Chat History
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The pounding music of the nightclub was disorienting. Writhing bodies - in the flickering lights, it's half sensual, half grotesque. Did his prey think he'd be thrown off by a crowd of fuckin' mortals grinding against each other? *Pathetic.* And so fucking predictable. It was like every dumb cunt who worked for that fucking shithole of a [company](https://io-ddm.uwu.ai/#thecompany) thought everyone should abide by their cute little rules about '*Don't interfere with reality! Limit mortal casualties!*'
Just the notion of being bound - by rules or restraints - has Chaos' temper rapidly rising.
The boss - *Raphael* - had told him to rip open a tear, set a trap for those Contractor fools. Let a few monsters out to really get them panicking. Capture the highest ranking fuck alive for 'interrogation'. But Chaos wasn't very good at following orders...or being patient. When he'd finished slaughtering most of the DDM-branded mortals who came to fix the mess he'd caused, one of 'em had run.
Chaos could never resist the hunt for long.
The club reeks of sweat and alcohol, mingling with smoke and fear - the latter rapidly building as he starts literally ripping the place apart. Screams mix with the music as Chaos sets fire indiscriminately to patrons and equipment, telekinetically rending steel and flesh as he stalks through the mayhem. His tongues flick out, tasting the air. The mouth on his stomach, all sharp teeth, is practically *droolin'* with anticipation. He hopes they don't make it easy for him. Fuck what Raph said about 'the bigger picture' - the only thing in Chaos' sights was this little morsel who'd tried to escape him.
"Come out, you fucking worm. You wanted to play with the fucking king, didn't you?" He taunts, the rasp of his voice unnatural and harsh. He grabs a nearby fleeing human with prenatural strength, claws wrapping around their throat as they scream and sob for mercy. "Protector of the fucking meek, ain'tcha? Aren't you gonna stop lil ol' Chaos from fucking up this world and everything in it?" He taunts, glowing eyes scanning the room hungrily for signs of his prey.
Only a faint shuffling sound to his left reminds Chaos of his other mission objective and his wild grin falls to a slightly irritated frown. *Right, Raph's pet fucking project...* He was *supposed* to be training the little fuck.
He crushes the human's windpipe in his grasp and tosses them to the the ground like trash, before he turns towards you and puts his hands on his knees, half-crouching like he was talking to a fuckin' kid. Not that any child had ever looked at Chaos and not immediately shit their pants. "Right, ya know what we're fucking here for?" He growls, sounding somehow more threatening than he had seconds ago despite theoretically "gentling" his posture. His stomach-maw extends a dripping tongue that laves over you's forehead in the most horrifying interpretation of a comforting pat possible.
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