,” she said to the clerk.
He replied in kind. Finally, she stepped back outside. The night had deepened again, settling gently over the streets, as though the city were easing into a quiet pause.
Ready at last to head home, Martha chose what she believed was a familiar route.
It wasn’t.
The mistake was small—barely an early turn—but it carried her somewhere she had never intended to go. The sidewalk narrowed. Buildings leaned inward. A corner appeared where no corner should have been, set into a random section of wall—not straight, but slanted, its connecting edges sharp, as if a giant knife had sliced downward from above and carved away a portion of the structure. It couldn’t have looked more out of place.
Martha slowed, her steps cautious now, curiosity tugging at her harder than reason ever could.
A chill crept up her arms from the cold that clung to the alley. The city no longer felt indifferent.
It felt aware.
And as Martha stood there, gripping her backpack straps tight in her hands, she was struck by the sudden, overwhelming certainty that she had stepped into a place she was never meant to find.
She was just about to turn back—to finally go home and study for the exam she should have been reviewing an hour and a half ago, telling herself she could return to this place another day, at a time when it felt like a harmless walk and not something no one dared to dig into—
when she heard a voice.
A child’s voice. A little girl’s, no older than six.
“Where am I?”
She was frightened. On the verge of tears—perhaps already crying.
No. This wasn’t like those typical horror movies where it turned out to be some cursed child. No. The voice sounded real. It felt real.
Someone had to help her.
“It’s okay—I’m here,” Martha said, waiting for an answer so she could figure out where the voice was coming from. She stood at a small crossroads, the sound echoing from one of the narrow side alleys. She was almost sure it came from the left.
“Help, please! W-where is my mom!?” the girl cried.
No. That wasn’t it.
The voice came from straight ahead this time—closer now, as if there were no more path beyond it. Maybe Martha’s ears had fooled her earlier. Or maybe not. Everything about tonight was strange already; it wouldn’t be surprising if this was just another wrong detail in a night full of them.
Certain now that the voice was directly in front of her, Martha moved forward. The girl’s sobs grew louder with every step. It made her chest ache to hear someone so young crying like that.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s over now,” Martha said softly. “Come with me—I’ll take you somewhere safe.”
How could she even end up here? Martha wondered. Did she run from someone… or something… and get lost in this place?
“I j-just want to get out of here…” the girl sobbed softly.
When Martha was almost right in front of her, she pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight, wanting the child to see her face—to understand she meant no harm.
She wished that had been all she saw.
She wanted to believe it was just a costume. It looked so real—but she wanted to believe it. The child appeared to be an anthropomorphic rabbit, barely a meter tall, wearing a vermilion dress. Large cream-colored ears fell behind her head.
The girl flinched at the sudden light, turning toward it—and Martha felt her breath catch. The mouth moved. The large eyes blinked.
It wasn’t frightening. Not exactly.
It was impossible.
The small rabbit girl rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Martha’s legs, burying her face against them as she cried again.
Martha froze, then slowly reached down, resting a hand on the girl’s soft, furry head. It felt warm. Real. Like petting a normal animal.
“It’s okay,” Martha murmured. “You’re safe now.”
She hesitated, then asked gently, “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”
The girl’s sobs softened.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just woke up here. I tried to find a way out, but I only went deeper…”
Martha swallowed.
“I don’t think you’re from around here,” she said carefully. “Are you?”
The girl shook her head.
Martha glanced down at her again, really looking this time—the big eyes, the rounded muzzle, the proportions. A distant memory stirred. Video games. Characters like this. Animals that walked and talked like people.
God… she thought. This looks like something straight out of a game.
She forced a small smile into her voice.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The girl looked up at her.
“Cream,” she said softly.
The name landed heavier than it should have.
Cream.
Martha didn’t know why—but hearing it made something click. Not fear. Recognition. A half-buried memory of bright colors, fast music, a blue blur on a screen.
Sonic the Hedgehog.
The girl—Cream—still clung to her legs.
“I don’t know if I can tell you more,” she said after a moment. “He told me I shouldn’t.”
Martha stiffened slightly.
“Who told you that?”
“Him.”
“But who is he?”
Cream gave a small, almost shy laugh.
“A friend of mine,” she said. “He told me that only if I brought a new friend back with me could I say it.”
The words lingered in the air, unfinished, as if the alley itself refused to let them settle.
Martha frowned.
“Say what, honey?”
Cream slowly lifted her head.
She wasn’t crying anymore.
There was no trembling. No fear.
Only stillness.
“Where I come from,” she said. “And where I’m going with you.”
