A/N: I realize that I've been writing a lot of new stories lately and not updating my older and more established ones, but I assure any readers of those stories that I fully intend to continue working on them. I've just had a lot of inspiration for new stories lately, and I confess that I'm suffering severe writers block for some of my longer stories. Anyways...I've tried to compensate for that by writing longer chapters. Speaking of which, please enjoy this one and feel free to leave any feedback or suggestions in the review section.

Darkness did not truly engulf the warp. Not the whole of it, at least. There was darkness aplenty, to be certain, but to say that it completely obscured the vastness of the warp's entirety would be a grievous error in calculation. No, many things called the warp their home. Darkness, light, colors of corner of the spectrum.

That is the way of Chaos. It is all things, not darkness alone. Indeed, to be any uniform thing would be antithetical to the very nature of Chaos, of change itself.

And this was why the Changer of Ways and firstborn of the Dark Gods was, even now, pondering upon his throne. He-if indeed it could be described as any single gender, which It could not. Change in all things allowed for no constants save change itself. But, for the purposes of mortal comprehension, the Dark God was often referred to as male-often did as such to formulate his infinite myriad of schemes and plots. Oh, the change he had wrought upon that terrible throne! Even at this very moment, ruin and wreckage rose up to replace the filthy stagnation built up by the civilized provinces of man, all in his own name at the hands of fanatical and treacherous servants alike. His rewards were both generous and sparse, as each served his own purpose, or even seemed to impede it. His machinations were unknowable, and even now a million more diabolical schemes hatched forth from his vile intellect as he put aside a certain measure of his attention to carry them out.

But he was, for the moment, distracted. If such a being could be called distracted, of course. Suffice to say, an unprecedented amount of his attention was occupied with a most frustrating and complex quandary. Indeed, he had been putting off the problem for uncounted millennia now, unable to come to a decisive solution.

The Dark Gods were normally not much ones for procrastination, and Tzeentch less than most. It was a testament to the complexity and impossibility of the current problem at hand that even Tzeentch had to take a moment-just a mere, insignificant moment- of such a large portion of his presence in order to provide himself with an adequate course of action with which to solve it.

The problem was unique. That was the only reason why he had to resort to such drastic measures. Change on such a scale was on par with his nature, of course, and the only constant that he allowed. It was only for that reason-that single, one, and only reason- that he chose the solution that he did. His considerable and impossibly vast, incomprehensible mind discovered a solution to his problem almost immediately.

Wasting no more time than this problem had undeservedly expended, Tzeentch arranged for a gathering. While it was true that this deep in the warp time had no meaning, every moment for a being of the Dark God's power and the minds of the Daemon-God's soul was an eternity. In a single instant they could arrange countless plots, wars, plagues, and wastrels on a billion worlds, were they not impeded by the infinitely-damned Emperor. A mortal, raising himself to the levels of Gods and holding his own. To the Dark Gods, old as time itself, such an affront to their very existence was only described as the word they had been labeled with and spitefully embraced; Heresy.

With a flick of his shifting and mutating appendage- it was too alien to be described as a wrist, though it might serve that purpose- he summoned the Others.

The closest to him in power was, appropriately, the first to arrive. In a burst of blood and visceral haze, Khorne made his presence known. A fountain of red ichor spewed from below as bits of ruined flesh and bone rained down after cascading from a font beneath the War God's behooved feet. The crimson skin of Khorne's satyrical form oozed blood like a mortal might have perspired salt and water, and war's bloody incarnation breathed hellfire and brimstone ash as a mortal would expel air, carbon, and dioxide. Twin blades forged from the agonizing souls of a billion fallen Daemons were held in Khorne's impossibly muscled arms, and blood coated them like a film. Eyes of hellish red and teeth so coated in blood god's preferred drink since millennia before the Old Ones invented numbers that the blood had simply fused to bone long ago.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" Khorne screamed at the top of his metaphorically gargantuan lungs. "THERE IS BLOOD YET TO SPILL AND DEATH TO BRING. HATRED STILL BECKONS AND MY THRONE HAS ROOM FOR MORE SKULLS, YET! SPEAK, BROTHER, OR I SHALL CARVE MYSELF A BLOODY SWATHE FROM TEN THOUSAND THOUSAND THOUSAND OF YOUR CRETINOUS SLAVES BY LIGHT'S END!" The Blood God, for all else that could be said of the second brother of the Dark Gods, did not mince words. Tzeentch remained silent as the other two of their number arrived. He had always known that nothing would ever placate Khorne's limitless wrath, ever since the first moment of his existence.

Nurgle came next. His writhing and bloated avatar of rotting flesh and broken teeth gradually dug itself from the ground, a walking corpse with an unmistakable glow of malevolent thought behind those pox and vermin infested eye sockets.

"Ah, Brother… It's been so long since last you called upon me…Perhaps…perhaps thirty years now? No, it was forty. We should gather like this more often…My children weep for the absence of all of their uncles…"

Nurgle drawled out. His words were coughed or drained out from his gaping maw of rotten teeth and black gums, whereas Khorne's had boomed like thunder and death. They seeped out of the Grandfather like drawn blood, leeched out by hungry vermin of the swamps and lonely darkness.

And finally came the youngest of the Dark Gods. The misfit, the outcast, and runt. Hated by Khorne above either of the others, condescended by Nurgle-although who wasn't?-and disregarded by Tzeentch. Slaanesh slithered through a vortex of musky and colorful smoky ash, and floated in the air far above the obsidian howling halls of Tzeentch's domain.

"Dear, Dear…" He wryly and exaggeratedly condescended, feigning severe dismay. Tzeentch did not regard his physical avatar, as to look upon something so contrived would hardly be a prudent use of his time. For now, he was some ludicrous cross of mortal man and woman as was in the Thirster's nature, clad in only ornaments and exaggeratedly colorful flesh. Slaanesh changed his own form more often than Tzeentch himself, which often grated on the Changer of Ways as a minor annoyance-assuming, of course, that the Bird God felt such mortal emotions. "I cannot bear the sight of this place! So drab, so boring! How wretched. I retain that we should hold our meeting in my own realm, or at least somewhere less… horrid, than this. You are tasteless, Brother. I simply must confess." Slaanesh spake, and was ignored.

Business was at hand, and there was no need to waste valuable, precious moments on such childish antics. Tzeentch spoke aloud for the first time in many years, and as a direct result fifty newborn babes across the Galaxy mutated in their cribs into horrible, vile monsters who devoured their terror-stricken parents whole or in pieces. Insanity took a billion souls more in that single moment his breath drew to make speech, and the click of his tongue birthed ten new warp storms.

