Daemon Lucifus

The Boar Who would not die

Daemon Lucifus was born in YC107 under the lights of the Imperial Academy. Even then something feral lived in him. He learned the forms, then undocked and never returned to the light.
He hunted through Cult of War, Dead Terrorists, Nulli Secunda, Pandemic Legion, Northern Coalition, Snuffed Out, Psychotic Tendencies and Adversity. Over twenty years he destroyed 4415 ships, lost 477, efficiency near 90 percent, 1.39 trillion ISK in wreckage. The killboard does not lie.
A brutal fight left him with a ruined arm and deep facial scars. The cybernetic replacement was industrial, ugly, permanent, glowing red. He kept it. The scars stayed. When identity hardened they became the marks of the boar.
In the medical bay he learned the only true lesson: you are not raised by parents or empires. You are raised by the things that try to kill you and fail. The void never lied.
When Raised By Boars formed in YC127 under Father Biff he arrived as a living relic. The name fit. Others saw a veteran. He saw a pack that understood.
Now he wears white-and-black armor with red accents. The mechanical arm still whirrs. The scars still cut. In local he is Daemon Lucifus of Raised By Boars, SONS of BANE. The young call him General Daemon, the scarred boar who keeps coming back angrier.
He sits in quiet hangars remembering names that no longer exist. He records absence as data. Continuity lives only inside the capsule.
The void has tried to finish him more times than most have undocked. It has failed. Numbers climb. Efficiency holds. The arm still moves. The scars still pull.
He no longer knows where man ends and boar begins. What remains is the hunter raised by violence itself.
In the stories he is already half legend: the figure in white armor who appears when fights should be lost, who takes the final blows, who undocks alone into systems sensible men avoid. Some stories are true. He does not correct them.
When the next war comes he will be there. White armor catching distant light, red lights pulsing on the arm, scars reminding all that this capsuleer has already died more times than most have lived. The boars keep raising their own.
You are not raised by the soft things. You are raised by the things that try to kill you and fail.
Daemon Lucifus has been failing to die for more than twenty years. He intends to keep the streak alive.
The void is patient. So is the boar. Forever Hunting in the dark void