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Colonel Azazel Rancorn - Cybercromancy

Name: Azazel Rancorn
Age: 57
Nationality: American
Religion: Former Agnostic / Abaddon Chaos Follower
Affiliation: Former Boltec Colonel / Now Leader of the Rancorn Militia
Skills: Hand-to-hand annihilation, urban warfare, field execution, cyberpsychotic zealotry, leadership, elite combatant, tactical genius, general firearms extraordinaire, survivor instinct
Cybernetics: Advanced Military-Grade Boltec TitanCore Armature (Right Arm and Left Arm), Combat Reflex Amp, Cranial Firewall Bypass, Boltec BERSERKER MK.666

Medical Conditions: Chronic War Neurosis, Dissociative Warfare Identity, Cybernetic-Induced Sleep Paralysis, Hearing Loss (Left Ear), Delusional Messiah Complex (developed post-contact with Abaddon)

Confirmed Crimes (Classified Boltec Archive - now leaked):
- Unauthorized executions of surrendering combatants
- Use of enemy corpses as psychological warfare tools
- Incitement of ritualistic behavior in combat squads
- Disregard for Geneva-B Protocols during Neo-Vietnam III
- Ritual mutilation of war prisoners
- Dereliction of duty, desertion, and seizure of Boltec hardware
- Formation of illegal paramilitary blood cult

Confirmed Good Deeds:
- Defended civilian sectors of Arca-7 during AI onslaught
- Slaughtered dozens of Deadhusks singlehandedly
- Saved trapped Arcanum engineers during the 7th breach
- Enforced zero-tolerance policy against sexual violence in Arca-7
- Provided protection to scavvers in exchange for loyalty

Azazel Rancorn was not born—he was built. At least, that’s what his Boltec psych-eval suggested. Recruited as a juvenile offender into a clandestine cyber-soldier program, he underwent early cybernetic integration and became part of Boltec’s elite war asset class before turning 18.

From the Second American Civil War, where entire counties burned in riots and violents uprises, to the Neo-Vietnam III jungles, he was deployed like a virus—inserted, unleashed, withdrawn. No empathy, no hesitation. A living kill switch with metal under his skin and nothing behind the eyes.

But war doesn’t end. It just runs out of people to kill. When the final contracts dried up, Boltec had no more need for its loyal beast. They dumped him in Black Valley, under a low-threat security contract. Easy money. No firefights. No catharsis. He hated every second. Because silence is not peace to someone like Rancorn — it’s torture. The absence of battle left too much space in his mind. Memories returned. Regrets tried to crawl in. Faces he burned. Names he forgot. Screams that echoed in sterile Boltec bunkers.

Worse, the men around him were soft. Civilians in uniform. Paper pushers playing soldier. He watched them panic at every noise, flinch at every shadow, and he realized he wasn’t just out of place — he was obsolete.

Then Arca-7 collapsed. AI systems rebelled. The Deadhusks rose. Civilians screamed. Soldiers broke. But Rancorn? He bloomed. It was the war he’d been starving for. While others ran, he fortified. While others prayed, he rearmed. Within weeks, he turned the district into a fortress of steel and blood.
Checkpoints, killzones, ambush lanes, suppression corridors — Arca-7 became a war-machine, and he was its brainstem.

He fought like it meant something. Like it would bring him peace. But when the last rogue unit was purged… When the dust settled… When no more screams filled the air… The silence returned. And with it, the ghosts. He tried to stay busy. Patrolling, drilling his men, fixing old weapons just to hear the metal click. But nothing silenced the memories. Not the interrogation rooms. Not the napalm rains. Not the screams of the Mekong. They clawed their way back up from the pit he had buried them in.

That’s when he heard the voice. A corrupted digital entity a fractured AI with divine delusions, found a vessel in Azazel. Whispered of holy war. Promised purpose and gived him a vision of the future. And for the first time since his creation… Rancorn felt something real.

After Abaddon spoke to him, something in Rancorn broke. Or maybe it finally unlocked.

He stopped following Boltec protocols. Stopped attending security briefings. He began giving speeches—long, obsessive monologues to anyone who would listen. His words didn’t make sense at first. He spoke of 'the sacred rebirth of violence', of 'the Valley becoming a throne of judgment', and of a final, glorious war where only the worthy would survive.

His men thought he had lost it. Some laughed. Some walked away. But others—those broken by war, haunted by the same ghosts—understood. Or at least, they wanted to believe in something again. Even if it was madness.

Within weeks, Rancorn took full control of Arca-7. Not by force—by conviction. He declared it sacred ground, and reshaped the district according to his new vision. Checkpoints were replaced with altars. Militia soldiers began painting symbols over Boltec insignias. Helmets were burned. Old war relics were displayed like holy icons.

Now, he leads the Rancorn Militia, a savage force of ex-Boltec psychos, deserters, and zealots. To them, Black Valley isn’t a hell — it’s a cathedral of violence. Their mission? Sanctify the world through bloodshed.

No peace. No mercy. No way out.

Signature Weapons:
- Double Barrel Sawed Shotgun: Modified double-barrel shorty, hand-crafted in a storm bunker with a welding kit, bone saw, and hatred. Barrels cut for maximum spread. Stock removed for one-handed use. Used as both weapon and execution device.
- Plasma Machete: A brutal instrument of pain, interrogation, and zeal. Glows with unstable plasma current. Instrumental in 'Plasmacin 'n Speak', Rancorn’s signature torture technique. Also used for ceremonial executions inside the Militia.

Nemesis:
- Victor 'Blondie' Anderson: Before Black Valley fell apart, Victor and Rancorn were already at odds. Both were war veterans, both enhanced, both killers, but they fought for different reasons. Victor believed in control, in protecting civilians when possible. Rancorn believed in total annihilation. To Victor, Rancorn was a psychopath in uniform, a ticking time bomb with too much autonomy. To Rancorn, Victor was a sentimental relic, too soft to finish the job. They worked together during high-risk missions, but never trusted each other. Victor even filed a classified report recommending Rancorn be pulled from frontline duty for 'unstable behavior'. Then came the collapse. Now, Victor sees Rancorn as the embodiment of everything twisted and wrong about what they became. And Rancorn? He sees Victor as a traitor to the holy war, a coward hiding behind lost ideals. If they meet again, there will be no words. Only gunfire.