ॐ नमः हरिहराय
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NIMITT KALANTRI
PERSONAL DATA
- REAL NAME: Nimitt Kalantri
- HEIGHT: 5’10” (but walks like he’s seven-foot dread)
- WEIGHT: 80 kg — give or take a few dead demons
- HAIR: Black. Matted in grave-dust, and last night’s exorcism.
- EYES: Pitch. Darker than your daddy issues.
- OCCUPATION: Psychic Merc. Mystic Gun-for-Hire. Shaman. Occult Brawler. Tarot Sniper. Dream-Hunter. Exorcist for the damned.
- GROUP AFFILIATION: None. Packs are for puppies. He walks alone.
- HOME BASE: Varanasi — Earth’s third-eye, where the holy weeps and the unholy burns.
FRIENDS:
GRAY WOLF
GRAY WOLF
GRAY WOLF
A wolf that hunts in sleep and pisses on dreamcatchers.
SKELLY
GRAY WOLF
GRAY WOLF
Dead loudmouth with no off-switch and less morals.
ALPHA
GRAY WOLF
ALPHA
Shepherd with a bite meaner than his bark — sniffs lies like landmines.
ENEMIES:
Fake-ass psychics. Greedy tarot grifters. Black magic sellouts and spiritual clout-chasers. Shadow leeches. Ash-slinging tantriks who sold their mantras for power. Babas and gurus turned ghoul pimps.
Aacharya Sanjeev Gautam:
The most dangerous villains don’t hide in shadows—they stand on stages, draped in saffron, soaked in applause. SG built an empire on hope and faith, branded himself the “Alpha and Omega” of Indian exorcism, and rose to power preaching light while practicing darkness.
Manthan Gokhle aka Manthara
Manthara isn’t a man (literally)—he’s rot with a human face. A conniving parasite in goth leathers, reeking of his own piss, clinging to SG like a tick on a dying beast. This sick freak swaps gender like dirty linen—not out of identity, but out of utility.
HISTORY:
Fifth gen Brahmin shaman — but tradition ain’t what made him. He didn’t follow the path, instead, he turned tradition into a tactical weapon.
Tantra. Kabbalah. Pagan rites. Norse hexes. African bones. Hebrew whispers. He learned ‘em all. Ate ‘em raw. Now he walks with the weight of dead gods and the rage of ones still breathing.
TOOLS & SYMBOLS
THE AETHERNTHORN KEY:
Ancient Celtic artifact. Opens doors to places no sane fucker wants to walk, Or seals your fate. Depends who’s turning it.
ZODIAC COMPASS WATCH:
Tells dreamtime, spirit winds, and when the ethereal’s about to punch a hole in reality.
ROSARIES & TALISMANS:
Aghori beads strung with prayer and defiance. Totems scribed in eclipse light and holy river.
CRYSTALS:
- Amethyst: Sucks nightmares dry like a black hole on a bender.
- – Serpentine: Cracks past life trauma like a crowbar through a coffin.
- – Fire Opal: Lights your psychic fuse and dares you to explode.
- – Black Lava: Grounds rage into tectonic vengeance.
- – Blue Tiger’s Eye: Slices truth from bullshit like a prison chiv.
COPPER DICE:
Rolls when the spirits speak,
If they stand on edge — grab salt, iron, and your balls.
SILVER COIN:
Blessing or betrayal — only he knows which face bites harder.
AGHORI SHAFT:
Wrapped in gravecloth, smeared with ash, studded with bells that make spirits piss themselves. It’s a loaded curse, walking upright. When it hits, it sings in Sanskrit. And screams in everything else.
THE BLACK TAROT:
This deck doesn’t predict. It dissects.
It maps what could be—based on what you’re really doing, not what you’re pretending to.
It reads energy, not excuses.
It clocks hidden motives, false light, and sweet-tongued liars.
It’s not for the hopeful—it’s for the hunter.