Beware of Darkness- RP

Then

The Ancient D'jinn knelt over the voluptuous body of his former companion. The unknown lingering of a long forgotten admiration of her eternal beauty brings a slight smirk to his evil countenance, unable to reveal a true heartfelt smile. His red demonic eyes were cold as the heart of the grim reaper himself, as the dark mastermind muses himself with the knowledge of the silent hell to come for the slumbering beauty.

Kin Dinnijin's skin crawls with the anticipation of his soulless intellect, knowing full and well that he was going to thoroughly enjoy the next few hours which in his capable hands he could stretch out for an eternity. The dreamworld runs on a different time frame as the waking world and the D'jinn knew how to manipulate his control over the fluxing of induced nightmares as an art form in which he is a master painter.

Unknown to even him however there was an added bonus, as a ripple effect charges from ground zero and another helpless soul is dragged into the D'jinn's personal vendetta against his ex wife. Well... One of her favorite avatars at any rate which was just peachy as far as he was concerned.

Now

Heavy eyelashes flutter as her heavenly blue eyes open in horror. No longer nestled in her bed, her bare skin felt the cold steel of the contraption that held her hostage as the wild eyes of a cold blooded killer stared down at her. The man was standing in the dim light of the room to where most of his face was concealed with pure darkness as if painted black. Even her superhuman gaze could not pierce the ebony curtain before them, which was very unnerving to the daughter of the all-mother. This darkness was not of an ordinary origin and the very real shiver that rushes down her spine alludes to how fragile, how mortal she has somehow become.

Wait a flippin’ sec...this ain’t right…

Penalty blinked as he stared around at his surroundings. He was seated at a desk in a cubicle. All around him he could hear the sounds of a typical office building: ringing phones, shuffling papers, the whirs and beeps of printers and faxes, the clicking of mice and light clatter of typing. The air smelled of coffee, microwaved food, and toner. A glance down showed him that he was wearing a clean, pressed, well-fitting suit.

He shook his head, trying to clear the haze that seemed to cloud his thinking. This ain’t right…I went to sleep behind a dumpster in an alley in Gothic, and then I woke up… his right hand shot to his face, and a chill ran down his spine as he realized that his omnipresent hockey mask was gone, his fingers only encountering clean-shaven flesh. He fought back against the spike of adrenaline that threatened to trigger one of his rages as he pushed back from the desk on his wheeled chair. This wasn’t right, but he had to keep it together, had to figure this out…

Rising abruptly, he stepped out of his cubicle and took in his surroundings. At a glance, it seemed like a typical office: identical cubicles stretched out in either direction, interrupted only by the occasional bit of office equipment: vending machines, printers, faxes, a water cooler. It took him a moment to realize that more was amiss than simply his being there. Despite the noise, the place was deserted; no other people were in sight. Striding down the left aisle, he was alarmed to discover that, as far as he could see, there were no windows or doors.

All right…deep breath…something musta happened. Musta hit my head or passed out under an exhaust vent or something… choking back his growing sense of unease, he kept exploring, encountering just more of the same, vacant office. Crossing to the water cooler, he splashed some of the cool liquid on his face, hoping to wake himself up. Nothing.

This is not good. This is sooo not good…

"You are about to embark on a journey into the age-old art of destruction. For countless centuries, people have been using any means possible to lend importance and elegance to good-old fashioned wanton desire. By all and any means that achieve ones own selfish desires unceasingly relenting in cataclysmic longing. Followed to completion... And what exactly am I attempting to complete here... With you... In this act of vengeance? I am going to enjoy wreaking you!" The draped in shadows stranger announces gruffly into Naamah's perfectly articulate hearing.

"Oh... I see." She replies with a smug looking smile on her face. "Well then... You are going to have to rethink you're inks, because this whole sex torture dungeon theme is not scary to me... Actually... It's arousing me... Handsome." She giggles wickedly before rolling her eyes arrogantly.

The scenery switches to one of total nothingness... A void of pure white empty of all things, anything tangible except he and she. "Well then... Rethink my inks... I shall." he snarls at her in a voice that resembles one of old to her. One from her past. One she cannot place to a face or a name... Yet.

When calm, rational thinking had failed to resolve matters, Penalty had reverted to type. His aberrant adrenal gland finally overwhelmed his faltering self-control, and he flew into a mindless rage. Grabbing whatever was at hand, he smashed his way through the cubicle farm. Desks and chairs splintered before his onslaught, computers, phones, and printers were reduced to so much plastic and electronic detritus, and even the inoffensive water cooler was heaved from the floor and smashed against a nearby wall.

