#calamitousdetonation

[specterebus]

@calamitousdetonation started following you

Hello there thanks for the follow who and how are you

[rifleshotsandflowerpots-blog]

@stabbiings @apathymaster @candiedcanary @calamitousdetonation started following you

oh my!!! there's quite a lot of you!!! a pleasure!!! :D

[ulcerousumbrage]

@calamitousdetonation started following you

I HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE.  THIS MAY BE THE DIMWITTED PORCINE AGENT. THAT WORKS uNDER JACK.  I THINK I’M RIGHT. 

CONFIRM THIS.  ARE YOu THE IDIOT DERSE AGENT? OR ALTERNATE OF. 

[bitterandblackace-blog]

@calamitousdetonation

another Deuce?

great

[thespianhauler]

@calamitousdetonation

Hello

[dignitxry-blog]

calamitousdetonation started following you

Well, hello there. Welcome to.. this.

[old-doctor-scratch-blog]

Awake Oh Sleeper

It was time to return to Midnight City.

You had considered your experiments here a failure, a waste. They were your first forays into genetic mutation. At first you did too little, you chose subjects at random, and you were left with the useless green rabble. Then you had done too much too quickly and, despite your best efforts, despite being so much more selective, your subjects had died. Well. Most of them had died. If you were a betting man, you would have put your money on Spades Slick’s survival. You knew the moment that you met him that you wanted him. Not sexually, not romantically. You wanted to control him. You wanted his skills, you wanted to add him to your arsenal. You wanted him to serve you.

But without his crew you knew he was nothing, a broken man. Perhaps you could use that to your advantage, offer balm for his sorrow and control him through loyalty and devotion. But not yet. His grief was too raw, his mind too broken. So you left the city and you moved on. On to other cities, other countries, other timelines, other worlds. You repeated your experiments, you drew in the greedy and the arrogant and the powerful with sweet words, with flattery and promises, and then you made them yours. You changed them, violated them, broke them down and rebuilt them how you wanted, shaped them into your tools.

But they didn’t work. None of them worked to your standard. They died. They were too weak. They ended their lives. They were driven into madness.

A few times you ran experiments to make them loyal, but they turned into mindless drones, useless to you.

You realized that Spades Slick and his crew had been your best work so far. Your confidence in your original endeavor was only strengthened when the brute was brought back, for good this time. You had nearly given up hope on that one, expected him to finally just cross over, but you had your workers keep trying throughout all of these years. Patience and dedication are always rewarded.

Your return to the city was as subtle as could be, quiet and without fanfare. You thought of how that would change. You will admit you had a moment of fancy, a moment of longing where you envisioned how, before long, you would enter not as a fugitive but as a conqueror. But not yet. For now, you are content to sit in the shadows. For now your work requires secrecy and a subtle touch.

You are happy to find that the labs are in remarkably similar condition to how you left them. A bit run down, perhaps, and bit messy with broken glass on the floors and graffiti on the walls, but still every so functional. There would have to be maintenance, yes, a few things replaced or updated, but everything will soon be operational. His body was not hard to find either. The staff had kept it. He floated limply in a large tank of a greenish-yellow liquid, pale and shriveled and staring dumbly with empty, milky eyes.

Now, you simply have to raise the dead. This would be a futile quest for nearly all, of course. Kings, sorcerers, gods and monsters have tried and failed since time immemorial. Poems, songs, epics have been written about the beautifully tragic nature of man’s quest for immortality. You find it rather amusing. Fools and weaklings looked to kings and gods. You looked to your Lord.

You remember being taken to church as a child, you remember the ardent, blissful fervor that would overtake your parents at the pastor’s booming voice, at his fiery words of hell and damnation and obedience and salvation. You remember the way they would throw their hands to the sky, the way their whole body would shake as they would shout  their “hallelujahs” and their “amens.” You thought it incredibly foolish that anything could inspire such passionate, mindless devotion in a person. Years later you still see them as weak-minded fools but you think you understand, just a little bit, that feeling of awe and worship. Not for their lord of course, their carpenter on a cross that only spoke through old, dusty pages and only acted through the weekly donation’s basket. No. Your Lord had no church except for the blackened ground and the empty sky of a dead universe. Your Lord had no altar except for the white-hot glow of power that emanated from him. Your Lord needed no priests, no prophets, no ancient books to speak for him. You came before him as one of the few that could withstand his presence without their body being burned and their soul twisted to madness. You came before him and you made your request and he spoke in a voice that shook the very foundation of the ruined world he stood on. His words were all that was needed. You returned to your living universe filled with his gift. Your presence scorched the ground, burned the air, crackled with the scent of ozone and flickered madly with white-hot light. Your Lord was not one of mercy, not one of love, not a lamb meant for the slaughter. Your Lord is death. Your Lord is destruction. Your Lord is a perversion, made of the raw firmament of time and His power is caustic to the very fabric of reality.

Your Lord gave you the power to rip through the walls of Life and Death.  With only a fraction of your Lord’s power you were able to undo the oldest rule of reality, to shake its firmest foundation.

Glass shattered, formaldehyde spilled in all directions only to be evaporated instantly into foul-smelling steam by a flash of white light hot enough to blacken the walls of the room.

What had been a limp, pale, swollen corpse was now laying at your feet with its chest swelling with breath and its heart pumping blood that had long laid congealed. He was still, curled in on himself, naked and wet like a newborn child. With a thought, you slip away through time and space. Now, you wait.