"BRoTheRS, wE hAvE gAthEreD heRe toDAy FoR a siNgle pURpOSe. A PRObLEm of…UNiqUE cOmPOsITiOn hAs MaDe itSElF knOwn tO Me ManY, mAny years ago. i noW bRIng uS tOGEtheR BECaUse It PrEsenTS A CLeAr eRRor iN oUr NaTuRe…" His flanging and million-voiced words intoned from every direction, bellowing and whispering through every hall of his plane in the warp. "ThInK oN It BRoThERs… FoR EvERy mORTal tHat We sLaY, fOr eveRy lIFe wE DesTRoY, a MIllIOn mOrE sHaLL SpRIng FRoM tHe wOrLdS Of EvEry rAcE, liKE WeEdS. BuT mOrE thAN THaT, iT hAs bECOmE…ExPeCTeD…PreDiCTAble."

Khorne scoffed and absently spat at one of the daemons that drank of the blood pooling at his feet, incinerating it's very soul with contemptuous ease. "PREDICTABLE?! EXPECTED?! NONSENSE! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SPEAK OF OUR WAY IN SUCH A MANNER! I OUGHT SHOULD FLAY YOUR MOST PRECIOUS, SNIVELING SLAVE-WORM ALIVE AND BOIL HIM IN HIS OWN! MELTING! SOUL! WE HAVE KILLED AND MURDERED AND TORTURED AND RAPED THIS GALAXY FOR AN ETERNITY! YOU AS MUCH AS THE REST OF US, YET NOW…NOW I KNOW NOT OF WHAT YOU SPEAK, BUT I KNOW YOU SPEAK NOT OF WAR!

Nurgle and Slaanesh politely rolled their eyes at their elder brother's antics. He was their elder, certainly, and more powerful than both on a good day, but he was…set, in his ways. More so than the rest of them. They adapted and changed with the flow of time, something that even ones such as they had to accept had great sway over the universe. Khorne bowed to no one, even when it served his interest to do so. It was simply his nature.

Continuing as if he had not been interrupted, Tzeentch spoke again. "mEEtiNg ExPeCtaTIon… fOllOwiNG TRaDitIOn…tHAt iS NoT tHe WAy oF CHAOs." He admonished his brothers. Their cooperation was necessary for his latest scheme, and if it was not secured failure was almost a certainty. And like tradition and predictability, failure was not the way of Chaos. "WHiCh bRInGs mE TO tHe pOiNt oF tHIS gAThErInG…"

He checked to ensure that he had the undivided attention of his brothers. Khorne sat grudgingly, scowling with a fist beneath his chin and breathing out ash in a huff, waiting for his elder brother to get on with it so he could get back to murder and torture. Nurgle, for his part, sat their patiently, probably reserving the back of his head for the various concoctions he needed to stay ahead of science and medicine, a never-ending race. This, Tzeentch allowed, as in this particular matter it was not his place to question his 2nd Brother. Mortals, after all, only ever retained a finite level of cunning and guile. He had no experience in dealing with a threat that changed by the hands of mortals rather than Chaos itself, and thus held his tongue.

Slaanesh put on the countenance of boredom and disinterest, but Tzeentch saw through the ruse. It was feigned, as Slaanesh was in truth quite intrigued. It was not often that his elder brothers chose to include him in their affairs.

"wE hAVe ALwAyS sOUght tHe rUIN AnD dESTrUcTIoN oF MOrTAlS, mY bROtHERs. oF tHIs, YOu aRe uNERriNg. ANd tHAt…iS prECisELy THe pROBleM." He held up a hand to forestall the angry cries of Khorne, and the metaphorical raised eyebrows of his other brothers. They had no true need to convey their minds as such…but it was a choice. A stylization so that they were not too alien for even the warp to comprehend. "FoR iS NOt tHe wAY Of CHaOs EtERnAl CHaNGe? oF uN-coNStAncY? AnD YeT… wE hAVe AlWaYs SoUgHT dEStrUCtiOn, dEAth, AnD rUInAtiON. THAt iS whY WE aRe sO-CAlLEd tHe RUInOUS poWerS bY tHE tONgUeS OF mAn, iS iT NOt? THIs…mUst bE rECtiFieD, iMMeDiATelY.

Khorne, for his part, had an expression never before seen upon his face. Stupefied awe. He composed himself in a mere moment, and took in his hands a greater daemon to crush like an overripe fruit. Blood exploded into the air and melted upon contact with his boiling skin. "YOU…! YOU…YOU SPEAK OF MADNESS!"

Tzeentch chuckled malevolently at that. Amusement filled the crevices of his mind and his power thrummed in rhythm to it. Irony was of course a staple of Daemonic agreements… "AlWAyS, bROTheR…FOr mADneSS iS ThE oNly ConSISteNcY wE aRe ALloWEd." A plan had begun to take shape between them. In the mortal plane of the Imperium, Chaos was uniformly and unerringly a force of destruction and evil…And uniformity is against the tenets of Chaos. They would not budge in that regards. But how…And then it hit them. Uniformity was forbidden, but duplicity was not. And though it was oft the focus of their intentions, the Imperium of Man was far, far from the only world over which they could have sway…

Another world came into view at this point. Not in the warp, and not in the Imperium. It was…elsewhere. Time and space was nothing to the power of the Dark Gods, and the warp led to far stranger places than this, if only just.

For it was no longer the forty-first year since the rebirth of a long forgotten prophet. The old god was still glorified in temples of splendor, peace, and a little faith. No Astartes screamed praises or curses at the feet of a dead god in this time. The Tau still played with sticks and stones a billion miles away, the Eldar still reeled from the blow dealt to them by Slaanesh as their spirits and gods alike slaked her thirst. The orks were still far away yet, the green tide yet to reach the shores of man. The Tyranid was still out there, lurking in the shadows of a faraway world. "Xenos" of every breed had yet to discover man, still a babe in it's cradle upon Earth. Ancient Terra.

The Dark Age of Technology had not yet come to pass, Mars was still a lifeless and empty world. The Himilaya Mountains were home not to the Gene-Labs of Mortal God, but rather a league of shadows and the false demon who was their head.

This world was yet untouched by the ruinous powers, and the Emperor…the Emperor was conspicuously absent. The Warp was…clean, here…It sickened Nurgle and Tzeentch both. Khorne still gawked at a relatively closeby world where an evil god reigned supreme with violence, murder, and blood. He would have descended on that world at any other time, granting them the honor of learning the true meaning of the Blood God, but time was short for the Ruinous Powers.

