The ink in him has been replaced with molten gold leaf — a body of black lacquer running bright gold at every seam, embers of gold beading off him where he walks, three gold nibs turning above his head as a crown, and every beast he wears — inkling, splotch, weeper and maw — poured in the same burning gold.

The hunter who outlasted the whole night. Obsidian plate veined with dying-star crimson, a horned eclipse mask under a shadow-torn cloak, six spectral arrows hanging at his back — and no bow at all, just a burning crescent of black fire drawn taut in his fist beneath a black sun.

SURVIVE 35 MINUTES AS THE ARCHER

The mark of an early supporter — never sold, only given. Black lacquer warplate burning gold at every seam, six wings of dawn feathers, a winged laurel helm with a founder's star at the brow, a cape of liquid dawn, seven gilded sigils turning at his back beneath a broken gold crown — and no bow at all, just an open arc of white solar fire drawn taut in his fist.

EARLY SUPPORTER — GIFTED BY ADMINS ONLY

The same hooded archer in crimson and holly green — and his longbow is replaced by a heavy steel crossbow loaded with a glowing green bolt.

The marksman as a wandering ronin bowman — an indigo kimono crossed under a crimson haori, a gold obi knotted with red cord, a wide woven kasa shading his lantern-rose eyes, cherry petals drifting around him, and his longbow replaced by a tall red-lacquered yumi with white-fletched arrows.

The marksman dipped in the Ink Shifter's well — a hood and coat of poured black ink still running at the hem, violet script crawling over his bracers, a mask of wet ink with two cold violet slits, and his longbow replaced by a drawn arc of black ink that scatters into splattering nibs where the arrow lands.

The marksman claimed by the ruined altars — granite robes bound in glowing blue runes, a glacial cloak lining, a cold rune crown at the brow, an altar piece turning at his back, and his longbow replaced by an arc of pure blue light.

The warlord who held the whole night. Blackened siege plate split by magma fissures, a crown of snapped horns still glowing where they broke, a cape of falling cinders, broken shields orbiting him as trophies — and a twin-headed greataxe forged from a cracked volcanic core.

SURVIVE 35 MINUTES AS THE BERSERKER

The mark of an early supporter — never sold, only given. A mountain of black lacquer siege plate seamed in living gold, a laurel-banded bull helm with a founder's star burning between its great horns, a cape of liquid dawn, seven gilded sigils turning at his back beneath a broken crown — and a colossal double-headed greataxe whose blades are sheets of white solar fire.

EARLY SUPPORTER — GIFTED BY ADMINS ONLY

The same warlord, forged black — helm, mantle and cape in blackened iron, horns veined with magma, and his brand and eyes burning white-hot.

The warlord bound to the ruined altars — granite plate and helm seamed with glowing blue runes, a cape of cold light, basalt horns tipped in glacier blue, an altar piece turning at his shoulder, and eyes burning frost-white.

The grove keeper who outlasted the whole night and became the season itself. A gown of living leaf-light veined in gold, six petal wings, a great antler crown tipped in blossom beneath a halo of pollen — and a staff that is simply a sapling of pure golden light growing from her hand.

SURVIVE 35 MINUTES AS THE DRUID

The mark of an early supporter — never sold, only given. A gown of blackwood bark bleeding gold sap, six great leaves of dawn-light spread behind her, a towering gilded antler crown carrying a founder's star, seven sigils turning at her back beneath a broken crown — and a staff that is a spiral of white solar fire crowned by the very first seed.

EARLY SUPPORTER — GIFTED BY ADMINS ONLY

Her robes are gone. She walks bare as the first spring — wearing only a living vine girdle, blossoms over her heart, and a crown in full golden bloom.

The grove-warden in porcelain and rose — her robe pure white blushing deep rose at the hem, platinum hair falling into pink, a crown of petals in place of leaves, and a living staff of pale birch wound with rose vines around a rosequartz bloom.

The grove keeper claimed by the ruined altars — a robe of pale altar stone seamed with cold runes, a mantle of frozen leaves, a crown of basalt spines, a ring of rune script turning behind her head, and a staff crowned with a shard of altar light.

The elementalist who outlasted the whole night and became something else. She hovers above the ground on a plume of stardust, hair streaming upward as a ribbon of nebula, a great crescent moon and ring turning behind her, a spiral galaxy burning openly in her chest, a shattered gold crown hanging apart above her head — and a comet swinging wide on a leash of light.

SURVIVE 35 MINUTES AS THE SORCERESS

The same elementalist in deep-space indigo — robe, cape and starry hat recoloured to midnight, her star trim now twinkling like the real thing.

The elementalist in porcelain and rose — her robe repainted pure white blushing pink at the hem, a cape of deep rose, a white witch's hat banded in wine, her star trim twinkling in pink and white, and a rose-glass gem burning softly at her belt.

The elementalist rewritten by the ruined altars — a robe of pale altar stone seamed with cold runes under a cloak of blue light, a tall carved hat with rune script turning around its brim, a shard set in the band, and two altar tablets orbiting her casting hand.

The temptress who owned the whole night. Obsidian skin veined with living rose-light, four wings of black blade-feathers, a crown of thorns beneath a turning halo of burning hearts — and her whip replaced by a lash of molten roses that bloom where it lands.

SURVIVE 35 MINUTES AS THE SUCCUBUS

Her crimson is traded for the void: feathered violet wings in place of bat membranes, tall crystal horns instead of curls, and a whip of pure violet light.

A cold-winged altar fiend carved from rune stone, crowned with basalt horns and armed with a living lash of blue light.

