Dr. Frantic
No birth records.
No past.
No proof he was ever truly human.
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The one known as Dr. Frantic appears in the history of Hauntmare as if he simply stepped out of a nightmare and into reality, already brilliant, already broken, already dangerous. No one knows where he learned his craft, only that his knowledge of flesh, metal, and circuitry surpasses anything considered natural or ethical. To him, life is not sacred. It is material.
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Hidden behind a custom-built respirator that hisses with every breath, Dr. Frantic moves through his domain like a conductor before an orchestra of horrors. Tubes feed strange vapors into his lungs, keeping him alive for reasons unknown. Some believe the mask sustains old injuries. Others claim the air he breathes is not meant for this world at all.
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One of his eyes is a lifeless, pure white orb, split by a brutal scar that tears through his brow, across the eye itself, and down into his cheek. The wound looks ancient, violent, and personal. Many suspect it was delivered by his greatest creation during a catastrophic rebellion in the laboratory. But there are no records, no witnesses, and Dr. Frantic has never spoken a word about how he received it.
He is the architect of abominations.
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Creatures stitched from nightmares. Machines fused with bone. Cyborg horrors bound to his will through unseen commands and buried code. Every monster that bears the Hauntmare mark traces back to his twisted genius. He does not merely build them; he owns them.
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All except one.
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Grimmz.
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Though he would never confess it, Grimmz is his masterpiece. The most powerful, the most unpredictable, and the only creation to ever break free from his control. That defiance should have doomed the gremlin instantly, yet Dr. Frantic has never truly hunted him down. Whether this is pride, regret, or something dangerously close to affection remains a mystery even to those who study the doctor’s work.
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Do not mistake that hesitation for kindness.
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Dr. Frantic may show a craftsman’s appreciation for what he creates, but he holds no mercy for the living. To cross him is to risk becoming raw material for his next experiment. Those who beg for their lives simply provide him with better opportunities to study fear.
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He is not a guardian of Hauntmare.
He is not its protector.
He is its hidden hand.
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A master of monsters, bound by no morality, driven by an endless need to create, improve, and control. And somewhere behind the glass of that ruined white eye burns a singular obsession:
To perfect life, no matter how many lives must be ruined to achieve it.
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