Eventually, he put his back to one of the walls and sank into a seated position. The rage was subsiding, his sweat-soaked chest heaving as his vision slowly cleared from the red haze that had engulfed it. He ran a hand over his face as he regained control, once again taking stock of his situation. The fatigue of his rampage would pass quickly, but he was no better off than he was, before. The destruction of everything in the office only reinforced what he had suspected: there was no way out. Four walls encircled him, with no doors, windows, or even a vent offering any chance of egress or exit.

Trapped like a blasted rat…he mused darkly, as his ears picked up on a faint sound. He couldn’t be certain, but it almost sounded like…laughter? Straining his ears, he sought to identify the source. Most people would never have heard it, but despite not having enhanced hearing, Penalty’s healing factor did keep his ears in peak working condition. He stood, slowly stalking the perimeter of the room, attempting to identify where it was coming from.

The stranger flees the reservation, leaving Naamah all alone in the world of nothingness. Eternal boredom was it going to be? This was when she notices something new that had surprised her that she had not noticed before, as she lifted her hand to her face to rub the frustration from her eyes. Her hand was not her own hand anymore, neither was the arm that it was attached to or the rest or her now plush body as far as she could tell. The stranger had somehow turned her into a Muppet version of herself. "What the hell is going on?"

Not aware that she was ensnared in a dreamworld, she suspected the trickery of a reality warping celestial being. There were so many after all that she had angered at some point in time, the possibilities were seemingly as endless as the void yolked around herself. Why a Muppet? She thought, mere moments before another clue was literally handed to her. In her now plush little hand appeared her Mace. Only it was not her Mace truly, but like herself a cheap rendition of the true artifact. Not forged from the fires of creation, this Mace appeared to be crafted from foam and plastic, 'Made in Taiwan' etched into the side of it. "Great." she uttered in a sarcastic tone.

Then she heard a voice that she knew as the voice of her father from behind her, calling out to her like a ghost from her past. "Naamah. My heart. You're brother must be punished, for his disobedience." The voice of GOD. She slowly turns to face him, something she had never anticipated that she would ever had done again. Only standing before her was not her true father, like herself it was but a cheap rendition. GOD was a Muppet as well. The likeness was uncanny and whomever was designing this reality had knowledge of what the actual GOD looked like. This allows her to narrow the pool of suspects down drastically. It must be one of her brothers or sisters playing a prank on her, is the deduction she is now committed to. But which one?

When I get my hands on whoever this chucklehead is, I’m gonna shove the biggest thing I can find right up…

Colorful visions of carnage danced through Penalty’s head as he pried at the drywall. The laughter, as near as he could tell, was coming from somewhere behind it, so picking up a random scrap of metal from one of the myriad devices he’s destroyed on his rampage, he’d begun to scrape. Wallpaper was stripped away, and now wooden paneling was being pried off, piece by piece.

Once several panels were removed, an exit had finally presented itself, but it had been one that was entirely incongruent with his surroundings: what appeared to be a narrow sewer passageway led off into darkness. Yep, he mused, get past all the fancy office bull, and you’ll find plenty of crap. He hunched down and dove into the passageway without hesitation, the dank and odorous sewer being a more familiar, and far more tolerable environment than the stifling office.

Buddy, I don’t know who you are, but just keep laughing until I can get my hands around your throat…

Seated on a throne of flesh, Kin Dinijinn watches the events that are taking place inside his preys minds. He chuckles sadistically as his eyes peer into a viewing portal as if he is enjoying his favorite television show, as a large group of his concubines service their master in many ways. His throne as he calls it is nothing more then two strongmen, stout and muscular that kneel beneath him to support his weight. The D'jinn is a hedonistic hellion make no mistake, and he is rather enjoying himself as both Penalty and Naamah are tormented.

Meanwhile...

Back in Muppet heaven... GOD keeps commanding that Muppet Lucifer be smited by Naamah's own Muppet hands. Regardless of the plushy aspect she is taken back to the first time these events played out and she is still struggling to find the willpower to attack her beloved Muppet brother.

GOD commands Micheal to take up his sisters cause in her stead, as Muppet brothers with wiffleball bats in hand start wacking one another repeatedly, while shouting things like. "Have at you!", and "Bring it on!" Muppet Naamah rolls her eyes as she grabs a wiffleball bat of her very own, then she walks over to Muppet Metatron whom is also the scribe of the word of god and asks him for a sharpie. "Can I use your sharpie for a moment?"

After Metatron loans her his sharpie, Naamah uses it and writes Sympathy on the side of her wiffleball bat in Enocian, before she walks up to GOD and starts smacking him in the forehead with it repeatedly. With every swing of the yellow plastic bat more and more sympathy is compelled into GODS consciousness. It's not long before GOD is teary eyed and asking his sons to stop fighting.