They each projected their spirits, invisible to the eyes of mortals, across space and time to the skies above Ancient Terra. There they descended further, down to the stone and steel jungle in search of their quarry.

"I SEE NOT THE ONE OF WHOM YOU SPAKE." Grumbled Khorne, obstinately. Of all of the Dark Gods, Khorne had taken the most convincing of the necessity of this gambit. In the end, though, he had acquiesced. It may not have been in the blood god's nature, but the very existence of Chaos in it's current form brooked no other recourse.

"THEn yoU aRE not lOOkIng hARd EnOUgH. i sEE HiM oVeR ThERe, nEAr tHe cREVicE BetWEEn tHe tOWeRs…" And indeed, there he was.

A boy, ten years of age. Clad in a ratty pair of denim trousers and a blindingly red cotton shirt. It contrasted heavily with the muted grays and cold stone of the city, even if it was covered in filth. The boy in question was named Billy Batson, and he was wandering through the streets of Fawcett City. He had just finished scrounging through a dumpster in an alleyway, with a half-eaten bag of peanuts and about a third of a bottle of vitamin water to show for his troubles. This was a rather good haul for him, as the bottle had been closed by a cap and the flies stayed away from the hard shells of the peanuts.

Still, Billy was not a happy child. Far from it, as he rapidly approached the end of his first year out on the streets as a homeless orphan.

It was not always this way for him. He used to be Billy Batson, only son of the well-to-do Batson family. He'd had everything he wanted in the world at the start. His father worked hard so that they could live comfortably, and he was a very successful businessman. His mother likewise devoted much of her time and effort into raising Billy to be an upstanding and happy child. They had lived in a nice house in the suburbs and went on vacation every summer to the Bahamas. It was a good, comfortable life. Perfect, in retrospect.

All of that changed, though, the day of the accident. Billy's parents had been out late one night, on their anniversary. They had a private dinner at a nice restaurant and had left Billy with a babysitter for the evening.

Tragedy struck on the way home. Not everyone had been as sensible with their imbibing of alcoholic beverages as the Batsons had been that night. Cletus Whitaker, a construction worker, had indulged in no less than four bottles of Heineken's Beer that night after a long day at work. This proved to be a fatal error in judgment as his swerving truck smashed headlong into the Batson's Stanza.

In the morning, the babysitter annoyedly answered the front door after being forced to keep watch over Billy for the night after her calls to the Batsons went unanswered. Her frustrated scowl turned to wide-eyed horror when she was greeted with two uniformed constables informing her of the Batson's fate. She had known the family for many years now, as her father had worked with Mr. Batson at the office since before she was born.

Billy took the tragic news with all of the expected tears and grief. He had loved his mother and father well, and their deaths had come so suddenly. Unfortunately for the poor child, this was only the prelude to another chapter of misery in his short life.

He was left to live with his rotten uncle shortly afterwards, you see. But Uncle Dudley had no interest in raising young Billy, as he had been ostracized by his brother for years due to his conniving ways. As soon as the checks cleared for Billy's considerable inheritance into Dudley's own accounts thanks to a friend of his at City Hall, Billy was summarily and unceremoniously kicked to the curb without a penny to his name.

And here he was, almost a year later. Scavenging for scraps in a dumpster like some kind of disease-ridden rodent. He had no idea what else to do. He had no other family, no way to contact any of his parents friends…He had no idea whether they would even help him or not if he could reach them… His uncle's treatment had done little to cultivate his trust in adults.

"So this is the child we seek?" Asked Slaanesh. "Hmmph. Even before his fall from grace, he had little inclination towards debauchery. All of that wealth, and never any inkling of what sensations it could buy him! And he has not yet reached adulthood, either. I am unsure as to what you believe we can use him for, Elder Brother."

Tzeentch overruled the runt's complaints. "YoUR PaRt iN tHIs nOt tO SEcOND-gUESs mY sChMEe, BROtheR. YOu nEEd ONlY LUre HiM aWaY frOM thAt mIScREAnt oVEr ThErE-" Tzeentch gestured a writhing and betentacled arm towards the glamoured form of a man ordinarily dressed in a trench-coat. Beneath the illusions was a sorcerer of some sort, garbed in white and with a flowing beard that long ago lost all of it's color. He was a practitioner of the mystic arts, but not one who paid any homage or allegiance to the Dark Gods. "-AnD iNTo tHe dEPthS BELoW, whERe wE shALL prEParE tHe rITuAL…"

So Slaanesh was left alone up there as his brothers floated down a nearby subway tunnel. The sign in front pronounced it to be 'out of order'. The mortals had no idea just how accurate that description was about to become.

He took upon himself the form of a child, himself. Billy Batson was unlike to trust outright any adult who approached him, and was more like to flee in fearing some kind of abuse. It was a harsh world out there, he had learned firsthand. So instead, Slaanesh chose to appear as an innocent, adorable little orphan girl. She wore second-hand clothing too baggy to fit properly-remarkably chaste in comparison to Slaanesh's usual attire, but sensuality would get him little attention from so young a child- and wore her long blonde hair in a single braid. She approached Billy just as he approached the alleyway where the sorcerer awaited.

"Hey…" She called out to him. He looked up from his feet in surprise, blue eyes seeing only the slightly younger child before him and not the Dark God beneath. But the sorcerer was not fooled, and Slaanesh stuck out his elongated tongue to taunt him. It was too bad there was no time to corrupt the conservative old man.

Sensing the power of the Daemon-God before him, the sorcerer retreated in defeat into the darkness of the alleyway, where he vanished without a sight or sound into whatever wretched plane he made his home.

"Uh, hello?" Greeted Billy in return, perplexed. Usually other children only approached him if they wanted something, and he had already drank all of the vitamin water bottle he'd found in the dumpster. He subtly shifted the almost-empty bag of peanuts in his hands to guard against snatching. "What do you want…?" He asked carefully.

Slaanesh smiled, plastering a foolish and child-like grin across the face of the girl. "Me 'an some of th' others 'ave gotten together some food for a stew down in the tunnels! I saw you out 'ere an' you looked 'ungry, so I thought you might fancy joinin' us!" Slaanesh tempted the boy with his current most tangible desire-hunger. He spoke in his best approximation of Orkish to keep the boy from expecting any kind of deceit. That particular dialect…lacked, in that regard.

"Really?" He asked, bright-eyed excitement. Slaanesh grinned.

"Yeah! We won't be able to finish it all ourselves, so I'm invitin' all the kids around 'ere to come get some grub!" And with that, Slaanesh ran off into the crowd leaving a flustered Billy, whose eyes locked on the nearby subway tunnel even as his stomach growled in demand for his legs to carry it there. They obliged.

