 What's up everybody I'm the Mangus, you were awesome and today we're going to take a look at two of the heroes set to be released in Ethereal's Alpha. If you don't know what Ethereal is, it's a third person MOBA being developed by Undying Games that just happened to be in production around the time that Paragon's closure was announced. It is not a remake of Paragon, but is its own thing. They plan to have their lanes stacked atop each other and take verticality to a new level. Ethereal boasts a strong focus on lore and I do warn you right now, this video is heavy on the lore, so if that's not your kind of thing, I'm not going to blame you for balling out here. But those of you who are interested, we're going to take a look at two of Ethereal's myths today, that's what they call heroes, and the focus is going to be Dante and Malaya. So let's take a look at what we know about Dante first. Dante is of the Marksman class, Marksman being the ADCs of Ethereal. He's a physical ranged type myth that hails from the realm of the Zeria. He's said to be one of the easier characters to pick up and play, I really don't know much about his abilities, however he does remind me, in appearance at least, of Twinblast. He's a badass who dual welds pistols. So let's take a quick look at Dante's backstory. Gusts of Rain pummeled the Batropolis of Ages. Continuous storms since the king had fallen mysteriously ill and the air to the throne had gone missing. Gusts had spread like wildfire through the burrows. As the shiny facade of progress and order collapsed, corrupt bureaucrats and crime syndicates seized control of the city and the government. Lightning shot across the dark sky. At the top of one of the tallest buildings, a hooded figure guarded the semi-deserted streets. Their features and identity could not be distinguished among the surrounding darkness. A series of thunderings were heard over the buildings, and a dense curtain of water suddenly burst from the sky. In the corners of the building, the figure did not seem disturbed by the gusts of icy wind that accompanied the flood. A movement in the nearby alley drew the attention of the hooded man. A group of about six men had gathered at the doors of a warehouse that looked abandoned. Deadly guns could be seen protruding from clothes. Rumors of a shadowy night stalker taking the law into their hands had begun to pile up alongside the bodies of criminals that appeared on the streets by the morning. Dante drew his right hand to one of his transmuters holstered at his belt. While descending quickly down the emergency stairs, Dante, successor to the throne of the most advanced city in Syria, contemplated his predicament. His father would be horrified if he knew that his firstborn, the only descendant of an extended family of kings, one without conceived heirs, risked his life every night to correct the network of corruption that was woven under his own reign. But such was Dante's fate. The six men who had entered the warehouse managed to draw their weapons too slowly by the time they had spotted the hooded figure. When the commotion had passed, only Dante remained standing in front of a gloint, minister of commerce of ages. He looked up in horror from the ground as Dante loaded his gun and leveled it, just as thunder cracked through the darkness. I recently helped judge Ethereal's lore competition and there were quite a few submissions for Dante. After hearing his lore, I think you can see why. Now let's move on to Malaya the Remorseless, my personal favorite. Malaya is of the Reaper class. Reapers will be the assassins of Ethereal and will have the ability to interact with terrain by climbing up walls. She's a physical melee type myth who's also said to be one of the easier characters to play. She's from the realm of grin. Again, you can't really make direct comparisons to Paragon here as these are completely new heroes but I can't help but be reminded of Countess when I look at Malaya. You know if Countess had a huge set of awesome claws instead of swords. Let's take a look at her backstory. Black smoke. A dull reddish haze flickering upon the backdrop of Grinn's ominous Urakesh forest. Ruthless metal claws glitter in the firelight surrounding the figure with flames raging unrestrained consuming the once peaceful settlement. From the sharp bladed tips a telltale trail of blood is seeping along the path as the shrouded figure begins to approach Tabitha. Slowly, everything is becoming tinged with the deepest red as the vision recedes leaving only the somber red eyes of Malaya, the innocent newborn with a soul potential capable of bringing ruin to the entire tribe. Tabitha was the elder of the Dache tribe. Her ability for foresight and premonitions were ranked as infallible among the tribe where everyone was blessed with the capacity to project their soul gems. The prophecy was no exception. As it became known throughout the Dache, Malaya was labeled doombringer. Her parents were immensely proud of their daughter yet despite their best efforts that showed her from mistreatment, Malaya resented never being welcomed by the tribe. The seat sowed chaos throughout the tribe's leaders reaching full blaze when no one stopped the Framarian Empire from taking her father as a prisoner. With the loss of her beloved father and Malaya grew ever closer to her older brother Exiel. Her mother quickly succumbed to a split soul affliction tipping over the edge and transforming her already vulnerable state into one of total madness. Harassed by the tribe, the siblings had no alternative but to leave behind their mother and turn to the forest as their safe haven. Deep in the uncharted regions of Grinn, Malaya began to find herself emboldened by the power sealed inside her. Always in her mind was a weakness and helplessness she felt when her father was taken, never forgetting the pain and isolation she felt while with her people. She promised herself to never again back down from an opponent. The strength Malaya found within the Urakesh forest forged her from a kind and gentle young girl into a remorseless huntress. Now I submitted my own story as part of the lore competition with the caveat being that I was auto disqualified since I can't join any of the development teams. I just wanted to write a story for fun. If you want to hear it, here you go. Small sounds of a forest slumber are joined by the muffled whippers of a small figure lying next to the embers of a dying campfire. The poor soul begins to thrash around, the blankets brushing dangerously to hot coals. The cries become louder as the small body begins to whip around violently. A hoarse scream pierces the night air. Malaya sits bolt upright, throwing her bedroll