by Kell Inkston
Chaos' everlasting smile curves into a grin. "Of course! You're my most loyal minion. I know that no matter what happens, or how many armies or gods strike at me, you will always be at home preparing dinner. That is, until late. I've had to cook for myself since you've been gone, you know."
Cooking Minion gasps. "You... you didn't get a replacement while I was gone?!"
Chaos hugs the small minion to himself. "I have many chefs for many occasions, but there is only one of you, my Cooking Minion. Nothing you do will change the way I feel about you, or change how much I love you. In that way you are like all my other minions, and I love you all dearly. You know that."
Cooking Minion reciprocates by wrapping his little arms around The Overlord's chest. "A-are you sure, sir? You can't love me more?"
Chaos scoffs. "How could I continue to fill a glass that is already overpouring? You don't need to do anything special for me to garner my love, dear minion, you already have it in full, past, present, and to the end of all light and time in Omniverse."
In front of everyone, Cooking Minion starts sniffling. "Th-thank you, sir! Thank you!" The two embrace for a moment, and then Chaos pulls away. He tears a portal in the fabric of space-time with his left hand and holds Cooking Minion near it with his right. A flurry of helping minion arms, some as small as a cat’s and others as large as a bear’s reach forth to deliver Cooking Minion to safety through the portal.
"Ensure he is well-rewarded for his bravery. Be certain Grape-to-Mouth Delivery Minion and Spa Massage Minion are both on call."
"What did he do, sir?" an anonymous minion voice calls from the portal.
"Challenged my very nature," Chaos says. At that, the portal closes and Chaos is simply crouched at the side of the ballroom. A few seconds pass, and he stands to look over the crowd. He’s grinning now, and his round glowing eyes are wide— the synonymous expression of his glory- of his violence.
“Now…” he begins stepping along the row of guests, looking each of them over. “Who could it have been…”
“Good evening, Chaos,” Overlord Greed says, grinning sheepishly.
Chaos looks over. “Ahh, I did not recognize you there at first, pardon. Surely you must know what happened.”
Greed feels something running through him; something in the food, maybe. “O-of course!”
In but a tick of the watch, the grinning Chaos is upon him, looming over the small overlord. “Perhaps you would care to enlighten me?”
Greed clears his throat. “Gladly! It was this woman over there,” he directs to Pertalaine Irefall, out of breath and wheezing with contorted, loud inhalations. “The horrible woman invited us to this party and has been a wonderful hostess up to the point when she dared to lay a hand on your minion.”
Lady Irefall squints an eye, gleaming with powerful light at the small lizard man rolling his wrist in annunciation—something’s off about him. Overlord Greed has been guzzling alcohol all evening and was only minutes ago flailing around in manic frenzies of drunkenness. He is now erect, concise, and sober-looking. In fact, he reminds her a good deal of The Captain.
Chaos hums as he looks at, and through Greed. "I presume the injury was by one of those fake magic wounds?"
Greed pauses a moment as if the term 'fake magic' were new to him, and speaks. "Certainly looked and sounded like it."
"Thank you for your assistance," Chaos says as he turns away to the crowd.
"Mister Chaos," Pertalaine says with a grin, "I absolutely did no-"
"And what say you? Who hurt my servant?" Chaos says to the people in the ballroom.
The vast majority of the guests gesture towards Irefall, others do not react, and a few small few point at The Captain, who has just finished tying himself back to full height and cracking the magic bottle under his boot. Immediately after this, he reaches into his coat for another firearm, he knows what's coming.
As Pertalaine does her best to explain herself over the commotion, Chaos' gaze locks in on The Captain, who realizes how terribly bad an idea shooting Cooking Minion would have been if it didn't buy him time which, fortunately, it did.
In an instant, the magic barriers around the manor dissipate from overstrain in the futile attempt to constrain Chaos’ galactic magical presence for the scant minute they were able. Free access to and from the mansion is now possible for all.
Before Irefall can react, The Captain fires a single, bright shot from his flare gun out the window of the ballroom into the cold black night—another supremely-lucky break.
