The circle wasn’t supposed to be completed. Not yet. A sorcerer led prison gang found this dark, forgotten corner of the prison and made their plans. They set up their sacrifices, three guards, one after another strung up by their thumbs over a . They drew a magic circle around him and stabbed a knife into her ribs. He bled out. The other tasks were purely symbolic. Purging. Fasting. Little sacrifices. All they needed for their spell to be complete was chaos. Complete and total chaos. They were planning to begin their takeover of the island next Wednesday.
Apparently the lord of Limbo was coming early. They expected Belasco.
She woke up in the dark. Naked in a basin of half rotted blood. Everything shook and ached and she spat up bile and coagulated blood. The Darkchild was cold and sobbing and retching and hungry. So effing hungry that her stomach threatened to consume her.
Her head ached worst of all. The horns had sprouted mere minutes ago and split open her crown. The tail was next, it extended from her spine and tore through through her skin. Her toes fused together into cloven hooves, her feet elongated, and fur sprouted from her waist on down.
The basin tipped and spilled her out onto the floor. She sat up on her hands and knees and blinked through the blood in her eyes. She could hear chaos near. Terrible chaos all around in the rooms beyond. Each footstep and clattering was like a drill bit piercing her skull.
And of course, chaos needs to be ruled.
The door creaked open and a man entered. The Darkchild stood. Wobbling and clumsy, she stepped toward him. Poor thing trembled.
“Y-you’re not Belasco,”
“No,” her voice came out throaty, “I’m much worse,”
Dinner time.
A short time later…
She took his shirt. It was a loose fit, but a blood soaked, torn up prison shirt with another person’s name on it could up the intimidation factor. Ya know. Before she kills whoever is making that thunderous racket upstairs. Slowly and with fire.
The dull red lights didn’t help her post-resurrection hangover.