Hollas Obermen was a collector of treasures, or at least that’s what he believed they were. These were the discarded fragments of other peoples lives, relics which Hollas was obsessed with saving. He’d see them lying on a curb here and there, he’d find them in the dumpsters, he’d sometimes even rescue them from the local dump. But make no mistake, Hollas did not pick up just any piece of trash he found. No, these were the once treasured possessions of children and collectors, which had either outlived their usefulness or lost their value. Sometimes he would find perfectly fine objects that people simply no longer wanted, such as old furnishings and decor. Other times he would acquire well worn or damaged items that people had once thought to care for. Hollas, perhaps, saw himself in these objects. He was once cared for as well, but he had long since been cast out by society.

His parents had died in a tragic car accident that left Hollas disfigured, he had been only eight at the time, leaving him an orphan. With no other living relatives, which could be found, Hollas became a ward of the state… and would remain so for nearly ten years. No one wanted a child his age, much less one so hauntingly disfigured as he had been. The attempt at reconstructing his face made it appear as if he were wearing a mask made of someone else’s skin, the muscle underneath had been virtually shredded by the many shards of glass that had found their way into his flesh. The doctors had never seen such a bizarre occurrence, it was as if the glass had been specifically drawn to him, as if death itself had set aside a special ending just for him. However, he did not die, this too the doctors said was a miracle, as not a single major artery was severed. With considerable effort they managed the bleeding over the many hours it took to remove the glass, they stitched him back together as best they could, and saved his life.

In the orphanage, Hollas collected the remnants of the children which had left for better places, old toys that had been donated and gifted out at Christmas. Many children left such possessions behind when they went to their new homes, some even gave such things to Hollas out of pity, but no one ever took them from him. Even as he got older, and his collection grew, no one could bring themselves to take anymore from Hollas than he had already lost. Though occasionally he would give one of his treasured possessions to a young child who had newly arrived at the orphanage, and sometimes they would return to him upon their departure. Once Hollas finally left the orphanage, he’d decided to get a job as a sanitation worker. He found an efficiency studio apartment, which basically meant small room with bathroom and kitchenette, not much bigger than a standard hotel room. Eventually, he’d have to move into a small house, which he’d acquired as a reno project at a good price due to the dilapidated conditions of the property and the fact that it had been in foreclosure for some time. This was a place suited to Hollas and his peculiarities, it had been neglected and was now unwanted by the general consensus of buyers. It would not be long however, before Hollas had filled the house to bursting with his “collection”.

Before the age of 40, Hollas would meet his tragic end. While he had been reorganizing his collection to make room for more, Hollas would disturb a wasps nest knocking it to the ground. Several wasps swarmed into a rage and attacked, attempting to drive Hollas away. Unfortunately, Hollas had an allergic reaction to the attack which was severe enough to send his body into shock. After flailing around a bit, trying to get back inside, he’d collapsed bringing several shelves filled with his treasures down upon him. Hollas would die there buried beneath the precious objects he had salvaged, and this would be the only funeral he’d receive as his body lay buried for several months. Hollas remained undisturbed, all but forgotten, until a group of junkies stumbled in one night. The intruders ended up burning his house down, after being scared near to death by Hollas’s ghost. Hollas was attempting to get them to leave of course, he had remained to watch over his treasures. He wasn’t really a dangerous ghost and might have moved on in time, if not for the fire.

The fire sent Hollas into a rage. Like the wasp that had killed him, Hollas’s home was now in danger and he held the men and women who’d invaded it responsible. If they could not put out the fire, they could no longer be allowed to leave, and so Hollas condemned them all to death. He held the door fast, with all his rage, as they struggled to escape… until they struggled no more. Then Hollas watched his precious treasures burn, with each moment becoming more and more consumed by grief and a spiteful need for vengeance. As the spirits of the dead emerged from the ashes, he rushed over to take all that remained of them… their fear, their pain, their regret, their self loathing, their bitterness, their hopelessness, and their souls. Hollas had become a demon, and he needed to punish those who would discard their precious treasures.

The fire department eventually made it to his home, but by then everything was gone. The official story would be that the house was littered with flammable items, which accelerated the burn. That it was believed the fire was started by junkies, who’d died in the fire. And that the whereabouts of the home owner were at this time unknown. A local Reaper would show up to claim the souls of the junkies, if they had not managed to move on, which was just as often the case as not when it came to people who died in this manner, let alone people of their circumstance. Yet, not a single ghost, but the Reaper sensed something else… something he was not qualified to handle. So he sent out a request for a hunter, one which Rahzi would be eager to answer for a chance to face his first demon.