Chaos squints his perfectly round eyes at The brilliant Captain. "Are you truly so dishonest as to say you did not hurt my child?" Chaos asks.
The Captain shakes his head. "I do not offer excuses. My intentions were purely deceptive. I should have known you'd be able to see my influence acting on people."
Chaos opens his mouth, and from those glowing white jaws proceeds his epic weapon, something capable of destroying pantheons and moving the unmovable. He reaches up to his mouth and pulls from it Kingdom Slayer, the black sword synonymous with his might—an Omniverse-wide icon of destruction. "Oh? Then I am certain you must have some form of explanation as to why you thought it right to hurt me like this?" Chaos asks.
Pertalaine sighs in relief. Even after The Captain somehow took control of nearly every one of her guests, “The High Overlord” can still tell the culprit easily.
"I needed a moment's composure during my fight with this fine lady here. She's employing rather dark, eldritch forces at her side."
"That is not of my concern, sandling." Chaos enters his striking stance, appearing long, loose and impractical, though anyone who knows his strength could guess this stance is as offensive as any. "I will show you what it means to attack my kind. You shall make a fine example for the history books, Ohkiij shard."
The Captain readies his sword from his insides, but he's not ready. He will never be ready for a fight like this. "Couldn't we talk this over? I'd usually never dream of shooting your..." The Captain stops himself, receiving a secret signal from someone nearby. "Oh, hell. Fight me!" The Captain draws his sword, roughly a fifth of the size of Chaos' nearly person-sized blade— one sung of in laments for millennia. "Come forward, dark rabbit. Let me send you back to your hare hole."
Chaos' antennae twitch, a physical tell of a proclaimed death sentence. "Well then. This will be even more satisfying to kill something so ungraceful," he says as he leans in to attack. "Goodbye, Captain...” Chaos winces. “…or was it Victor?"
The Captain flinches in shock. As a surprise to Irefall and the crowd of onlookers, The Captain looks completely thrown off balance, all by a simple name. "Wait! H-how did you-"
Chaos shakes his head. "What does it matter, you Raider scum. En garde."
Of course, if you are like 99.99999999% of the Omniverse's population, hearing High Overlord Chaos challenge you with the phrase "en garde" would be considered a morbid joke rather than a challenge to arms. For those trillions, their deaths would be instant, comprehensive, and gloriously-impossible to avoid, like a strike from the god Zeus who, for the record, is also part of that 99.99999999% percentile.
While The Captain stands to bear not even the concept of a chance, his flare called in someone from The Nocturna who does, and he’s near.
Even though The Captain's full attention is on Chaos, when the Overlord leaps forward he suffers a complete lack of recognition. Every grain of “sand” inside him cannot advise him what to do, for all mortal advice and skill fails in a match-up like this.
Instead of feeling the full departure of his body and scattering of sand into a million directions, he feels a great breeze and hears the deep, metallic clang of two swordsmen meeting weapons. Not some childish clash like those between humans, but the strain of the full metal on metal contact- a clang as loud as thunder and sharper than lightning.
The Captain, Irefall, and all the guests need a moment to realize what just transpired.
Standing over The Captain is
a dark, cloaked figure. Only his ghost-white mask, cracked and splattered with ages of old blood, and his knife, a hideous, jagged, arm-sized blade, are visible from under the cloak.
Chaos grins in the thrill of meeting his weapon to someone capable of stopping it. “Well,” Chaos starts. "I was not expecting you to be outsourcing your work, Mister La'coss."
The crowd enters another uproar as the legendary assassin makes his entrance on The Captain's behalf. Rumor has it that Marcus La'coss was hired by the grim reaper himself because of the number of souls he's departed from bodies, and the sheer oceans of blood he's spilled for his own gain. As so many rumors go, that’s only partially true.
The cloaked figure is unmoving except for its guarding arms, holding Chaos' sword at bay. "There's some extreme circumstances for this one. Move along, overlord. There's no need to get yourself..." Marcus sighs and Chaos scoffs.
"Cannot say it with full composure? I do not blame you. I will advise you, rather, to return from whence you came, and let me take my satisfaction."
