Insanity Is A Dish Best Served Lukewarm [Elena Marie]

Insanity is a bad thing. At least, that's what they want you to think. Martin knew better. Oooooh he knew much better. After years of being forced to suppress his inner nature, it was so nice to finally be out, stretching his legs. The blade in his hand was wet, covered in the warm blood of the young girl. Her home had made for a wonderful resting place, her intestines making a fine wreath above the fireplace.

What no one chose to understand was that insanity was perhaps the smartest thing in the world. It was not only a gateway to power, but to pure enlightenment as well. Without the emotional strain that the sane had to deal with, Martin was much better able to act as the scholar he dreamed of becoming. Who knew that the insides of a girl made for wonderful decor? No sane person could have discovered that, after all.

He took a sip of scotch. Even now, his insanity was running rampant along the grounds of the small rural home. The trees outside warped, showing faces of disgust, joy, anger, and any other expression he desired to see. The ground itself was stained with blood. Whose blood, who knew? But it was as he wanted it, the thoughts of passerby be damned. He had a home, once more, where he could freely experiment and enjoy his solitude. At least, until he required another subject to play with.

For now, he settled for conversing with a clam. Where the clam came from was a mystery, but it sat at the table beside the chair, wearing a monocle.

Say, old chap. Such a lovely home you've come upon. I daresay that it's much better than the sea. At least you don't have to worry about sharks.

He and the clam laughed as though they'd been friends for the longest time.

Perhaps not. But what fun is life if there's no danger? Where's the thrill? Allow me to demonstrate.

His grin grew darker as he lifted the clam, prying it open with his bare hands and slurping the slimy insides. He could hear the screams of agony as it slid down his throat.

Predator cannot exist without prey. Where is my prey? What can quell my boredom....

He took another long sip of scotch, watching as the fire danced and licked at the stone walls.

'Well this is a fine mess.” Elena muttered as her eyes looked over what seemed like a butcher shop,though it was supposed to be a normal home for a normal family. What had she gotten herself into when she was on the hunt for the newest recruit? It seemed like she was going for someone even crazier than Volt,which was a stretch when you think about it.

She had brought along some back up,though it was only Alexandra for protection,as if she needed any of that. The superhuman was just a sort of security blanket in case Elena was not in the mood to deal with the threat herself. 'kick the door down.” Without a question asked,the woman planted her foot against the door with crushing force as it flew from its hinges.

Stepping through the empty door frame,Elena let out a low sigh as she wiped a few specks of dust from her dress. The place was painted with blood almost methodically,intestines even strewn like some sort of decoration

”Interesting.” her eyes settled upon a man sitting in a chair,though she didn't let her eyes linger too long as hands straightened long flowing red hair. The artificial human at her side was ready for anything,as was the crimson witch who kept a relaxed stance.

”So it seems I found you and in such an interesting scene.” She mused,allowing the golden ring to form around her irises.

Martin paid no attention to his visitors. Two of them, he could tell by the sound of movement. Whichever had so rudely blown his door down was not the one speaking. He stared into the fire, which seemed to flow more fluidly, as if it were liquid.

Found me? But dear, I was never lost, oh no. I'm exactly where I choose to be, just as /you/ are where I wish for you to be. You see, you are in my domain, my home. Are you certain that it is not I who was looking for you?

He set the scotch down, the fire slowly dying away. In its wake lay the unscratched head of the poor woman who'd once lived here. She still did, of course. But with marginally less living involved. The chair seemed to morph as the legs turned to wheels, which spun around so that he was facing his intruders. Blood coated the straight jacket he wore, and specks of crimson dotted his otherwise bland hair.

Come, dear. Take a seat, and let us talk like civilized people. Of course, your friend will have to wait. Only those with free will may walk within.

The table holding the scotch soon turned into a rather delightful lounge chair, and he patted the seat, beckoning her forward.

Payed? Allowance? Playthings? So very tempting!

He clapped his hands as the shadows continued to dance by the fireplace, despite the lack of a light source. The head of the woman twitched, her lips pulling up into a delighted grin.

Those all sound absolutely wonderful! So no.

As his answer slipped through his lips, the head seemed to grow somber once more.

Why would I want money? It brings only pain and suffering with nothing to show for it. As for playthings, I don't need permission. As you can see, I fare well enough on my own.