"Hello?" His immature voice echoed out through the tunnel. "Helloooo…Is anyone down here?" He searched, with growing anxiety. He sincerely hoped he had not been the butt of a cruel prank.

"The child has arrived." Nurgle remarked. "It appears Slaanesh was successful in his endeavor…"

Tzeentch took note of that silently as he approached Billy, in a form that would not cause immediate alarm. Perhaps the runt was good for something after all.

"Hello Billy. We've been expecting you." The boy turned around in a whiplash, and terror dawned on his face when he saw the form of the Dark God behind him.

Standing tall and gaunt, and in billowing robes of midnight blue, the Changer of Ways reached near the top of the alleyway in height. A twisted cross of man and raven, covered in black feathers with an obsidian beak and blazing crimson eyes. From the sides, Khorne and Nurgle made their presences known as well. "AHHHHHH!" Billy screamed, in horror and awe. To be expected.

Khorne took the form of one of his Greater Daemons, with twisting horns and bulging, blood-colored muscle. He wielded two blades dripping and oozing the life-blood of alien and human alike, and his eyes of gold were slitted with rage even as his maw of razor teeth clinched in murderous anger.

Nurgle's sickening, lipless grin that revealed broken and rotting teeth did little to calm down the terrified child. A sack of bloated and rotting flesh held together by yellowing, leathery skin stretched apart in some places to reveal the organs beneath made a suitably grotesque sight. Empty eye sockets filled to the brim with maggots stared emptily into Billy's soul.

Slaanesh joined them as well, coming the entrance and down to the tunnel. He had maintained the visage of the human child he had glamoured himself to appear as, but she now smirked malevolently rather than grinned goofily. "I'm afraid there isn't really a stew cooking down here, Billy…" He said in his true voices, sending shivers down the spine of the mortal before him as Billy collapsed to his knees and tears streamed down his face.

"Now Billy, pay my brothers no mind. We are not going to hurt you…I promise." Said the Changer of Ways, placing a comforting set of arm-talons on Billy's shoulder carefully. "I'm sorry if we scared you, but there was no other way to bring you here without garnering…unwanted attention. Now, getting straight to business…" He leaned down to Billy, getting right in his face. He must have cut a terrifying sight, but even so, Billy was listening. The tears had stopped, and his eyes now narrowed rather than widened. He was suspicious…and that showed promise.

"I want to make you a serious offer, Billy." That was, of course, a lie. The term 'offer' implied that the recipient had a choice as to whether they were going to take it or leave it. That was not the case, here. Still, the word seemed to comfort the boy a tiny modicum, so Tzeentch continued down the road of a voluntary agreement. He calculated that this way would produce the most favorable results. His brothers, as instructed, kept their peace.

"We have been searching, now, for quite some time." Another lie. "For eons, we have searched in vain for an honest, good, and pure soul to impart our power…" he revealed in kindly, charitable tones that did not befit his appearance. As with all lies, though, Tzeentch wore the mask like a second face. His soothing voice calmed the child, lulling him into a sense of security and safety that was entirely uncalled for given his present company. "You, Billy Batson of Terra, have been chosen. You were the only one deemed pure enough and worthy enough to receive our power…" And that was true enough.

The entire point of this was to change their modus operandi sufficiently enough in a way that was completely unpredictable. Chaotic. It was simply a part of their nature that each of them had to accept.

With this, none could say that the Ruinous Powers' influence on the universe was completely and uniformly negative. Young Billy Batson had been chosen simply because he was a pure, innocent soul who was completely and utterly powerless. To give him of their own power, freely, was nothing short of charitable. An action that no one-not even the Corpse Emperor- could have truly predicted.

But they needed to do this correctly. Coming to Batson with bad faith or ulterior motives would render the whole thing pointless, which was why this dimension in particular had been chosen. Here, where the Dark Gods had no previous foothold to speak of. It was clean of their influence so far, and thus creating a Champion of the boy would not threaten any of their plans for the Imperium of Man.

"M-me…? But, But I'm just some kid from Fawcett City…What am I supposed to do with your power?" Oh, the amusement. A little, powerless boy, with no strength or authority of his own, downtrodden and oppressed by those around him and ignored by the powers that (Save themselves, of course), is asking them what to do with unlimited power. Tzeentch grinned, effortlessly keeping his mutated face the picture of grandfatherly kindliness and condescension. Nurgle was most likely better suited for that, if not for his completely grotesque appearance.

"That, my boy, is for you to discover." He extended one arm, a touched Billy over the heart. Summoning his arcane and supernatural power, Tzeentch traced his mark, a twisting and curving crescent broken by a perfect sphere, and the brand completed itself over the boy's very soul. "I give you cunning, guile, and wisdom beyond the scope of mortal possibility. You shall perceive the universe on a fundamentally new level, far and away a better understanding than the wisest sage or eldest being. Fires and Lightnings and Hailings shall answer to your call. You shall understand magics and spells to the highest possible order, and no black art shall be beyond your reach…"

Billy Batson could only look on in awe as the four Dark Gods branded him with their own mark. He found himself short of breath and paralyzed with a mixture of awe and terror that threatened to overtake his consciousness. The Devouring Earth traced traced three arrows traveling away from a central focus away from each other, and three circles in the spaces between. "You shall be untouched by disease or decay, immortal among all of creation. Time itself may no longer stand against you. Plague, parasite, and pestilence alike shall stand by you in battle or in rule. The Earth shall claim your foes, and death shall be your comrade."

The Blood God traced his own mark upon the heart of Billy Batson. Long, crimson claws that dripped the life-blood of a thousand slaughtered foes. A triangle, a line, and a wide-arched "V". Khorne's countenance was as terrifying and brutal as ever, sharp features twisted in an unholy and unquenchable rage. "You shall be war itself. Fiery death shall take your victims. No flame may touch you, for the fire inside your very soul burns with the fury of the deepest pits of hell. Hatred… Rage… Bloodlust… You shall be the master of this much and more. Your arms and legs and muscly organs shall be forged like bloodsteel in the hellfires of my domain. You shall have weapons, and armor, forged from my strongest Daemons and forever enslaved to your will…"

Finally, She Who Thirsts came upon the boy and traced her own child-like palm across the taller boy's heart. Slaanesh still retained his glamoured form so as not to drive the boy mad and ruin their carefully laid plan. Twin crescents facing opposite directions and intersected by a bar leading to a circle. "You shall be the picture of mortal beauty and perfection. Illusions and Glamours will be yours to command, and the hearts of mortals shall find themselves enthralled in your presence. Sight, sound, touch, taste, smell, all of the myriad senses shall be yours alone to master."