aside. Sweat pours from her face, she's panting, eyes darting about wildly. The last remnants of her dream, the dying face of a child, melts away into the darkness. She begins to get a hold of herself, slowing her breathing and calming her racing heart. Grabbing her claws she heads to a nearby brook to slay her thirst, wash the sweat from her face and hide the tears streaming from her eyes. For four months now every night has ended this way. Entangled in her bedrolls, sweating profusely and screaming her throat raw, she cups her hands, filling them with water, pouring the cold stream down her parched throat. She looks down at her reflection, it momentarily transforms into a child's face. She closes her eyes because of recounting the events that led to her current state, her mind drifting back in time to that fateful evening. Her target that night had been a Vermarian tax collector. More than likely he had nothing to do with her father's imprisonment, but he was an official of the Vermarian Empire and so he must die. She sat among the branches of a tree scouting out the disposition of guards. There were a lot of them. They roamed the grounds in groups of four. Rumors of the Red Lady, oh how she hated that nickname, had begun to spread. It wasn't wise to attack him in his own house, but Malia had never backed down. She had an opportunity to snuff the life of another man who served the Vermarians and she would take it no matter the danger involved. Malia sprang from the canopy, sprinting headlong at the two door guards. She could see the surprise in their eyes as they lowered their spears. She sprang into the air, drawing her legs up and over the flashing blades. Flying between the two men, her arms outstretched, her claws drew red lines across each man's neck as her booted feet smashed into the door. It swung open, striking a guard waiting on the other side. Her momentum carried her through the doorway straight towards the waiting blade of yet another soldier. Malia craned backwards as she struck the ground, sliding under the guard's sword in between his legs. Her claws crossed above her, gouging deeply into the man's groin, slicing through both for moral arteries. He let out a shriek as his lifeblood flowed freely to the floor. The entire house would be on full alert now, as if Malia cared. She stepped past the sobbing soldier, now slumped to the floor in white with blood loss. Malia dispatched to the fourth guard, still dazed from being struck by the door. She started running through the house, searching for a prey. It didn't take long to find him. The pitiful man stood with his wife and children back into the corner of the great room. Four more guards stood between her and the target. From the sounds echoing through the rest of the house, plenty more were on the way. These soldiers were better equipped and appeared far more comfortable in their armor. These were the expensive personal guard. They would die just the same as their poorly trained counterparts. Malia sliced through them, a flurry of flashing claws. She performed a deadly ballet of spins, parries, and thrusts. While her strategies were half-hazard at best, her strikes were the very definition of precision. Claws slicing only deep enough to sever an artery, thrusts punchering just far enough to rupture the important bits of a man without becoming entangled in bone. She was beautiful and deadly. Covered in blood, she more than earned the nickname she hated so much. The guard's bodies fell all around her. She stared calmly at the tax collector. This one had more spine than most. He stood before his small family's sword drawn, held in both hands, and leveled at her. There was a mixture of fear and rage in his eyes. He seemed intent on defending his family. There was no need to fear. Malia had no intention of harming the man's wife or his innocent children. His soul was the one she had come to claim. He charged straightforward intent on spearing her with a surprisingly well-executed thrust. Malia leapt into the air, easily flipping over the sword's point and over the man himself. She landed behind him, spearing her hands upwards, the points of her claws rupturing both kidneys. His death would not be quick, it would not be painless. It was, however, very much assured. Guards from all around the compound began pouring into the room. Malia began to calculate the best path of escape. She sensed an attack from behind. Her claws instinctively speared backwards. She felt the all-too-familiar pressure of soft flesh yielding to her blades. Snarling, she spun to face her opponent and came face-to-face with a dying child. Time stopped. The clanking rush of the guards went silent. Malia's world constricted to this tiny interaction. The young girl stared back at her, eyes filled with confusion, fear, and pain. She coughed up some of the blood that was filling her lungs, and the world once more began to turn. The tax collector's wife began to wail. The guards renewed their rush towards Malia. She turned to face them, their outlined shimmery with the tears flowing from her eyes. She couldn't bring herself to bear her claws. For the first time since she was a child, Malia backed down. Instead of a full frontal assault, she leapt towards the wall. Running along it, she easily avoided the bristling spears and sword points. Malia dove through a window, crashed to the ground below, and began running. Back through the trees she ran, drawing in great gulps of air. With every exhale she whispered, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Branches slapped at her face. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. She fell and rolled down a hill. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. She ran until her lungs would no longer support her. She dropped to the ground, tears flowing into the dirt. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. A fish leapt from the brook, splashing down and breaking Malia out of her reverie and bringing her back to the present. She splashed a bit more of the water on her face and began to fix her claws through her arms. She had work to do. Although the events of that evening had a profound effect on Malia, she had not stopped her endless war against the Vermarians. Her thirst for vengeance was the same, but her strategy had changed. No more would she charge recklessly into a target stronghold. Now she would observe and plan, taking her targets only when she could assure a quick kill without endangering the lives of the innocent. The blade of her vengeance that was once white-hot with rage had been cold in the blood of a dying child, and tempered by the realization that sometimes it was better to back down. I'm outta here. MANGOOOOOO!