- Kills
- 3,537
- +515 in the last 90 days
- Losses
- 159
- +87 in the last 90 days
- Efficiency
- ISK Efficiency 100%
- ISK destroyed
- 2.86T
- +1.58T in the last 90 days
- Activity
- Very High
- 5.7 kills/day · last 90 days
Combat Record
Career-long numbers from eve-kill
Combat
- Kills
- 3,537
- Losses
- 159
- Danger Ratio
- 67%
- Final Blows
- 1,595
- Points
- 2,663
ISK
- Destroyed
- 2.86T
- Lost
- 2.27B
- Balance
- +2.86T
- ISK Efficiency
- 100%
Solo
- Solo Kills
- 1,027
- Solo Ratio
- 29%
- Avg Kills/Day
- —
Other
- NPC Losses
- 52
- NPC Loss Ratio
- 33%
- Activity
- Very High
Damage Dealt8.5M
Damage Ratio · 93%
Damage Taken625.2K
Activity
What they fly, where they fight, latest kills and losses
Most Valuable
The priciest kills in the window
Matchups
Who they kill, who kills them, what they lose
Last 90d
Killed
Killed By
Hulls LostLosses broken down by hull class.
In-game bio
Ahbazon.
A forgotten scar in the depths of low-sec.
To some, it’s a graveyard.
To others, it’s a hunting ground.
But to me... it is home.
I don’t live for the light of empire space, for the comfort of Concord's cradle or the sweet illusion of safety. No—I exist in the margins, in the silence between system jumps, in the milliseconds before your overview flickers red.
Out here, there are no rules.
Only shadows.
Only the truth.
And the truth is… power isn’t granted by skill injectors or flashy killboards. It is taken, seized, carved into reality with each torpedo, each warp scram, each ship torn apart in glorious ruin.
They ask, “Who is that lurking by the Ahbazon gate?”
They whisper, “What madman flies into a camp with only a T1 frigate and a dream?”
They do not understand.
For I… am not a capsuleer.
I am not a pirate.
I am not even a man.
I am the unknown threat.
The fatal anomaly.
The script you never saw coming.
I am the Eminence in Low-Sec’s Shadow—wearing the mask of obscurity, weaving stories from destruction, and bending the narrative to my will.
You mine in my territory?
You trade through my gate?
You blink—and you will find your hull breached, your pod cracked, and your clone waking up wondering what went wrong.
But don’t be afraid.
This is the price of freedom.
The cost of dancing in a system where shadows rule and laws are myths.
So come. Come to Ahbazon.
Bring your fleets. Bring your bravado.
And when you do… remember:
I am always watching.
I am always waiting.
And when the time is right—
I strike.
For I am the Shadow.
And this… is my dominion.
A forgotten scar in the depths of low-sec.
To some, it’s a graveyard.
To others, it’s a hunting ground.
But to me... it is home.
I don’t live for the light of empire space, for the comfort of Concord's cradle or the sweet illusion of safety. No—I exist in the margins, in the silence between system jumps, in the milliseconds before your overview flickers red.
Out here, there are no rules.
Only shadows.
Only the truth.
And the truth is… power isn’t granted by skill injectors or flashy killboards. It is taken, seized, carved into reality with each torpedo, each warp scram, each ship torn apart in glorious ruin.
They ask, “Who is that lurking by the Ahbazon gate?”
They whisper, “What madman flies into a camp with only a T1 frigate and a dream?”
They do not understand.
For I… am not a capsuleer.
I am not a pirate.
I am not even a man.
I am the unknown threat.
The fatal anomaly.
The script you never saw coming.
I am the Eminence in Low-Sec’s Shadow—wearing the mask of obscurity, weaving stories from destruction, and bending the narrative to my will.
You mine in my territory?
You trade through my gate?
You blink—and you will find your hull breached, your pod cracked, and your clone waking up wondering what went wrong.
But don’t be afraid.
This is the price of freedom.
The cost of dancing in a system where shadows rule and laws are myths.
So come. Come to Ahbazon.
Bring your fleets. Bring your bravado.
And when you do… remember:
I am always watching.
I am always waiting.
And when the time is right—
I strike.
For I am the Shadow.
And this… is my dominion.