Thresh skins

There aren't many places, let alone stock brokerage firms, that will hire an ethically questionable, skull-faced custodian named Thresh, but Mundo wouldn't be a trillionaire if he didn't know a good bet when he saw one. Who better to clean up dirty money than a demon janitor?

Thresh, Sylas, and Camille laughed as the Aurora surged within them, until the laughs turned to screams! The raw power of the Aurora was too much, killing the inventor and dancer and leaving only a corrupted Thresh behind. Believing himself to be the rightful new Polaris, he raised his weapon, ready to doom Senna... when suddenly, Lucian appeared!

Some are destined to rule. Others hear only echoes of glory, knowing nothing of the sacrifices that must be made! You must put your empire before EVERYTHING... even the lives of your subjects. The Emperor Thresh still guides his people, their souls forever safe, though their bodies were washed away. Someday, he'll heal his broken empire. All he needs is a kind empress' helping hand.

The Steel Dragon, happiest curled up in its cavernous archive amidst its treasures, needed someone with a talent for acquiring esoteric new treasures—and its eye fell on Thresh. Honored to assist, Thresh's limitless appetite for acquisition warped into obsession. Now he stops at nothing to acquire what he wants, justifying his cruelty in the name of his benefactor.

With every soul the Ruination seized, Thresh's lantern burned brighter. He had planned for this moment, after all: the chance to scour far beyond the Shadow Isles, the Mist's reach so much greater than his own. Reaping all he had so meticulously sown, Thresh was at last unbound from the shackles of the isles. He had forgotten how good it feels to have skin...

An ancient demon of obsession, Thresh delights in tormenting the spirits of those he deems as flawed, but blossoming with potential. He haunts the spiritual afterlife as a supreme collector of souls, tempting the dead away from their path to salvation until they are trapped for eternity within their own memories.

Honoring Crisp's winning performance as Thresh during the 2019 World Championship.

As head of the Remembrancers, Thresh usually remains behind the scenes pulling the chains of time rather than stepping into the stream himself. Yet recent events have caused him to leave his temporal citadel, bringing his pulsefire lantern to bear.

As paradoxes multiply and more rogue agents rebel against the grasp of the chrono-enforcers, Thresh, as commander of the Rembrancers, takes matters into his own hands. He must not yield control of time to these interlopers… nor to the growing Praetorian threat.

As paradoxes multiply and more rogue agents rebel against the grasp of the chrono-enforcers, Thresh, as commander of the Rembrancers, takes matters into his own hands. He must not yield control of time to these interlopers… nor to the growing Praetorian threat.

An ancient devil who stalks the great expanses of the Old West, Thresh's cruel visage is burned into the minds of all living things who fear the day he will come to claim their souls. His arrival spells doom for any settlement, its residents flayed and left to rot in the sun.

A cosmic nightmare who worships the all-consuming Dark Star, Thresh vows to feed the whole of existence to his “god” until all matter, time, and thought are erased. His work will be complete when nothing remains, freeing him to finally leap into the singularity and become one with the end of the universe.

Honoring Mata's winning performance as Thresh during the 2014 World Championship.

A demon summoned on the night of the Blood Moon, Thresh's insatiable urge to torture and kill is fueled by thousands of vengeful spirits drawn to his lantern. Entire villages are left slaughtered in his wake, their blood staining the land for decades.

Celebrating Worlds 2013 in North America.

“If there really was a kingdom beneath the sea, it must have been destroyed long ago. How else do you explain the revenants that prey upon these shores? How else does that thing—Thresh—exist, trapping our souls in his accursed diving bell?”