The Legendary that closes the pass — the Succubus crowned as the night itself. Midnight silk laced in moonsilver over a hem drifting into star mist, wings of night sky with real stars caught in the membrane, horns of moon glass beneath a crescent crown, a star-tipped tail, and her whip replaced by a lash of drawn moonlight.

BATTLE PASS LEVEL 65

The skirmisher who held the line all night. Storm-silver warplate crawling with live lightning, a rolling mantle of thundercloud, a dragon-crested helm — and his spear replaced by a single bolt of lightning frozen mid-strike, its point too bright to look at.

SURVIVE 35 MINUTES AS THE SPEARMAN

The same skirmisher in stormsilver — white cuirass, sky-blue tunic and cape, and a crest and sigil blazing pure lightning-white.

A granite vanguard carrying a long altar-shard lance, with a carved crest and cold runes crossing his complete warplate.

The third of the Nocturne line — the Lancer who keeps the watch after dark. Lamellar night-plate laced in moonsilver, a crescent rivet burning at the chest, a moon-crested helm with a starlit gaze behind its bar, a cape of deep night, and a lance whose head is a shard of pure moonlight.

BATTLE PASS LEVEL 45

The corsair who went down with the night and sailed back out of it. A ghost captain lit from within by drowned green fire — half his face bare skull, a torn admiral's coat bleeding into mist, a cursed gold skeleton hand, a spectral parrot of flame on his shoulder, a cutlass of solid soul-light — and the shadow of his lost ship rising faintly behind him wherever he stands.

SURVIVE 35 MINUTES AS THE PIRATE

The same corsair drowned and gilded — his red coat, tricorn and plume recoloured abyssal teal, his skull badge and eye cast in gold.

The corsair pulled out of the Ink Shifter's well — a tricorn and greatcoat of poured black ink still dripping at the cuffs, violet contract script inked across his chest, a wet ink eyepatch, and a cutlass drawn as a single wet brushstroke that splatters where it cuts.

A rune-stone raider in a carved tricorn, wielding a compact altar cannon that fires bolts of frozen light.

The singer who held the whole night and sank past every trench floor. A colossal tail of void scale trailing off into ink, six lure-lights hanging on drifting filaments, a crown of abyss glass lit from inside, hair of black water threaded with cold light — and her song made visible as rings of pressure rolling out from her open throat.

SURVIVE 35 MINUTES AS THE SIREN

A stage queen of the deep in rose and gold — wine-red hair swept up, a coral fan headdress opening behind her head, a great pearl on a gold collar, long opera gloves, a tail that flares below the waist like a gauzy ballgown train, and a gilded conch she sings through while her song drifts around her as glowing notes.

The siren surfacing from the ink well — a tail of poured black ink trailing violet wash, a crown of wet nibs, contract script glowing along her arms, and a song that leaves splattered stains hanging in the air.

A shrine-song sovereign with a sculpted altar-stone tail, glacial fins, and a resonant rune halo arching over her crown.

The scrapyard automaton rebuilt as a parade war frame: obsidian plating edged in gold, a molten amber reactor and visor, a bladed gold crown crest, a heavy twin-barrel shoulder cannon, and gilded hex-plates hovering around him instead of salvaged scrap.

The scrapyard automaton rebuilt in polished porcelain — white plating pinstriped in rose pink, a blushing reactor core, drifting petals in place of orbiting scrap, and every machine of his repainted to match: the sentry drone in blushed steel and OVERDRIVE itself re-armoured as a white-and-rose parade frame.

A complete altar-built war frame with spidered stone limbs, a luminous rune reactor, and a shoulder cannon cut from a single shrine shard.

The second of the Nocturne line — the Alchemist working by moonlight. A long midnight coat lapelled in moonsilver, a constellation stitched down its front, crescent-lensed goggles glowing from within, a bandolier of vials holding liquid starlight, and a flask of bottled night that stirs itself in her hand.

BATTLE PASS LEVEL 30

The alchemist who outlasted the whole night and finally drank the universal solvent. Her coat has dissolved away — she is held together by living green light, acid veins crawling up her, a crown of broken glass over a cold halo, seven shards of her old flasks turning around her, and in place of a flask a sphere of raw alkahest eating the air where she holds it.

SURVIVE 35 MINUTES AS THE CHEMIST

The brewer claimed by the ruined altars — a coat of carved altar stone seamed with breathing cold runes, a bandolier of rune shards, shrine-glass goggles under a script of rune light, three altar tablets turning at her back, and a hollow rune stone brimming with blue fire thrown in place of her flask.

The alchemist promoted to grand mixer — her stained lab coat becomes a violet apothecary robe hemmed in gold, her goggles are gilded, five rune vials turn in a slow orbit around her, and the flask in her hand holds a bottled star.

The Snow Maiden crowned: her pale kimono deepens to glacier blue and silver, her black hair runs white, her parasol is replaced by a hovering fan of five ice blades, a crown of spines sits over a burning cold halo — and a court of frozen mirrors circles her as she drifts.

The first of the Nocturne line — the Snow Maiden dressed in the night itself. Midnight indigo silk edged in moonsilver, a constellation embroidered down the hem in gold thread, hair like night water with starlight caught in it, a crescent crest and a burning star at her crown, a great crescent moon standing behind her — and her parasol replaced by a scythe of moon glass turning slowly at her shoulder.

BATTLE PASS LEVEL 15

A drifting shrine oracle crowned by altar icicles, with five rune stones orbiting her pale ceremonial armor.