Frederick's freefall had turned into a short drop. The momentum built had all faded as his sorry hide was tossed out of a portal. His wiry frame smashed against a red floor, and he cringed at the idea of what it could be. Freshly strewn flesh, molding blood, or mashed entrails were just a few of the prime choices he dared to consider. As he shuttered to the thought, the skin on his face, the only skin exposed on his body, noticed something off about its texture. It was not damp or morbid as he had expected but quite plush and soft. Pulling himself from this landing pad, he learned it was the start of a rolled out carpet that was thick and luxurious. It lied atop a fine marble floor that was not felt at all from the plummet, cushioned by the regal tapestry. The walls rose in arches to domes that filled the ceiling. Above him, the capping housed a gilded ring with etchings he had recognized from previous one-way gateways. Scented candles lined the wall, placed in elegant holders of untarnished silver. The majesty of the room surrounded a long table adorned with a generous buffet of food stuffs and treats, all glistening with sinful delight.
"Somethin' is terribly wrong here," doubted the eternal pessimist, refusing to accept the pleasantries. Glistening pastries overflowing with creams lied upon silver platters next to glazed meats that showed not a hint of being singed during their roasting. Strange and exotic fruits decorated the center pieces, split in twine to reveal their luscious, juicy centers. The dripping morsels sat upon an immaculate, embroiled, silk tablecloth that spilt down onto the floor showing neither spot nor crumb.
"Would anyone buy into this? Honestly?" the bitter fiend continued, his tone indicating how impressed he was by the fanciful display. "This reeks of bait like a worm on a hook," he compared, "or lollipops and teenagers." The thought reminded him of his stance on temptation. "Well, I guess just one sticky bun won't be m' ruin." Cautiously, his hand lowered towards the sugary delights. Steadily it approached, wobbling with unease the nearer it drew. Before his fingertip could tap its succulent surface, the lunatic yanked back his arm. "What is wrong with me?" argued the psychopath among himself. "'Tis free food. I should be fillin' m' pockets!" Wiping the corners of his mouth, he prepared to snatch up another piece, his fingers waving in anticipation, but he withdrew from the actions before it took place again. Pacing about to calm himself, he beat his temples with his fists. With a short growl, he unwound the length of chain from his wrist and raised it poised to strike at whatever could arise as his other limb hovered over the attempted acquisition. He focused deeply on the shining bread, licking his lips as a bead of honey rolled down its side. Time sped by, and the decision was still not made. The possibilities were too much for him to bear. It would be a dangerous risk, but that was why he carried a danger alarm.
"Oh, squish face," sang Greenborne with a wicked grin, digging into his pocket, "do ya wanna eat up? There's more food here than ya've ever seen." Removing the grub, he placed it upon his open palm and lowered it to the table. The larva crawled down with its nubbed antennae swinging madly through the air as it located a good meal. Its puny legs stretched out to the surface, barely reaching, forcing it to take a short fall to get its whole body onboard. Once it was off, the maniac recoiled with his arms up, guarding against what may come. With the same, mundane lacking as the previous times, he stepped back closer. The risk detector shuffled between the plates of food, seemingly as uncertain as its keeper. "What's wrong? Don't ya like food?" The blob looked at him with writhing stubs and then marched off the edge of the table. Slowly scaling down the drooping tablecloth, the Disaster thought to speed up the process and take a look at what it was heading towards. Pulling back the cover, a tide of thick, putrid air stung his face. Through watering eyes, the underside was revealed to be full of bodies. They were not merely dead or decaying, as that was nothing shocking. These bodies were mutilated and chewed. Their still fresh flesh was chomped to a mash on the bone. Some of it seemed as though it was already partially digested before being vomited back. The mess was then packed beneath the table, smashing together the former beings so that no discernable end could be figured out between those that composed it. The bleeding mound festered and pulsed as if alive, movement from those not killed in the process.
"This could not be any more disgustin'," stated Fred as a pus filled sac ruptured. "Okay, now it cannot get any worse," he declared in correction before his grub plopped onto the floor and began sucking up some of the human mush, which the Four Finger Fiend then contributed to. "Squish pod," he managed to gasp between laboured breaths, "we gotta work on yer diet." Pinching its tail, he pulled it away from the meat log without looking at what it had most recently devoured. "Now, I dunno 'bout ya, but I don't wanna see who or, more likely, what made this mess. Let's blow this joint." Leaving the dead to rest, he dropped the cloth and scooped his bug, walking along side the table. "Well, I guess the food couldn't turn those suckers inside out," reasoned the lunatic, still craving that roll. Grabbing a stylish knife from a silverware set on his passing, it was used to spear the item he long sought. Once it parted from its plate, the table began to quake. "Yeah! I knew it would be just touchin' the food," rejoiced Rick, stuffing the bun into his mouth. "Theh's no'hin' wong wi'h ot ah aw." He started to frown upon his choice of touching the food to unleash unknown perils. To balance the decision, he took another.