With finality, a harsh and bright light of every color imaginable overtook Billy's vision, even as his chest felt ready to burst. A great weight seemed to lift itself from him, as he heard the parting words of the Darkest of the Dark Gods.

"NOw wE sHAll hAvE yOUr aNsWEr, BILly BAtsOn…WHAt wIll YoU dO nOw?"

the voice chilled his very soul, and hurt his ears. His mortal mind struggled to comprehend the sounds that they made, to string together the syllables into any kind of coherent thought. His vision, hearing, and feelings all faded away to nothing as the world went black and he faded into unconsciousness.

He woke up sometime later. The simultaneous musky, rotten, and coppery scent had all vanished. There was no sign of Tzeentch, Khorne, Nurgle, or Slaanesh. How did Billy even know all of those names…?

He opened his eyes to see only the dark and empty abandoned subway tunnel that he had wandered down in to. He began to wonder if it had all been just a weird dream…but it had seemed so real! He remembered every morbid detail of the horrific and monstrous forms of the strange beings that had given him their mark.

That was right. There was no way it was all a dream…

Unsteadily, he tried to bring himself up off the ground. That was when he noticed the changes wrought by the Dark Gods on himself.

Standing where Billy Batson had once stood, there was now something completely unrecognizable to anyone who had known the boy before his transformation. He stood tall-taller than anyone he had ever seen. His head nearly reached the high ceiling of the tunnel, and his eyes felt like they would bug out in terror at first when he got up. He saw the ground beneath him, what must have been twelve feet down!

But that was just the tip of the iceberg. His entire body was encased in bulky, encumbering armor that left not a single patch of exposed flesh. He analyzed his limbs and felt like the armor felt far too light for it's size, and it was painted black and gold. It was decorated in spikes, runes, and engravings of arrows all over the place. When he looked down to the center of his chest, he saw a huge jewel circled by a golden set. It looked like…an eye. It was a blazing, ruby red eye with a slit for a pupil. If he looked closely, he could see blood vessels within the jewel, darkened blood within the veins. Similar gems could be seen at the 'buckle' spot on his belt, as well as at the end of the tassel that obscured his codpiece.

He lifted his hands up to get a better look at them. They were enormous, monstrous things. They looked like they could hold a basketball in each palm, and they felt so strong! Billy clenched and unclenched his fists a couple of times experimentally. His armored fingers were surprisingly dexterous for their bulk, and the weight of the gauntlets didn't slow them down at all.

Looking to either side of his head, he could see huge, armored shoulders. The pauldrons were almost bigger than his head! The rims were encased in gold with spikes and engravings of hideous creatures of every sort, and the helmet that encased his head seriously limited the movement of his neck. He couldn't tell what it looked like, obviously, but he was once again shocked by the lack of weight the helm caused his head.

If he was honest with himself, he was perfectly comfortable in the bulky armor. The only thing that really bugged him was the fact that he was actually wearing such scary looking armor and didn't remember putting it on, to say nothing of suddenly being twelve feet tall!

He started to panic. What was he going to do? He couldn't go out looking like this! What would all of the people say? They'd think he was some kind of lunatic! He could just imagine the police and the SWAT Teams showing up with flashing red and blue lights and shrieking sirens, coming to haul him off to jail. Or maybe men in white coats would come to institutionalize him in the funny farm or something.

But…he couldn't just stay here, could he? He looked around himself, getting a feel for his surroundings.

There was no sign of those freaky demons that had came up out of nowhere earlier. His memory of meeting them was…fuzzy. He remembered their basic appearances and the gist of what the bird-like one said, but couldn't really put any details to it or remember all of the senses or anything from the experience. It was like his brain had locked up the memories so they couldn't hurt him or something. He'd heard of repressed memories before…but that kind of thing didn't happen to normal people like him, right?

"Holy Moly…" He muttered to himself, and then stopped. Was that his voice? It sounded like Darth Vader or something, but a lot louder and echoing inside the bulky helmet over his head. It sounded nothing like the voice of the ten-year-old kid he'd been this morning.

Searching frantically, he spotted a pile of broken glass underneath a torn up advertisement on the wall. His footsteps thundered over there and he wobbled a little as he adjusted to the newfound weight and length of his legs. It should've been harder, but…It was like second nature to him. By the time he'd traversed the distance to the broken glass pile over by the wall, his footsteps became confident and steady. "Whoah…" he breathed.

He knelt down by the glass, determined to see what else had been changed. He saw, for the first time, the helm that encased his head.

It was a vicious, angular, ghastly thing. The glowing eyes were two triangles that seemed to bleed out murderous intent; the skull emblazoned atop the forehead looked real. A rebreather and twin exhaust ports on the side of the helmet gave it an almost industrial appearance, though, contrasting with the medieval brutality and arcane countenance of the armor plating itself. As he looked closer, he could make out tubes and wires and servos and studs, all made out of the same sturdy looking metal components.

Two enormous tusks protruded from the sides of the helmet, like some kind of wild elephant. But unlike the sleek and smooth ivory of the African beast, these tusks had an almost ram-like look to them, with many tiny segments serrating the horns.

A long, midnight-black cape billowed behind him as it hung from the back of his shoulder pauldrons. It was just the right length that it didn't appear stunted but it wasn't so big that he would ever trip over it.

All together, the armor and helm made him look…well…evil. He looked like some kind of crazy demon monster thingy! The weird blend of advanced machinery and archaic armor only served to make his appearance more unsettling.

But this was all avoiding another critical question. What did he look like underneath the armor?

With all the rest that changed-his height, his strength, his basic physique, he wondered what else might have been transformed. Was he still the same Billy Batson under the intimidating helmet?

…There was only one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath that echoed on the inside of his tusked helmet, he raised his hands to grasp the sides and lifted it up. At first, nothing happened, as his apprehensive grip was too soft to separate the helm from the rest of the armor. He experimentally applied more strength, and as if sensing his intentions, he heard the hiss of decompressing air as the red light disappeared from behind the eyes of his helmet and what looked like mist suddenly fwooshed out of the exhaust ports on the sides and very top of his helmet. He heard a loud clunking noise as something seemed to finally release the helmet from the neck and he now lifted it with ease, as if it was as light as a feather.

He was not greeted with the visage of a monster, terrifying visage pieced together by broken glass. No, nothing of the sort. He took a large piece in his hand to get a closer look, but it broke in his powerful fingers. He frowned, and leaned his considerable bulk closer in to the next large piece he could find. He had to shift his huge mass-a process that took less time than he had anticipated going by his size- in order to keep from blocking out the light that shone from the street above. The only thing that separated the tunnels from the busy streets of Fawcett City was a broken chain-link fence that Billy had slipped through easily enough with the frame of a ten year old. Then again, with this new body, he would probably have a lot more trouble pulling off that particular maneuver.

