Neon Frights. [Event]

So if you must falter be wise, your mind is in Disturbia,
It's like the darkness is the light, Disturbia, Am I scaring you tonight?
Jester

The streets of Oshibana were lively with activity tonight, thumping beats and chattering crowds. More and more victims trodding away towards the epicentres of liveliness that had broken out throughout the entirety of Earthland. Like puppets, they moved to the Magic Councils call and attended the pitiful resemblance of entertainment their 'gracious' leaders were hosting for them. The shrieks and cries of partyers as they allowed themself to become lost in the rhythms and inebriation provided to. Like animals in heat that rubbed and sweated against each other, their monotonous grunts the epitome of how disgusting humanity was. The way they pressed themselves together and gyrated around like twitching primates. The air heavy with their desperation, in hopes that this wild and ridiculous behaviour will grant them some kind of acceptance from their peers. So hungry for fulfilment that they genuinely believe that painted rainbow aesthetic, fluid toxins and the heavy pumping of soulless music would resolve this. That this 'Urban Nights' event would fill the void in their sad, pathetic little lives. Oh no, they had no chance at redemption. It was embarrassing, all of them, yet how they remained blind to it. Such a shame really... or not.

Because these wet-faced nobodies would be tonight's source of entertainment for a certain red-haired fellow. He had decided how he would do it, or to which degree he would allow the chaos to unfold. The security for such an event wasn't exactly worrisome for the crazed clown, he had handled much worse in the past. But it was more decided what would be more gratifying, toying with a select few or decimating all of them. Although as he gazed across the crowd, eying him with gleeful expression and admiration. It occurred to him what a pleasing sight it would be to see the entirety of the area in ruins, bodies littering the night in place of their terrible dancing forms and troglodyte grins. Yes, he would kill them all, he had to. Perhaps not the entirety of the town, but whoever had been foolhardy to come to this point of the town, lured here by the disgusting excuse for what passed as music these days.

Sure it had a good rhythm and the beats meant that dancing to it was easy enough, but was that all the constituted of good music this dance. Where was the emotion, where was the story? It was all synthesized sounds and empty patterns with no meaning. Meaningless. Just like the lives of those who enjoyed it. No, no, this was no good. He would have to end their boring existences and once he was done. He would smash this sound system to pieces, maybe set it on fire, depending on where the journey took him.

He glanced down, the DJ booth in front of him. For some reason during his placid observations of the crowd, even though he hadn't been dancing or even attempting to show any involvement in fraternizing with the likes of them. The DJ had pointed him out, calling him over and insisting he take a turn on the decks. He could have put him random selection down to his attire, he had worn a black hoody, with his favourite deck symbols sown onto the chest with bright pink fabrics, a spade and diamond. The lower half of the hoodie design in the manner that most of his attire was. With bright yellow ringlets of fabric that clenched his waist. He had worn baggy beige trousers and black trainers to finish off the modern circus ensemble. With two symbols painting on his cheek, a yellow star and a red teardrop. His hair was style normally tonight, combed down in such a way that made him look less eccentric. A means to blend in, before the chaos.

He hadn't used a DJ booth before, but he was a quick learner. The current DJ had given him a quick beginners run down of how everything worked. He scooped up the headphones, which would offer preview the next track that he set up. Reaching down, his finger tapped the bottom arrow key on the laptop's keyboard. Scrolling through the playlist of available songs to mix into the heavy bassline. Most of them were garbage; electro-jazz, house, techno, hardstyles, hardcore and the like. A few commercial hits thrown in for good measure but little that actually appealed to the man. He was several years older than the majority of those in the crowd so of course, he tastes were somewhat different.

Scanning the screen for a long moment, his eye would trail across a particular song. It was a relatively modern song, but with a rather ironic meaning in this scenario. In fact, it was rather perfect. All that mattered now was using it to get these ants excited, to pump them up before the slaughter. Adjusting the nozzle, he would begin to tweak the pace of the song. Fading the song before it and slowly easing the new one in.


There was an excited hum from the crowd, they knew this one. Good. That boded well for him. Many of them would slow their dancing, eyes closed as they raised their hands to the sky, keen to sing along to the haunting melody.


Oh how quickly they were entranced, their happy slurs singing along, swaying side to side.


He adjusted the dull thumping that he had incorporated into the background, adding to the mood he was trying to incorporate. To somehow use this unimpressive drivel to create some kind of meaningful performance. One that would set the tone for his games.


The had no idea, none of them. Just how accurate these words were. Of course, the original writer of the song was singing about confessing feelings to someone without concern over whether they returned such feelings and not waiting around for them regardless of how they feel. Petulance romance. But he found different meaning in such words, about the empty voids within each individual and how they sought a way to feel the void. By targetting someone in order to rid them of that emptiness. This was what they were all essentially doing tonight, even him. He just had a different means to get what he wanted, he found satisfaction in other things. Much more obscure, sinister things.


