Hatchetfield.

With Emma Front and Center

It first ends with with a boy and girl and the end of the world. And from out of the black and white, a familiar voice says "Well, that was a fucking disappointment."

Without hesitating, the bastard of time and space T'Noy Karaxis hits the reset on the world. And from here, everything you know and thought you knew goes sideways. The God takes out a rubix cube. It shines if eldritch light. The panels float in midair, seemingly connected to nothing and yet three dimensional at the same time.

This is Tinky's greatest treasure. His little toy box. Where he keeps his playthings. His box of almighty and all together bastards that wander from end to end and lament their life's choices. They will never realize it wasn't Tinky that put them there. Only their own arrogance placed them in the box. Truly it is a toy box is worthy of being called the Bastard's box.

This is not how Tinky plans to travel. In one of Tinky's other hands is an hourglass with finite grains of infinite grains of sand. This is space and time. All of it. And Tinky knows its paths well. Tinky doesn't need to flip the hourglass, he simply gestures and rewinds. Back upon itself. Grain upon grain upon grain.

The chessboard has been reset. Tinky's eye surveys the pieces and he is pleased. As much as the anthropomorphic goat of time can be pleased. His blue tongue licks over his empty eye socket as if musing over something. Perhaps it's something he's forgotten.

These things matter not.

From everywhere and nowhere, the Lord of Despair, Wiggog Y'Wrath slithers into being. His unknowable form takes a seat, tentacles used to pull himself closer to the chessboard. His eyes, twin blazing voids of nothingness stare back into the form of Tinky who extends his now rather human hand over the chessboard. He smiles with far too many teeth.

Wiggly returns any equally human smile, one that's all feral, all teeth. There's no point to taking on these forms. But for some reason it feels right. It's a little game and it's going to start, right about-

^^^

Emma was a live wire, a firecracker, five foot nada, and your worst nightmare. She was tiny, Jewish, and Latina. But woe be to the man who called her Chili Pequin. She's fire and vinegar. And she'll defend her family to the end. To the ends of time and beyond. Take for example...

She's fifteen and pounding the crap out of Chloe Apidae, daughter of their biology teacher for beating up her cousin. Said cousin is currently passed out, a bruise darkening his forehead. Miss Apidae, their horrid teacher, has the gall to call her a violent little bitch and her cousin a little hellion who egged her daughter on. Because of course how could her sweet angel of daughter do such a thing?

"You saw everything." Emma snaps back, dropping Chloe's head with a squishy sounding splat as the bleached blond lulls about on her desk like a proper piglet. Her nose job is ruined. Good, a savage part of her thinks. I hope it fucking hurts. I hope it can never be fixed.

Chloe sobs ugly snotty tears from her ugly snotty nose. Her ugly little piglet nose. Proper little piglet. Emma couldn't care. There are more important things to attend to. Johann... John is unconscious.

(Timeline correction: The existence known as Johan "John" MacNamara, born as Johanna Jagerman will only be referred to as such when necessary. This is agreed by all of us lords to be correct. - T'Noy Karaxis)

His slightly slack mouth is leaking blood, sick, and spit. Damn. It would be just their luck that bitch knocked out teeth. If she did, Emma would knock out two for every one John lost just to make it even. She pries his lips open and instantly hears a whimper of protest. Even in his twilight state John tried to twist and turn away. Emma stroked his sweaty and bruised brow, leaving a streak of his own blood in her wake. "I know it hurts." She says. "I'm just checking for damage."