He gestures to the 'decor', which drips blood onto the tiled floors.

It either takes a very foolish or a very brave person to approach me so openly. What's to stop me from killing you here?

The chair beneath her vibrates softly, a faint aura glowing from it.

Everything you see around you is as I will it to be. The fact that you're alive is, in itself, my very wish. I can see it in your inhuman eyes that you are far beyond normal. You should be able to appreciate the power given to you, just as I do. However, I choose to utilize my powers for study, rather than personal gain. What you see as cruelty, as inhuman punishment, you are blinded by your own inability to accept what I consider reality, and righteousness. I see my actions as bringing this world one step closer to perfection. What could you possibly offer me that I could not bring about for myself?

His eyes seemed to shine, despite their dull grey hue, and once again, he was sipping form a glass of liquor.

Offering more than one can dream of means offering more than one can handle. Only fools dive into such endeavors. If I cannot accomplish it myself, it means it is not meant to be. Besides, how do you know what I'm capable of dreaming of? What you see around you is a fraction of what I'm capable of.

His smile remains as his dull, colorless eyes rest on hers.

Perhaps you are powerful. Perhaps you /can/ kill me. But what would that accomplish? Nothing. You'd have one dead man on your conscience. Something tells me that's not good for you. You can wear your mask. But I see right through it. Surely you can feel my madness. It courses through the very ground of this home. Think of this. If I wanted to, I could merely attack you now. I'd love to see what's inside of that pretty little head of yours. But you don't interest me, and either way, I'd be rushing blindly into something that I have no knowledge of. We've only just met. Perhaps you could incinerate me at this very moment. But you've yet to, despite the fact that I've denied your offer. We're both playing on the safe side here. We're on neutral ground. So once again, I ask you to offer something that would be of real use to me.

He downs the remainder of his drink, leaning back in the chair, completely at ease with the full confidence that he is safe. His attention seems divided as he awaits yet another response from the lovely lady.

Then kill me now. I have no interest in your offer. You've shown me no reason to consider you as worthy of my time. If you can kill me so easily, do it.

He continues to hold his gaze. Dying means little to him. Upon death, he knows that he'd transcend far beyond her existence. What would it matter? He pours two glasses, handing one to her.

Though, have a drink first. It couldn't have been easy getting here.

As the blast of light struck him, he faded away. Had he been any normal foe, he'd have died. However, he was no fool, and all she'd managed to strike was a manifestation of his own being. Blades protruded from the chair she was sitting in, surrounding her as his voice seemed to echo through the walls.

Ho ho ho! What a fun turn of events! I see you are a lady of your word. Not that it means much to me. You are now a part of my game, one with which I'd suggest cooperating. Do not forget that your servant is absent, and you are in my home. I'll consider your offer. But it will only matter if you can withstand my own madness. Your power is rather extensive, so I'm sure you'll do fine~"

His cackle resounds throughout the hallways and rooms, as a loud groan of pain erupts from deep within the house.

Your first task, love, is escaping the snare. After that, seek out the noise coming from within the home. The previous occupants aren't pleased with my invasion. Why don't you quell their unrest for me?

The cries of agony echoed, bouncing off the walls. The final moments of the innocent lives lost were replayed endlessly. Cries of fear, or regret. of sorrow. The crying of a small child, and the final scream of the woman who'd been gutted like a fish. They all engulfed the hallways, a testament to the unrelenting madness of the one man who lay in wait deeper within.

In the room ahead of you to the left is the husband. A police officer. He was the first to die. All it took was a quick flick of the wrist, and blood sprayed from his throat. I tried to paint a smiley face on the wall, but his blood wouldn't stay in one spot. Sad. He shouldn't be much effort to dispatch of. Do be careful though. If I recall, bullets hurt like hell~

His sick laugh bounced through the house again, before being replaced by the groan of a young male. The sound of dragging limbs could be heard through the house.

His head shot back as the blast burned a hole deep in his skull. However, as everyone knows, the undead are a brainless bunch. He continued his assault, advancing on her with very little discretion towards his actions.

John had no control of the undead. Instead, he allowed things to play out, watching the events unfurl from deep withing the massive home. His lips were wrapped around a wacky straw, and he sipped on a can of coke as he awaited the ladys next move.

Now now, aim for his foot. Zombies are rather pointless without a means to get to their target~