The music dropped, the hard hits hit, causing the words to stutter whenever Jester manipulated the dial. Rewinding it fractional to repeat the same syllable over a few times, building it up, up and up. Until finally it would drop, and the thunder began. The monumentous drop following by the intense pounding of the speakers cause the crowd to scream with enthusiasm. In unison, they would jump along, limbs flailing as they allowed the music to take them over entirely. They were blown away by the effects of the song combined with the heavy hardstyle rhythm Jester had matched it to. There was a repeat of this slow, rise and drop, until finally, the song petered to a close. Hearts were racing, foreheads were dripping and they were all extremely perked up. It was a job well done from him, one he didn't need to hear although DJ insisted on showering him with praise. He even offered to let him play another set, but Jester was not interested. Admittedly his own turn on the decks had livened him up plenty, now he was ready for some real fun. He turned to the crowd, about to begin the slaughter.

Until he saw them.

Like a horde of buffalo, they came barging into the crowds, pushing people away. Attacking anyone they could lay their hands on. Some of them would run over to the drinks stall, using their weapons to smash it to pieces. People began to run screaming, trying to get to safety. And the worse part was that they weren't running from him.

His golden eyes widened in immediate rage, how dare they steal his thunder! These people were HIS pickings, he had prepped them just enough for a most satisfying crescendo and now it was being taken from him by some lowlife thugs. He took a breathe, calming himself, as he began to make his way off of the platform. He stalked through the crowd, the menacing energy that cloaked him growing with each passing moment. At the very least, he knew now knew where he was going to begin.

They referred to themselves as PL4GUE, and apparently they were planning a street party of their own, but the Magic Council stole their idea. They were as pathetic as the rest of the fools here, taking ownership for something so pitifully unoriginal. In a way it was good though, it made killing them even more noteworthy. The peasants would believe the red-head was on their side which would no doubt made their deaths even more delicious once he turned on them.

He began with a young girl, she was dressed in a ray of neon colours, with painted horns protruding from her forehead. She wasn't really engaging with any of it, focusing more on her iLac than her surroundings. But it was clear she was with the group and for that reason, she had to die. As he stretched out his palm, from his pocket dimension he would summon forth a weapon, a bright orange gun appeared in his grip. He lifted the Jack-o'-Cannon, taking aim at the Orc girl, he would fire several shots at her. Each blast releasing orange ethereal energy wearing various facial expressions. They would sit her square in the face knocking her out before she even had a moment to realise she was being shot at.

Without skipping a beat, he turned to his next target. Which appeared to be some sort of elementals made of neon pink plasma. He adjusted his weapon, firing another blast, this one bigger than before. Releasing a chaotic boom that would rattle the entirety of the area. Several of the elementals were blown to smithereens, albeit a few survived the blast. To which Jester aimed a few more singular shots in their direction, relentlessly firing until they were all dead. "How dare you come against us! You must work for the magic council to try and force your hand against the likes of us." One of the armoured men remarked, his face hidden under what appeared to be a mechanical skull. Jester had to admit, he appreciated the armour, this was perhaps a look more tolerable than the others. But still, he too had to die.

A wave of magical sound would erupt from the beta's chest, hitting Jester square on. Causing him to slide back across the ground slightly, the clown man made no signs of being hurt but it was clear the attack had done some damage. Jester de-spawned the gun, sending it back to the other world, he would snap his fingers. Playing cards appearing at his fingertips, they would spread over him like an arch. Fluttering in the sky like butterflies, their sharpened metallic edges glinting against the neon lights. "Wait... I recognise you... You're that guy. The Warlord of Devastation. You're Jester!" A wide grin would stretch across the clowns face, so sudden that it appeared as though his face had transformed entirely.

"Indeed I am. And do you know what a little piggy should do when they come across a Warlord?" He paused and in that pause his cards would fly, impaling themselves into the body of betas. Killing them all instantly. "They should run." He would hear the man behind him, the leading swinging his flaming katana down from behind the clown in an attempt to catch him off guard. There was a crack and the clown would disappear. A Harlequin doll in its place, it's face and arms spinning around at unnatural angles. It would look up at the incoming samurai and with an upward thrust drive the machetes into his chest, and into his heart.

Dead.

All of them. Goodie, there was uncertainty amongst the crowd that eyed the Warlord, having read about his crazed natures in the magazines and witnessed his acts of evil from the television. He eyed them all quietly, and with the flickering of his fingers, several more cards would appear. "Best start running piggies."

And with that, the screams would commence.

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