When one was accustomed to being revered and even feared as one of the strongest, maddest, baddest, craziest bitches around, was it any wonder that she cared naught for the idea of caution? Why pay such an irrelevant, trivial thing any heed when she was more than aware of how others perceived her? With trepidation and respect, her reputation far proceeding that of this pathetic shell the mortals had somehow - and quite skillfully, mind you - managed to trap her in; it had taken them months to drain her of even a tenth of her powers, at least enough to take partial control of her person and whisk her away to some high-grade mortal prison meant to hold her indefinitely. But even weakened, she was a force to be reckoned with, someone who would not allow anything or anyone to stand in the way of her plans. A declaration made with all the poise and self-assurance of one who had little cause to fear for her safety, for there was absolutely nothing on this godforsaken planet that could even come close to being powerful enough to deter her from doing whatever the hell she wanted. Imprisonment certainly hadn’t changed that. If anything, it had only made her all the more determined to neutralize variables that could potentially convert into threats in the near future. The mortals had already taken ten years of her life - ten years too many … For a goddess, a decade meant nothing; just a blip on the radar of divinity. But that didn’t mean she was willing to give them more than the quota she’d been forced to meet all those years ago. That smacked too much of surrender to her, and surrender was the one thing she absolutely refused to do.
They would have to kill her first - kill her then dismantle her body and send perfectly gift wrapped boxes of her dismembered parts to various countries, because once she was back on her feet again, she’d come at them with everything she had -
For centuries, Morrigu had listened to tales of her fearsome exploits, a darkly amused smile gracing her sharp, strangely hawkish features. Not quite feminine but arresting enough to catch the eye. It wasn’t that she possessed a nefarious nature, one that couldn’t help but wish ill will on all and sundry. Others might describe her as an evil, terrible presence - likened to a daemon of immense power who could easily overtake you at the drop of a hat - but that was far from the truth. Her role in the universe had been significant and impactful, her association with fate allowing her to foretell doom and death in battle. It had been so significant, in fact, that she’d had no choice but to induce the existences of two others, practically willing them into existence - which was why a few believed the Morrigan to be a trio of sisters comparable to the Moirai of Greece rather than a single individual - in order to assist her in her work.
So what was this powerful, all-important goddess doing at this present moment?
Currently raising hell in the underground fight scene, of course.
“What is wrong with you,” she snarled up at the hulking mass of bleeding, bruised muscle, ignoring the looks of shock and anticipation that abounded at her exclamation. As the alleged favorite to win this thing, she was severely disappointed. If he was the fan-favorite, then what did that say about his opponent?
Meatacháns, the whole lot of them!
“Are your fists just for show?” She flashed a contemptuous look at that, drawing closer to the ring despite the way some foolish males attempted to steer her elsewhere in some misguided pursuit of chivalry. “Should I divest you of them then? Since you clearly have no need of them, given that pathetic excuse for a performance you just now so shamelessly demonstrated.” Too pathetic for words, and yet she was positively itching to show him the difference between effort and natural talent.
Could she have done it better?