Charging down the rumbling dining hall, the cause of the shaking could not be seen by the green coated man. He had expected whatever massacred the once human clump to reveal itself. As his fast beating shoes clicked down the way, a second pair of steps accompanied his, striking hard into the tiled floor with dull thuds. The numbers grew as more joined the race. These were the sculptors of the macabre horror that he ran alongside, the hell-bent monsters that gave the maniac the creeps, and he was sick in the head. Just a peek was had at what chased him in the distance, and, with just a peek, his stride quickened. The terrible things and the melted pile of flesh were one in the same. Sagging giants of a roughly anthropomorphic structure filled the end horizon with more spilling out from beneath the table ahead of the pack. They joined the chase before their bodies even formed, rolling along until stubs formed beneath the heaving mass to serve as legs. Tapering from a girthful waist, their pointed heads leaned back in their charge. With every step, their already squat legs shortened as they dropped off their new foot, smashed into the floor beneath their massive weight. The shambling mounds were no less revolting when moving than they were when lying on the floor. Limbs and bones jutted out of them and halves of entire people sprouted from others. Caches of hair or organs wobbled on their surface as the gelatinous dumps waddled onward in fury. While the crowd was not advancing upon the maniac, the unfolding line from beneath the cloth was catching up with him. Since the exit had yet to appear on the horizon, he stopped his feet, spinning around as his heels skidded to a halt. Pulling the last of the sweet roll from the knife, he threw himself into the growing army.
As a festering brute built itself up, the Disaster cleaved its soft body in two. Sweeping the utensil around behind himself, the would-be ankles of another hulk were severed, causing the walking slaughterhouse to collapse beneath its own weight and split its belly, spilling out a flood of pus and bile. Smashing his heel into its face, or what seemed to be it, the maniac kicked off, flipping himself backwards. The blade was driven into one of the meat puppet's foreheads. As his body swung around, the edge slit open the flesh sack's back, rupturing an organ of some kind. Whipping out the chain, the links sank into the soggy surface of another half digested horror when it was lashed against its motley hide. A sinister smile grew on Frederick's face as he ripped the iron out of the monstrosity along with a large chunk of its chest. Tossing around the wad on the end like a flail, he slammed it into a number of others before it became freed of the weight. Taking another swing, the chain wrapped about the arm of a man stuck within a melted man. Pulling out the past victim, the bulk of the giant's support went with it, causing it to cave in on itself. The knife was plunged deep into one of their guts, and then, using both hands, it was lifted above its head, splicing it. Climbing into the fresh crevice, Greenborne launched a flying dropkick, splattering a mashed head onto a once refined wall. Catching himself on the now bespeckled paneling, he boosted off, rising over the horde to land upon the table, staining its expensive cover. After kicking a plump turkey, which smelled delicious, through one of the mindless flesh piles, the edge of the platter it was served upon was stepped on, flipping up into the air where it was readily snagged. The saucer was hurtled through the crowd, cutting through trunks and limbs until crashing against a femur, inappropriately positioned in one of their arms. Booting off a few that were intelligent enough to try and climb upon the table, the rest had their heads crushed between its top and his soles.
"Hah, lame wads! Ya saps are jokes," mocked the fiend. "How did ya even get all those guys in the first place?" The tattered bits and pieces wiggled before tumbling back together, forming new mindless drones. "Oh, ya can't be killed. ... Yeah, okay, that's pretty damn impressive, but-" Bloody heels stomped down the planks without giving an answer as silverware was gathered and immediately dispensed into the group forcibly. Serving forks and butter knives protruded from the lumpy masses as though they were pincushions. Nudging a ladle into his grasp, he took deep swats with the dipper, ripping out entire scoops of rotting flesh. "Damn it all! One o' ya gotta be the brain o' this li'l shindig," yelled Rick as he emptied a filled scoop. "Show yerself, dastard!" The surface he stood upon ruptured as a more defined limb broke through the wood. Pulsating boils and veins studded its skin, and its size dwarfed the whole of the lunatic. Knocked down, he scuttled backwards before managing to get onto his feet. "Did I say I wanted that? I meant I wanted to see that guy's puppy." He knew he could kick that dog's ass. The remainder of the table was sundered as the rest of the form broke through. The mammoth brute was dripping oozes and fluids from open sores covering its wide body. Its broad muscles were dented with teeth marks from all angles. Its chest was nonexistent, replaced instead with a gaping jaw filled with molars the size of whole skulls, an easy comparison since there were some lodged within the drooling maw. This was assumed to be the source of the dripping nightmares. After all, it was the only thing there with a mouth. The monster twisted around with its massive tongue lashing about, stopping once it located the man through its eye in the back of its mouth.