Naamah is dumb founded she cannot believe it actually worked. Then she takes the sharpie in her hand once more and writes selflessness onto the other side of her wiffleball bat before she starts to wack Lucifer in his own inflated ego poopfaced head, bashing the pride from his thick skull. Which he promptly thanks her for mere moments after, before both Lucifer and Naamah look at Micheal and tell him to go to his room.

GOD, Naamah, and Lucifer all gather around one another for a tear filled eyed family group hug.

He was getting closer, he could feel it. The laughing voice grew slightly louder and more distinct with each cautious step as he eased his way down the slimy corridor. Despite his inherent wariness, Penalty’s pace increased, driven by his desire to wreck savage vengeance on whoever was drawing such amusement.

He came up short as his outstretched hand encountered a solid wall directly in front of him. Unlike the slick bricks of the sewer walls, however, this one was made of what felt like drywall. His patience fraying, Penalty backed up a few steps and threw himself bodily against the obstacle. The flimsy wood crumpled beneath his weight, and he tumbled from the darkened passage into near-blinding light. Leaping to his feet as his eyes adjusted, tensed to lash out any at enemies that might present themselves, he unleashed a tirade of profanity that would have given a drunken pirate pause.

He was now in an identical copy of the office he had just escaped, down the same blasted water cooler. It was too much…too much restriction…

His adrenal system kicked into gear, and the room disappeared in a vermillion haze.

The D'jinn watches as his quarry locked away in their cerebral predicament's of his own creation, only something was amiss. Penalty's dream sequence was playing out beautifully, but his main targets dreamland was not. It was as if something was interfering with his master plan. Which was, put simply, pissing him off tremendously.

The Avatar's dreams were not causing her trauma as he wished, and he had absolutely no idea why. Until she arrived. A most rude interruption to his fun, she bypasses his attempt to keep invaders out instantly. Of course she does. "Hello Naamah."

Now standing in his attendance was Naamah Prime. Someone whom he wished more harm then any other, but knew that she had risen to a station in the hierarchy of the cosmos that even he could not cause affliction. "I would love to say that it is a pleasure, but we both know all to well that I despise you."

She has not arrived for smalltalk, she has arrived to save her daughter from his madness. And seeing as how yet another fly had become stuck in his web of deceit. The All-Mother takes it upon herself to free the one known as Penalty as well. She waves her hand and draws their essences from their dreamland's to her very presence. Both her daughter and the man known as Penalty appear in this place, as they do the D'jinn attempts to flee but is held in this place for the time being by Naamah Prime's superior willpower.

Okay…this is getting beyond trippy.

His rage had played out, once again to no avail. However, even as he began to come down from the explosion of fury that had reduced the second office space to shambles, he found himself somewhere else. At least this place had people, although calling them that might be jumping to conclusions, seeing how they didn’t resemble even the most unusual mutants he’d encountered in his wanderings.

“Look,” he growled, glancing from one to another, “If you three are all in my head, tell me now, otherwise things are about to get ugly.”

Naamah Prime speaks to Penalty firmly. "Save your rage mortal, for the one that has afflicted you." She holds Kin Dinnijin in place, he is no longer able to move from his current position. It is as if his feet have been frozen to the floor beneath him. "Do you think that I will just allow this mortal to strike me down, without defending myself?"

Naamah Prime glares at the D'jinn. "If you so much as raise a finger against this mortal, I will remove your arms myself." She snarls. "Mortal known as Penalty, take your revenge now if you would. For I will send you back to where you were plucked from very shortly."

Then Naamah goes to her daughter and returns her personally to her own bed. She tucks her in and kisses her forehead, before returning to her own realm.

Though he still hadn’t the foggiest idea about what was going on, apparently the demony-looking guy was the one who’d been messing with him. Stepping up to the snarling D'jinn, Penalty gave him a hard look before speaking. “Normally, I ain’t much for beating a man who can’t defend himself.” He punctuated the next comment with a lopsided grin. “But, wouldn’t want the lady to have gone to all that trouble for nothing.” With that, his right leg shot out in a savage kick, aimed right between the D'jinn’s legs…

…at which point his eyes snapped open to reveal he was curled in the space behind the dumpster, in the Gothic City alley he had bedded down in, the previous night. He shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. Running a hand over his face, he was relieved to find his trusty mask in place. Briefly, he wondered if the entire ordeal had just been a messed-up dream, until he felt the pain in his foot. It was a pain he knew all too well: a torn tendon from kicking someone or something harder than the human foot was built to withstand. His healing factor was already at work, and in a few moments, he was able to stand and walk with no discomfort. Stepping out of the alley to face the day, he pondered what he had just been through.

“Well lady,” he stated out loud, figuring that she’d probably be able to hear him from wherever he was, “I don’t know who you are or what your deal is, but if you ever have a need, Penalty’s got your back.”