As he angled the glass to his face with anxious haste, he found himself gasping in astonishment. "W-what the heck did they do to me…?" He asked himself in the now unfiltered voice. It had done little to alter the menacing tones or intimidating deep pitch, but at least now he could put a voice to the face that stared at him from the other side of the glass shards resting on the dirty subway ground.

It was, for lack of a better term, beautiful. The face had perfectly symmetrical sharp features, unblemished skin, and piercing blood-red eyes. But it was…unnerving. It wasn't beautiful in the way a girl might be pretty, or even handsome. It had some kind of…supernatural allure to it. Billy shuddered as he took in the features that had been newly shaped upon his once normal face.

The flawless skin was pale white, almost corpselike in its complexion. Long, thick and silky smooth hair had cascaded down after he had removed his helmet. It reached his shoulders, and Billy had to sweep it back with a gauntleted hand to keep it out of his eyes.

One thing was certain; his new face looked nothing like his old one. "I-I…I'm…Am I still me?" He voiced his concerns to the empty tunnel, and damning silence was his only response.

Billy forced himself to wait until nightfall to take his leave of the haunted tunnel. There was no way he was going to go out in the middle of a busy street looking like he walked out of some kind of horror movie. He had spent the hours in between when he woke up and the setting of the sun examining his armor more closely.

It was even fiercer upon closer inspection than he had previously taken note of. For one thing, disturbingly realistic skulls were shaped from gold and decorated his armor everywhere. Sharp spikes lined the rims of his shoulder guards and the ends of his joints.

The armor itself was incredibly stocky, and its arms were almost as long as its legs! He would've called it almost…dwarf-like, if it hadn't been about twelve feet tall! Those dimensions still boggled him. He had no idea why those scary ghost-things had given him this…form, but he recalled the bird one telling him something about being chosen. Billy, for the life of him, couldn't begin to guess why he had been selected for whatever reason they gave him this armor and this new body. He grimaced in frustration. The least the ghosts could've done was to explain the situation to him! He was just a kid.

Of course, he reflected, he would have a hard time convincing anyone else of that now. He had no idea what he was supposed to do when he went out there, besides not getting caught looking like this. If anyone saw him skulking around in this scary armor, they'd probably call the cops on him!

And that brought him to another thing. The armor-no matter how hard he tugged, pulled, peeled, or smashed around- simply would not come off. As far as Billy could tell…it was irremovable. And that was certainly inconvenient for his present situation, as he couldn't go out like this without making a scene and it would be quite some time before Halloween came along. Thus, he was left with no choice but to wait until dark and do his best to…

…well, honestly, he still hadn't figured that part out yet. He was just focusing on sneaking out of the tunnel while no one was looking.

He did just that a few minutes later, after he mustered up the courage. He couldn't stay in there forever, after all.

Oddly enough, though, he didn't feel the least bit hungry even though the only thing he'd had to eat all day were those peanuts this morning. He wasn't hungry or thirsty, even though it was already night time. Well, maybe those ghost people had made him magically not hungry anymore? He supposed that he had no cause to complain then- he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent meal.

The streets were dark and empty when he arose from the tunnel. Only the miniscule illumination available from the streetlights and windows of all of the downtown Fawcett City skyscrapers allowed him to see ahead of him, though he never remembered being able to see this clearly at night before. It was almost like his eyes could actually see better than they did this morning, as he read a sign advertising some new smartphone over four blocks away.

The stars themselves were almost invisible thanks to the industrial smog and light pollution that permeated the air this far into the city.

Billy began to wander aimlessly down the sidewalk. He needed a plan.

There was no way he could talk his way out of suddenly being a big huge monster armor guy without making a fuss. They'd probably say he was crazy if he told anyone that a bunch of ghost-monsters and some little girl had turned him into…into this thing!

His powerful, tree-trunk thick legs stomped down the otherwise silent streets with reverberating clunks. He must've weighed a ton, if the cracks that formed in the sidewalk whenever he took a step were any indication.

Billy, being an orphan and homeless for nearly a year, knew his way around the streets of Fawcett City quite well. His vision, hearing, and even sense of smell seemed enhanced now, though, so the landscape was like an open book to him. He could tell what alleyways had dumpsters in them just by smelling them, and he was painfully aware of all of the storm drains leading to the sewers. He could see for blocks in every direction with pinpoint precision and clarity he wouldn't have though possible without binoculars. He could hear a couple of cats fighting in another alley about three blocks down and-

"Ahh! Help!" A woman screamed, softly even to his ears. She must've been a ways away.

"Shut up, girlie. Wouldn't want nothin' to happen to you, now would we…" A slimy voice admonished the woman, and Billy heard the distinctive shink of a switchblade being flipped open.

"Yeah!" another voice said, different from the other male. "Relax, babe…we just want to have a little fun, is all." Feigned and sarcastic gentleness was put into this voice, leaving little question as to it's true intentions.

Without thinking, Billy rushed in the direction of the voices. He ran as quickly as his legs could carry him, barreling over anything in his way. His footsteps smashed the concrete sidewalk beneath him with every step he took. Parked cars were batted aside with almost contemptuous ease by his gargantuan form.

Living out on the streets as he did, Billy had overheard or even seen first-hand muggings and the like. But he had been powerless then. Tiny. Weak. Now…maybe this is what those ghosts meant. Maybe they gave him this new body for a reason. He was big now. Strong. Strong enough to help people, and save them from bullies thugs like these.

When he reached the source of the voices, over five blocks away from his position outside the subway tunnel, he rounded the corner with a feverish haste of a hero with a mission. No way was anyone going to get hurt when Billy Batson could finally do something about it!

The thugs looked like typical inner-city gangbangers. They wore ratty jeans and t-shirts or a basketball jerseys. Billy gulped in sudden trepidation, now that he saw that there were more than just two of them surrounding a woman who was laying on the ground. Some of her clothing was torn and her face sported a nasty-looking mark, Billy noted in growing indignation. Didn't these guys know you weren't supposed to hit girls?

Still, there were apparently seven of them. In his haste to get to the alley, he hadn't been paying attention to hear anymore voices that might reveal the gang's numbers. Billy was worried, now. He may have been big but…they had weapons! They carried chains, pipes, tire irons, wrenches…and the leader…he…he had a gun!

"W-what the hell is that, yo?!" One of the thugs asked his fellows.

