Melbourne, Australia

They say that the human body is mostly made of water. Dark Jace, a multiversal demigod empowered the excretion of Regular Jace’s tears, was no exception. Since he’d arrived in this hellish dystopia, referred to as “The Real World”, he couldn’t help but be thrown off by the absurdly large quantities of water, everywhere. Since he often traveled by transforming into a blot of tearful mist that soared on the winds, he had to dedicate his precious time to disentangling the putrid humidity from his pristine droplets.

Given that he had now been disentangling himself for what felt like four months, in spite of the fact it had definitely only been a matter of seconds, he felt so deeply unclean that he swore he could slaughter millions, bathe in their blood, and still feel violated by the end of it all.

Having been grooming himself under the cover of the underside of RJ’s bed frame, he braced himself. Finally feeling that he was presentable, or at least presentable enough to stand before such an inelegant bum as Regular Jace, he firmly grasped hold of Jace’s bedsheets and blankets and pulled hard. Like an amateur magician failing to rip a tablecloth from beneath a bottle of wine, he yanked Regular Jace out of bed, causing him to hit the ground so hard that he heard RJ’s bones break like a shot glass against concrete.

As his hips shattered, Regular Jace’s eyes opened with an emotionless understanding, the unfeeling considerations of one who has given up on life. While Regular Jace’s mouth was silent, his body language was more than sufficient. Dark Jace listened intently to what Jace’s body was telling him. Regular Jace’s intestines wriggled like fire hoses within him. They spoke of a desire so primal and familiar that Dark Jace intuitively understood.

“What’s the matter, Regular Jace? You look slightly more pathetic today than usual, which I would normally think of as a good thing but I noticed that you’re not crying as much as usual.”

Regular Jace nodded his head, spreading his lips as if to take a breath before losing interest, seeming to be overcome by the suffocating grip of depression. But RJ had something to say, even if it was something that his mouth couldn’t say. So his ass did.

“It’s my bowels,” his anus announced, modulating an Australian accent as closely as possible, with an uneven pace owed to the fact that the bottleneck for its speech was the amount of putrid air that sat within his intestines. The strain that opening up demanded was evident from the look on RJ’s face, as his eyes dilated, focusing to a finer point than a Ticonderoga pencil ever could. Every vein in his face bulged to the surface as his back end spoke the words that he could not find, “My bowels are unusually irritated lately. Furious. They will not be sated until they taste blood.”

“I see,” Dark Jace nodded, understanding. “You won’t be able to resume your usual whining until your bowels know what it’s like to have blood on their hands. I think I can help with that.” A smile crept over Dark Jace’s lips as he saw a familiar-looking kangaroo outside his window, “and I know just where to start.”