With a gargled snarl, the big mouthed freak charged, pounding its trunk like limbs through the table, cracking the boards enough to tear through the cloth. In its destructive wake seeped up pools of mangled meat that separated into grossly shaped minions. The toothy mutant caught a thrown blade in its thigh, staggering its advance and allowing a soaring kick to a top incisor, loosening it from the gums. Grasping his chain in both hands, Fred braced it beneath the oddity's naval dimpled chin. Following through with a roll over onto its back, he extended his arms, choking the massive gullet. As it tossed about, struggling for release, the mushy henchmen arrived and pawed at their master's attacker with their rotting hands. The limbs were spattered by fierce kicks of desperation delivered from an almost horizontal position and rained festering globules over the once magnificent feast. Trimmed appendages were not enough to keep them at bay, and an armless army soon had the maniac surrounded. Running up a sloping gut sideways, he perched himself atop the mutilation, still holding the bonds on tight. It was a well thought escape from the enclosing throng, but it left him highly vulnerable to the mighty muscles of the biter. Crushing the Disaster between palms, he was then slammed down through the covered planks. Thankfully, the broken boards that stabbed his back prevented him from coming into contact with the mound. The wounds were a fair price to pay to keep out of the chewed log. Pulling himself from the splinters, he first drove a leg upward, sinking the tossed blade within the gnawer's thigh deeper in. With the time bought from it wailing in agony, a considerable amount with its exaggerated features, Rick sprung from the hole with an airborne uppercut, striking the same tooth as before. Ripping off a jagged splint from the pit created with himself, the wooden missile was tossed into the massive jaws which snapped shut quickly, catching a green sleeve as it passed. The giant lips curled back as prey was captured but dripped deep crimson. The offender was caught; however, the offense had gotten by without contest. As the mega-mouth roared in pain, the oak spike could be seen protruding from its internal eye.
Not letting up, the lunatic threw himself at the thing, barging into its front side with a shoulder tackle. After all of the work, the tooth finally came out. Grabbing the large structure, he yanked it from the mouth, pulling out the nerves and blood vessels. Poaching a shattered salt shaker from off the messed table, he smeared shards and granules into the exposed nerve. Gripping the long roots, he pulled on the blocky enamel, smashing it against the dripping blobs that had just made their way around their boss. Flipping it around, he impaled the last one left standing with the tooth's roots. Delivering a final kick, he pegged the molar deeper into the mass, sending it from with the table with torn cords streaming behind its fall. The big mouth groaned in anguish, racked from the pain. Nothing else mattered to it. To test this theory, the Disaster grabbed hold of its upper lip, pulling himself up to mount a handstand. With a mean grimace, he swung his legs around, his momentum thrown into a downward push that drove the monstrosity's face onto the table's edge. His body swept by the floor as just the creature's upper jaw was bent over. While he could not verify what had occurred, there was a loud snap and no further movement or moans. Pulling himself from the floor, Frederick dusted himself off and noticed a plate of untouched and unbloodied pickled fish. Licking his lips with gleeful anticipation of a job well gone reward, before he could enjoy them, a rotten foot squashed the tray. Cold eyes gazed up at the foolish flesh pile.
"Oh, somebody wants seconds of ass kick!" Tugging on the tablecloth, the mountain of cud tipped over, cracking its back on the tables ledge and emptying through its torso. Pulling out the bloodied knife from the immobilized gnasher's leg, Greenborne ran into the flock with wild swings, cutting the pillars of sludge to and fro. When they fell this time, they stayed down. The onslaught of the exorbitant numbers left entrails and sinew hanging from the psychopath. Breathing heavily, he took one last look to ensure that nothing dared to stand against him. Sighing with relief, he collapsed into a plush chair, ruining its lush padding beyond cleaning with his horrific state. His posture quickly slouched as he was exhausted, strained, and, above all, starved. He passed a glance over all the plates of food, most filled with more chopped body parts than the dish that was initially present. Shoeprints and broken dishes were scattered about the tabletop. The maniac wiped away someone else's aged blood from his brow as it dripped into his eye.
"Well," he addressed to his pocket passenger, rubbing his hands together greedily, "what looks good to ya?"