"No fuckin' idea, dawg…"

"What is this shit…"

Billy was transfixed. The thugs stood between him and the woman lying in the back of the alley, who he could hear sobbing quietly. But the leader of the gang…the guy with the most gold bling and all the other gangsters seemed to be drawing closer too ever since Billy showed up was now pointing a pistol at Billy in a two-hand grip. "Step off, freakshow. I'm packin' heat, here! You here me? Just back the fuck off…" He said. "I'm warnin' you, whatever the fuck you are…I got a gun, you see!"

"Yeah, take 'em Dwayne!" Said one of the voices Billy heard earlier.

"Show this carival fucker who's boss…" Said another.

Not knowing what else to do, and too scared to think, Billy was on autopilot. Without thinking, he took a step towards the gangsters. It wasn't any conscious move on his part…but something…primal, within him, was telling him to go forward. To not run away. To confront these guys. To fight.

'That's it! Die, motherfucker!" The gang leader shot Billy.

Billy's eyes shut tight in panic as he heard the deafening gunshot. For some reason, despite his enhanced hearing, the shot didn't even hurt his ears a little despite how close it was.

Huh…? He opened his eyes. Did the gangster miss?

The looks on the faces of the gangbangers said otherwise. Silence reigned in the dark alleyway as the echo of the gunshot dissipated and a look of awe was plastered across the faces of the thugs. Some began backing away.

But the leader stood his ground. Not wanting to lose face in front of his minions, he started shooting again, rapidly. Billy was scared, but kept his eyes open this time.

Each and every shot hit their mark. A bullet hit him in the chest. Another hit him on the forehead of his tusked helm. They hit his legs, arms, waist, and even the neck until the pistol clicked empty. Horror dawned on the gangsters' faces.

Billy…Billy hadn't felt a thing! Every single bullet hit him, but he didn't even feel anything at all! He was bulletproof!

With a triumphant grin, Billy strode forth with newfound confidence. Time to teach these punks some manners!

"My turn." He said, and his deep and ominous voice drove a new spike of terror into the resolve of the gangsters. One of them tried to flee past him, but the narrow alleyway brought him within arm's reach of Billy. He swatted the fleeing thug on the top of the head with a huge, gauntleted fist. His prodigious height gave him a big advantage.

The thug who tried to run away immediately crumpled to the ground. No scream. No yelp, nothing. He didn't even moan in pain once he fell. He was just…lying there.

Shrugging, Billy decided that he'd just been knocked out thanks to his new super-strength. He proceeded further down the alley, in slow, deliberate steps. He didn't realize how menacing the effect was, but his enhanced sense of smell detected the stench of urine coming from more than one of the gangsters, now. "Ewww…" He would've pinched his nose in disgust if not for the big helmet in his way.

Almost as if…reading his mind, the filters on his helmet started to cycle the oxygen to filter out the unpleasant smell now permeating the alleyway.

In a blind panic, the gang-leader threw his pistol at Billy with all of his might…Only for Billy to catch it in midair on reflex! Wow! This new body sure was nifty. He didn't even have a second to think, he just grabbed the gun as it sailed through the air.

And then something else happened. The gun…melted…right in his hand. It started glowing an ominous red color, and light red flames engulfed the fist holding the melting pistol. But…he didn't feel any heat. No, the flames that licked the air in an almost violent, thrashing manner actually felt freezing to the touch. The air around him grew cold.

The molten, liquid metal that had once been a simple, ordinary pistol wielded by a random gangster in downtown Fawcett became something…more. It shaped itself into his hand, and even seemed to expand. The thugs that cowered at the back of the alleyway looked on in dawning awe and horror as their once most powerful weapon was perverted and twisted into a form beyond their mortal recognition.

Billy, for his part, was intrigued. His eyes widened in fascination as the pistol actually morphed into a whole new shape. The flames brightened, and brightened, until it hurt to look upon. And then, they disappeared as suddenly as they had come, and the air returned to normal temperature again.

What was left in his right hand was not the same pistol that he had caught so reflexively. It greatly resembled his own armor, now, in fact. He inspected the weapon gingerly and brought it closer to his helm's eye-visors.

The sleek and simplified form of the pistol-he didn't know what it was called, but it was the kind that everyone always uses on TV and in movies-was nowhere to be seen. Instead, it had become a boxy, angular thing. It had a single, thick tube that he guessed was the barrel for the gun. Underneath it were two smaller tubes-still the circumference of his forearms before he was transformed-that led into an encasing structure that looked like swiss cheese. Five circular little holes were drilled into it's sides in a pattern with one hole in the center and the other four forming a square formation around it. There was a ridged pump on the underside of the gun, and behind it was a large slot with a sickle-shaped magazine stuck in it. On either side of the box that formed the main chassis of the gun was a scary-looking skull with sharpened fangs over an eight-pointed star, bolted into the gun with rivets at the end of each point.

A gun…? But…I've never used a gun before! He thought. Guns killed people. He didn't want to kill these guys…just teach them a lesson and scare them a little so they wouldn't hurt people anymore…

The huge armament was surprisingly light in his hands, and he brandished it gingerly. Maybe there was a way he could use it without actually hurting these guys…

"Listen to me…" He told the terrified and awestruck thugs. The woman seemed to have fainted where she lay on the ground. She'd probably experienced more trauma today that she had…well, ever. "You will never hurt anyone again!" He shouted, trying to do his best Darth Vader impression. He was significantly more successful this time than he had been ever before, as his booming voice seemed to shake the very foundations of the alleyway, trashcans, dumpsters, and wall-mounted fire escapes.

The thugs vigorously nodded their heads in assent. Several of them had their hands folded together in prayer, and one of them even held a gold cross necklace that had been decorating his neck. Billy sneered at them. They sure hadn't been very religious a few minutes ago! "You'll also take that lady to the hospital, and when they ask how she got that way, you'll tell the truth and turn yourself in to the police!" If they wanted forgiveness from anyone, let alone Jesus, they'd have to earn it.

Most of them simply continued to meekly nod in agreement, sweating in fear and on their knees, kneeling before him. The two who'd been taunting the woman earlier, though- they looked at each other with raised eyebrows. They appeared to be having second thoughts. Billy decided that some more persuasion was in order for those two hooligans.

"If not…" he began menacingly. He lifted the massive-yet somehow easily lifted with only his right hand-gun into the air. He put his left hand on the ridged pump so he could hold it like a rifle. He'd seen Al Pacino and Rambo hold guns like that.

