Ninja Theory have announced a new fighter coming to Bleeding Edge. He’s called Azrael and is a melee fighter. He’s a 26 year old Lebanese, real name Malak Ali, with wings on his back. His basic abilities are Wing Spurts, Evade, Parry, Glide and Soul Eater. This last ability is some sort of vampiric ability, which deals damage to an enemy and heals Azrael.
There is a cool backstory to Azrael, which you can read below.
The first memory of Malak Ali was at a crowded family dinner table in upscale Beirut. His 6 older siblings were competitively debating to a proud Mother and unphased Father. Forgotten at the foot of the endless table, little baby Mally cooed and climbed atop his gold highlighted high chair, spread his arms, and chirped “Tweet!!” before bouncing off the cold marble floor and bawling to inattentive ears. Lost in the shadows of his academic siblings, young Malak would grow accustomed to the inheritance of in-affection.
Never the brightest bulb in the relative vault, Malak simply couldn’t catch up to a family entrenched in the elaborate business built by his father. Every attempt drew upward eyes and spit ridden pffts. “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread” his Father would tell him dismissively, along with the back handed reminder that without the brains, at least he had the beauty. He did, but he never had respect, and in such ill-structured nests, so grows the vanity, and doubt.
Malak was granted this shallow life, but he was deep, if only in riches. With limitless family wealth and indifference as his spiritual guide, teenage Malak could become anything in this life he chose, so he decided to go soul searching. When he didn’t find much later that afternoon, he went to go surfing instead.
“Yah, that’ s what I’ll do.”, he painfully thought while pulling up his shorts backwards.
Sitting on his bobbing board, under a lonely sun, Malak gazed into his aquatic reflection and winked, before clumsily pondering his Father’s words. “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.” He wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he knew one thing for certain. He wasn’t afraid.
And at that perfect moment, the skies filled with screaming seabirds, the ocean darkened around him, and a rogue wave as high as the heavens came charging towards Malak. As the glistening terror crept closer, fear bathed his psyche, and the unknown wisdom hiding within Malak suddenly had its origin story.
This was a sign from heaven, he was certain of this, for the first time in his life. This is where angels feared to tread. This is where fools rush in. So Malak valiantly ascended the moving mountain, from where he saw his future, and soared down to a new beginning.
A life of worldly thrills would follow, challenging death in all forms of adventure sports like cliff diving, chute chasing, sky surfing, mono-boarding, base jumping and more. The sky had become his playground, like he had always dreamt of as a boy, a moment of reckoning. It was “His density”, he thought with artificial pride.
And with the extreme endeavours, admiration from fellow himbos followed. Malak was gaining respect amongst the broskis, perhaps the greatest rush of all. Pride would guide him to the mirror yet again, staring longingly into his vacuous beauty. What he now saw was something beyond just “man”. Something regular men pray for.
“I am so man.” he whispered at himself. But in that moment, insecurity reared its ugliness once again. Malak knew then that being the ultimate male not only meant the most handsome, but also most extreme. The most manly. The most everything. And he had the family money to try.
The following day Malak would gather thousands of elite specialists to his mansion. Neurosurgeons, trend futurists, gurus, physic manipulators, robotic engineers, combat masters, stem cell architects. Some say it was the largest collection of brain power ever gathered in the history of man. And this is what Malak told them.
“Oh hey. So, I’m like an angel. But also a bad boy. And I need to fly. And my hair needs to perfect. And I need to get up to the top of mountains quick. Oh I want to be tough. Ok thanks.”
Collectively dumfounded, but funded beyond belief, the team would categorically congregate, and design a new and improved Malak Ali.
They would develop stunning articulate wing appendages and Malak would take his first ‘free’ base jump. Malak glides down majestically, and upon landing utters the now legendary phrase “The seagull has landed.” amongst a flock of groans.
They would also construct a Portable Teleportation Propagator, to allow for instant relocation to cliff sides and perilous perches. And to address the hair, they created a vacuous mini-portal above his pompadour, denying gravity it’s natural chance to mess with his perfect ‘do. “Science is hot” he proclaimed to his mirror.
Malak began his new life of tattooed shiftlessness, winged fancy, and clumsy elegance. He had become more than human, a “weapon of sexiness”, and now all he needed was the attention he desperately deserved. So Malak would hire agents, reporters, muses, PR firms, marketing leaders, drama teachers and yes men.
They would find him unappreciated work on short lived reality shows, 3rd round exits from TV talent programs, poorly acted appearances on C movies, and oddly, scientific journals due to his advanced teleporting abilities. And this is where Daemon would discover him, an untapped asset lost in the blanket of insecurity.
Malak never needed attention or worship, he needed guidance, and purpose, and trust. And then confidence and respect would follow. And Daemon saw that.
So with open arms, Daemon would then invite Malak to join the Bleeding Edge and take him under his wing. The team would mentor Malak in combat, and even learn from Malak’s simplistic of way of thinking. Well, maybe that’s a stretch, but it does make a nice end to the story.