"Not a chance. This guy goes way further down the ladder than you know."
"I know perfectly well who, pardon, what this 'Captain' thing is and who it’s connected to. That does not deter me, however. I will destroy it. I will reach into it and end its centuries-long charade for what it has done to my minion, my beloved servant. Perhaps get some information while I’m at it, though I am patient, and I prefer to follow than to intervene like this," Chaos’ grin is overwhelming in size, easily capable of gulping down Marcus whole.
"Then I can't talk you out of it?" Marcus asks, the two forcing their blades together with enough weight to crush a tower.
Chaos laughs, sending a chill through everyone but Marcus. "I am truly inconsolable."
In a flash, the two enter a bout of such speed and elegance that the best way to describe it could only be poetry, and the narrator is not much of a poet. The Captain and Pertalaine are blasted away from the weight of the strikes to the end of the room. Before The Captain can recompose himself, Irefall is upon him. The second round begins as the guests finish flooding out of the room and escaping the mansion.
The “Death” of a Beloved (Truly, a Memorable Evening: Part Four)
Back in the darkened halls elsewhere in the manor, two girls with the black eye travel to the ballroom with fleet steps.
“Well The Captain’ll explain everything once… Martaine!” Grancis spots Officer Vangair rounds the corner in front of them. He’s smiling, but not quite in the way she expects of him.
“Good evening, you two,” Martaine says, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a pistol. With practiced dexterity he begins to spin it about his index finger.
The wide-eyed Grancis stops in her tracks, with Colette following along. “Good evening,” Grancis says plainly.
He leans his head back, keeping his gaze locked on as his smile grows and curves sinisterly. “I suppose you two bitches were bound to have a few more tricks up your sleeves than Lewis let on, that bastard… but no matter.” He flips his gun and aims it at them. "I think my good humor's about run out, toodles!"
Colette draws her pistol and takes aim to shoot, but not before Martaine pulls his trigger. Colette's right hand is torn through, the pistol ruined, and sending her reeling.
"Stop!" Grancis shouts.
Martaine fires another shot at Colette, hitting her in the side. She ignores the pain as she rushes forward, but not before taking another hit. With three bullet wounds she finally meets Martaine, but all he needs to do by this point is kick forward to strike her stomach and send her to the floor. He promptly takes aim next for Colette's head.
Grancis drops the Black Eye and falls to her knees. "Martaine, I'm begging you! Don't hurt her!"
Martaine scoffs as Colette grasps Martaine's legs to reach slowly, weakly for the gun. "Say goodbye!" He says to Grancis as he looms over the flinching, still-fighting Colette.
Grancis draws in breath and runs forward. Just before she can throw her fist at Martaine, he takes the shot, sending a bullet straight though Colette's skull, killing her. Colette's body glances at her best friend in a cranial twitch before falling limp on the floor, an outpouring of blood messing over her features.
Grancis screams as her fist flails into Martaine's chest. He's barely affected, and responds with a pistol whip to the side of her face. Grancis is knocked aside easily, a large bruise marking her painfully. Martaine lets her get to her feet before slamming her wholly into the wall and pinning her there.
"You..." She takes a breath, her eyes empty. "You killed her!"
Martaine scoffs as he secures her with his body weight. "She killed herself. Your friend was stupid to live that life... but I like you a lot more, you know."
With his gun pointed into her center, she is helpless under his grip. "Wh-what are you talking about? You killed... you kille-" Grancis is silenced once Martaine pushes his lips into her own for a seconds-long kiss. Grancis pushes away as best she can, but his strength is too great and the shock from his forwardness too powerful.
He pulls away, the warm embrace sending a slew of confusion through his prey. "That's what I'm talking about, right? Isn't that what you wanted, dearie?"
She sobs as she gasps for air. "No!"
"Liar! I know you wanted him to pin you like this and have his way with you- because you're like me Grancis- a seeker of thrills!"
It takes Grancis a moment to realize what's going on. Her expression sours further in disgust. "You're... not him, are you?"
