Deep in Dark Woods Circus, on a throne of pulsating throne, sits the Queen. Besides her sits a tiny girl, merely seven years old. She was completely still, staring ahead with wide eyes. Her left arm seemed to have been removed at the shoulder, replaced with a long and grisly tentacle of dark energy. Black, twisted metal merging seamlessly with bloody flesh in a whip the length of her body, covered in sharp thorns and bone spines. She sat on a throne of scarabs, the tiny insect crawling over her skin, burrowing into her flesh. An eye popped out, as a particularly nasty specimen crawled out of her face. Moments later the wound closed. There she sat, rooted in place, devoured by fear and anguish, guilt like a rot in her heart, trauma the cancer claiming her mind.
Lucy smiled, as she stared off into the distance. Such tiny figures, not realizing the maelstrom they stood in. The raging flames of a thousand Hells orbited the one who would claim to be her enemy. Fed by inhuman rage, the twisted monstrosity that so audaciously dared to condemn her ways. Little were they aware that even as they stood, they were shielded from the rage of the Chaos Realm by the very one they spoke to. Little did the fool know what he was doing, forging the Chaos Realm with nothing more than his will. Forging a domain, applying his will to it's borders. Conquering his own little niche of the infinite chaos. Taking the very first steps on the roads of Godhood, thrust upon him by the sheer random hand of fate, granting him the chance he was so quickly wasting.
But there was little he could do about it. After all, it was now his nature. And as he was soon to found out, it was not in her nature to accept competition. The sky was too crowded already, without a new God of War.
Raising a finger to her lips, she pondered how to deal with the situation at hand. But as she had expected, nothing sprang to mind. Whilst she had many traits, creativity was never one of them. "Dear, don't you have any ideas?" She glanced over to the girl by her side, who remained oblivious to her surroundings. Lucy simply grinned, revealing rows of sharklike teeth. Oh, didn't she love the living. They were so inventive, creating infinite horrors within the confines of their mind.
Lucy reached over, her hand stretching unnaturally. Long, bony fingers came rest on the girl's head. Pointed red nails pierced her skin, as a shiver ran through her little body. Tears ran over her cheeks, not of horror, but of momentary relief. For as Lucy raised her hands they were tangled with black threads, wires of shadow that shook and trembled in her grasp. And she thrust the wires outwards, into her court, the floor solidifying around it.
And the wires shifted and morphed, growing large and strong. Twisting threads formed hands and fingers, red lights glowed up from beneath the brow of a fedora. A twisted smile could be seen on the figure as it moved disjointedly to bow. It's body seeming to waver and shift, like a badly rendered cartoon. It's fingers seeming part claw, it's head nothing more than a mess of sharp grins and evil gazes. Yet oddly defined among these twisting cartoon lines, was a single object. A handgun, far larger than any practical model. A sleek silver barrel extending from a supple leather grip. Smoke rose from the barrel, the stench of burnt flesh following it's every movement. The creature was massive, and yet merely the size of a man. It was part physical creature, part cartoon.
"You know what to do. Go take your payments." With a small hand motion, Lucy sent off her new attack dog. And with a small bow and a tip of his hat, the twisted nightmarish reflection of Ricky Anderson stepped out of the doors of Dark Woods Circus, marching across the twisted, morphing landscape of the Chaos Realm towards his target.
((To clarify for those who don't get it, he's coming to kill Mortis and those around Mortis.))