Something in her tone made Martha step back without realizing it. She took just one step before Cream—or rather It—grabbed her legs—but now the grip was different.
Tighter.
“If I take a friend to our world…” It continued, Its voice deeper now, layered, “…I can tell everything.”
Martha opened her mouth—to laugh nervously, to tell herself this was ridiculous.
She never spoke.
She looked down just in time to see Its mouth open far too wide.
Rows of immense, razor-sharp teeth filled the space where a child’s face should have been—jagged, crowded, gleaming like those of a shark. There was no time to understand, no time to scream before the jaws snapped shut.
Pain tore through her.
Martha screamed as her legs were ripped away, the sound ripping out of her throat as her body collapsed to the ground. Her backpack slid from her shoulders, hitting the pavement hard. Her phone slipped from her hand and bounced away, the flashlight still on, its beam spinning wildly across the alley walls.
Shock followed the pain—thick, numbing, unreal.
She tried to move.
Her legs didn’t answer.
There was nothing there.
Crying, gasping, she dragged herself forward with her arms, fingernails scraping against concrete, leaving behind a desperate, uneven trail. The cold bit into her skin. The world had narrowed to the burning in her chest, the frantic pounding of her heart, and the shaking light spilling from the fallen phone.
Then—
In the time it took to blink—
It was there.
Right in front of her.
The shape still echoed the little rabbit girl, but only barely. The eyes shone with an intense blue.
Martha froze.
The mouth opened again.
This time It widened beyond anything that could exist, stretching past bone, past flesh, past shape itself. Inside there was no color, no depth.
Only black.
Pure nothing.
A void that did not reflect light, did not accept it—a hollow that felt less like a space and more like an absence of reality.
“Please…,” Martha begged, her voice breaking apart as tears streamed down her face. “I… I didn’t do anything wrong. Please… I don’t deserve this… I just wanted to go home.”
Her words fell apart in the air, swallowed by the silence of the alley.
The thing leaned closer.
There was no bite this time.
Instead, the space inside the mouth pulled.
Martha felt herself being dragged forward—not just her body, but her soul. Her scream warped and faded as her form blurred, edges unraveling, reality loosening its grip on her piece by piece.
She wasn’t devoured.
She was drawn in.
Absorbed into that impossible void until there was nothing left to resist, nothing left to remain.
And then—
Nothing.
The alley stood empty.
The flashlight flickered once, twice, then dimmed, leaving only shadows where Martha had been. Her backpack lay torn open, papers scattered across the ground, unmoving.
The night settled again, calm and indifferent.
Somewhere, far beyond the city and its narrow streets, something had gained another presence.
And the path was closed once more.
Personality[]
Xelorian resembles a rebellious child, causing mischief purely for his own amusement, but unlike a child, he has no limits to restrain him.
To Xelorian, humans are nothing more than a game, an experiment, a fleeting source of amusement. There is no deliberate malice behind his ‘‘mischiefs,’’ for he does not conceptualize ‘’good’’ or ‘’evil’’ as humans do.
Everything he does is driven by fascination and the urge to observe. He studies human emotions as one might study natural phenomena: fear, joy, despair, they are mere data points. His lack of understanding of morality means there are no conscious limits to his actions. After all, Xelorian is entirely alien, beyond our comprehension, carrying almost nothing of humanity within him. What for us is unbearable pain or trauma becomes, in his eyes, nothing but an effect, a pattern to observe
To humans, he is cruel and sadistic, but to Xelorian, it’s only amusement and learning. He doesn’t really take pleasure in suffering itself, only in the reactions of his “players” to his games and traps. He is a monster solely from a human point of view.
He’s also extremely creative and perfectionist, using human symbols and pop culture to manipulate, attract, and experiment. His games are meticulously designed, always structured to maximize interaction with his victims. While he studies humans closely, he remains emotionally detached. He does not form attachments or grudges, and his interest wanes only when a pattern is fully observed. His curiosity is endless, but impersonal.
Trivia[]
- Xelorian pays a lot of attention to detail because of how much of a perfectionist he is, to the point that he even self-criticizes for missing the smallest detail. This can also be seen as one of his weaknesses.
- In a hypothetical scenario, if Xelorian saw X's world, he’d totally crash out because of how inconsistent it is.
- The vessel selection for the victims is personally carried out by Xelorian or one of The 3 Guardians, analyzing each victim’s personality to determine which character shares a similar personality with them.
- Xelorian’s method of hunting by being an imitation of a Sonic character in real life and hiding in places with few people to hunt his victims is highly inspired by one of the countless Pennywise’s ways of hunting.
Gallery[]