Martaine laughs. "In the flesh, obviously I'm Martaine. Now then, how about one more for the road before I send you on your way?"
Grancis' pupils sharpen as she feels the barrel of the pistol press sharply against her stomach. "Why don't you leave Martaine alone!"
Martaine laughs. "Just like you, he's mine by right. Now here."
Martaine fires a shot into her stomach, causing her to contort instantly from the massive pain.
"I-... I..." She can't push out a full sentence until the blood makes its way up and through her mouth. Martaine kisses her again, sucking the taste of her blood into his mouth as he aims the pistol once more, this time at her heart. Martaine pulls away again, licking his lips viciously for her sanguine mess. "It never would've worked out between you two anyway. Now fuck off," Martaine says as he squeezes the trigger, the same time a shadow rises in the hallway.
Jim impales a steak knife into Martaine's jaw the same second he reaches for his pistol.
"Little bitch!" Martaine roars as he tangles with Jim, elbows him in the neck and removes the knife from his own face to stab into its owner.
With all her might Grancis latches onto Martaine's hand from behind and starts pulling back, holding the knife at bay.
The three are locked, three hands on each weapon as each party does their damnedest to wrest it from the other.
"I'll show you little shits what it means to fight the Queen of the Eversea."
"Shut the fuck up, you old hag. We're ending your reign of terror tonight!" Jim grunts amidst the heavy pulling to secure the gun.
Slowly, surely, Grancis' blood runs out, and her hold weakens. As her fingers slip off Martaine's hand holding the knife, the knife slips right into Jim's shoulder.
Jim kicks and screams as he does his best to keep a grip on the gun. "Damn you!"
Martaine laughs. "I'm fairly certain you'll be seeing hell before I will, cutie," he says in the most Irefall-esque way imaginable.
Grancis uses her failing strength for something else, and grabs Martaine in a choke hold. Martaine is completely undeterred, however, and only needs to kick back with a leg to hit her in the face and send her to the floor with a broken nose. She's twitching in shock, probably unconscious.
Now only Jim is in the way.
Martaine pulls the knife from Jim's shoulder and raises it up for a quick stab to the heart. Jim transfers one hand to stop the knife, leaving only one for the gun.
With a snap Mar
taine wins both from the bleeding Jim, and points the barrel to his head. "Goodnight, Mister Masthaven."
It's a rare moment that Jim would want the "other" Jim to come out, but this is certainly one of those times. However there's nothing that this other Jim would want more than to have "real" Jim die, so latent he'll stay.
Jim screams in horror as the knife comes down, but it only starts; it's caught by something.
Martaine doesn't much care what's behind him enough to look before pulling the trigger of the gun, but that too is grabbed from behind and aimed off course toward the floor.
"Wh-what the hell?!" Martaine forces his might to get control of either weapon, but neither can overpower the wet, warm grip of whoever it is behind him. He swings his gaze around to see none other than Colette, her eyes dilated senselessly, her face expressionless, and the bullet wound still square in her forehead.
Martaine roars excitedly. "Why, Lewis! I was wondering when you'd pop in!" With a turn of the foot Martaine kicks across Jim's face, knocking him out and freeing him totally to fight Colette.
There's a brief fight for the weapons, but both know how devastating one would be in the hand of the other, so rather they advance to the legs to win both.
They engage in a bout of shin-splitting kicks to depart the death grip between the weapons. Colette lifts a knee, her sinews charged by something other than blood at this moment, and strikes Martaine with a satisfying "thump." The two are broken apart, Colette with the pistol and Martaine with the knife.
Only a meter away, Martaine breaks forward for Colette without pause and Colette takes the shot — empty.
She scarcely evades a stab from Martaine, moves over to his side and slams the pistol into his skull, cracking it. Martaine isn't slowed in the slightest, and keeps forward to Colette. The two fight masterfully with speed and grace, causing wounds and broken limbs, but somehow both bodies keep fighting as if unharmed. Like machines designed by a cruel inventor, Colette and Martaine fight until they're at the very brim of human recognition, more crimson and white than flesh and character; far, far beyond what conscious, mortal humans can withstand.