However, when he was about to administer a stern warning in this intimidating pose, the pump actually gave way to his strong hand and pushed into the boxy slot of the gun. He then learned what the second two barrels and swiss-cheese thing was for.

Without warning, a jet of blood-red, searing hot flames spewed out of the gun like it was some kind of literal "fire-hose". The very air around him seemed to get a hundred degrees hotter.

It was probably a lot more than that, though. The fire escapes, ironically, had turned white hot and the metal bars that made them up melted in a quick flash as the flames sprayed them. The molten metal rained down on some trash bins and a dumpster, which began to billow red smoke as they were melted through by the intensely hot remains of the fire escape. Luckily, no one had been standing close enough to that side of the alley to get caught by the melted iron or any of his gun's flames. Billy quickly removed his hand from the underside of the ridged pumping mechanism on the bottom of the gun that he now realized triggered an attached flamethrower.

The intended effect had been accomplished, though, as the thugs who had previously begun to doubt that they should heed him were now thoroughly convinced. Extra-thoroughly, if the dark stains spreading in their blue jeans were any indication. Just to be sure, though, Billy added. "You will be next." In his deepest, most ominous voice yet. He stepped to one side of the Alley, while being careful not to get his cape set on fire by the still white hot ruins of the fire escape. "Go!" He yelled, now kind of enjoying himself. It was fun to be able to boss people around for a change! "Do as I commanded you! Before I change my mind!" They seemed to respond better if he just talked like he really was as scary as he looked.

The thugs responded immediately, picking up the woman with great care holding their religious symbols tightly to their chests and crying tears of joy or terror. Perhaps both. They ran in the direction of Beck Memorial Hospital as fast as their legs would carry them, and Billy nodded in satisfaction. Sure, the alley was wrecked, but he had done a good deed and saved an innocent woman from a terrible ordeal.

He frowned as he looked at the scary looking gun/flamethrower in his hands. He had some fun using it to scare those guys straight, sure, but it's not like he could just carry it around with him. It was against the law! Sure, he might've looked evil before, but he'd really be a criminal if he just carried a gun around without a license. Besides, there wasn't any holster or anything on his belt where he could put it, and his arm would probably get tired of carrying it eventually, even if it was surprisingly light in his grip.

But the problem solved itself a moment later, and he gasped in surprise. In a flash of bright red light and smoke, it disappeared! Wow! That was convenient. He might actually miss it a little, as it had come in handy, but then the rational part of his mind told him that although he might look like a grownup, he was still a kid on the inside and probably shouldn't be messing around with guns.

But right before he quashed his thoughts of missing his cool weapon with his surprisingly mature logic, another flash of red light and another poof of smoke flashed in his hand. "What the…?" he muttered, mildly surprised. After everything else that'd happened today, it'd be a wonder if anything ever really shocked him again…

"Hmmm…" Acting on a hunch, Billy thought about the weapon disappearing again. Sure enough, another flash of red flames and a puff or reddish smoke later, the gun disappeared. He tried thinking about having the gun in his hands again, and it reappeared with the same effect. "Huh…" He said to himself ponderingly as he willed the gun away again. "So…If I think about having the gun, it'll appear right in my hands… And if I want to put it away, I just think about it disappearing. Neat." He decided not to think about it for now. The problem was solved, and he had a weapon he could use to protect himself or scare away bad guys now.

All of this only served to distract him, though. He may have saved that woman, but the night wasn't going to last forever, and he knew it'd be bad for him to get caught outside during the day when people were around to see him.

So he walked out of the alley, intent on finding a hiding place before the sun came up. As an orphan living on the streets, he was familiar with a few such places that could be used to hide if things got hairy for some reason. He didn't really have any important possessions besides a blanket and some spare clothes that he'd hidden at the homeless "camp" in an abandoned subway tunnel across town. There were a lot of them around ever since the city ran out of money and had to cancel the project.

Even if he could get to them without being seen, his clothes wouldn't fit him anymore and the armor was surprisingly warm in the cold west-coast night. He'd just have to leave them there, Maybe one of his friends would take them if he didn't show up for a while.

He didn't know what he was going to do, but he did know that he needed to be somewhere else by morning, and he knew just the place to lay low.

With that in mind, Billy began to jog to his destination, keeping off the sidewalk so it wouldn't get crushed and have to be replaced.

He thought he was forgetting something, though…but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. After a few minutes of drawing a blank, he pushed it to the back of his mind and focused on finding the fastest and most discreet route to his destination.

In the darkness of the alleyway, where the newest champion of the ruinous powers had saved an innocent life with nothing more than a casual and stumbling show of a modicum of his awesome power, the air crackled with the residual energy left behind by his mere presence.

Forgotten by his friends, his victim, and Billy Batson, a young man lay in a growing pool of blood.

His future had never been particularly bright, but there had always been a chance that he could go straight. Turn over a new lead, reform. The other gangsters that had encountered what appeared to them to be Satan himself roused from hell by their sins, for instance, would all follow the monster's instructions to the letter. They wouldn't leave the hospital until they'd ensured that the young woman they had assaulted and intended to violate was checked in to the emergency room. They waited for the police to show up and went with them freely and without any kind of a fight.

Weeks later, at their trial for the incident, all six of them would plead guilty. They refused every deal offered to them by the DA even though the majority of them were only first-strikers, the memory of the Chaos' chosen charity burned into their mind forever. They would remember it for the rest of their lives.

They all became born-again Christians, pledging themselves to reform and apologizing for their barbaric actions. They became model prisoners, and vowed never to break the law again. Most of them were up for parole within a year, and finished their probation without incident. Every day of their new lives, they thanked the lord for sparing their lives and offering them a chance at redemption. At the opportunity to turn their lives around before they got in too deep to the criminal lifestyle. They had learned a harsh lesson in that alley.

After all, not all of them got the opportunity to turn over a new leaf.

One of them had tried to run. He had tried to run, and was casually swatted aside by the destroying, fallen angel that had ambushed them to show them what awaited their lives of sin. The only difference between him and the rest of the gangsters had been that he was a true coward at heart, and always fled rather than standing his ground. He had paid the price for his craven ways.

The young man lying in face down in the alley did not get up that morning. He never got up.

His brains had been jellified, by a single, casual blow.

When the body was found by the authorities during the investigation into the woman's charges and the thugs' confessions, the detectives were baffled. What kind of weapon could have caused that?

The young woman's memory was cloudy at best, possibly from the trauma of the attempted sexual assault and the preceding vicious beating. When questioned, the gangsters absolutely refused to speak even a single whisper as to what happened to their friend. Even under threats of extended sentencing or offers of leniency deals, all of them steadfastly held their silence. They took the secret to their graves.