It's midnight in Paris, and the Eiffel tower looks much more spooky than normal, what with it being shrouded in fog. Inside, a fat man in expensive yet disheveled clothing runs for his life while cursing in French. "Christ! I never should have bought that mummy. It wasn't even a real mummy, merde!" His tirade is interrupted as he turns a corner, bumping directly into the "mummy" he was fleeing from.
Indeed, it is hard to describe the thing in front of him as a simple mummy. Standing 6'2'' in combat boots, with faded jeans and a leather apron hanging loosely on his desiccated frame. If it wasn't for the butcher's belt filled with knives and cleavers, his pants would probably fall right off. Then again, you wouldn't see a look of embarrassment even if that were to happen, given that his head is covered with an old sack cloth, leaving only his red eyes exposed. Yes, it is he: the baghead butcher, known to the news media as the terror of capitalism and the real life slasher movie monster.
He reacts to being bumped into with a bit of confusion, keeping a tilt in his head even while drawing a fresh blade from his belt. The fat man panics at the site of this but, before he can even finish turning around to run away, he finds that his throat has been cut. He falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes, unable to even scream as the last of his life drains from the wound in his neck. The butcher pays no reverence to this scene, however, as he is too busy butchering the now dead man. He removes key organs such as the liver, heart, and brain first as they can be eaten raw.
As he feasts on them, one can notice that his desiccated state begins to recover. The butcher doesn't seem too pleased with this development, as it is far too slow for him. "Eating more is a waste given how little evil this pig managed to accrue. Removing all the excess fat is a pain as well," the butcher thinks while heaving a sigh, his stomach still protesting in hunger as he exits the famous French landmark.
While wandering the streets in search of a new meal, he thinks back to the strange encounter he had at that fat man's mansion. The butcher was collecting stolen goods to return to their owners when he stumbled on a lamp radiating such evil it made him drool. After some fiddling, the lamp broke open to reveal a blue man in garb reminiscent of the butcher's old home in Kurdistan. Unable to eat this blue man on account of him turning into mist just before the blade chopped him, the butcher had finally given up when the blue man suddenly said "wait. You may be a cheeky fellow, but that doesn't change the fact you freed me from that prison. Take this key as a gift and, should you ever grow bored or stressed, use it to go on a vacation of sorts."
This confused the butcher, as ever since he underwent the self-cannibalization ritual to remain in this world after death, emotions in general have become a foreign thing. Still, given the underwhelming meal he just ate just moments ago, the butcher couldn't help but imagine what kind of food a place would have to possess in order to be considered vacation in his eyes. And it is because of this distraction that he failed to notice an Aryan lad sneaking up on him until the fellow had already grabbed his shoulder.
He turned to instinctively chop the offender's arm off at the shoulder before stopping midway, as he recognized the fellow grabbing him. Quickly holstering the hog splitter which had already jumped in his hand, the butcher asked "You?"
The handsome white boy had to take a moment to compose himself before responding. This is only natural as the hog splitter axe, which appeared for only a second, radiated such a malevolent aura that it instantly sent him into fight or flight mode. Finally calming himself, the boy responded with "yes it's me, kin of the grand dragon Luis Meyer I. Why are you here?"
The butcher ignored little luis' question, as he was too busy thinking "I was right to spare this boy. Not a speck of evil on him even after I killed his father." With his hunger growing stronger by the minute, though, he knew he needed to get this kid away from him. Thus, the butcher said "let go junior," in his most intimidating tone which, when combined with his already hoarse voice, made the statement sound like more of a growl than a coherent sentence.
Luis Meyer jr should be commended for his integrity, as despite every fiber of his being telling him he would die if he stayed here any longer, he still refused to let go. The young man practically shouted back "no, I can't. I... understand you killing my father. He was at least partially responsible for the stuff that happened to you back then. But what did the Brazilian government have to do with your daughter's demise? And what did that military base you destroyed have to do with it? I learned from my father's mistakes, and now I help people stuck in the white supremacist culture escape it. But what have you learned from all that? How are you still the same despite 10 years passing since then? Hey, are you even listening? Stop dragging me already and answer me!"
The butcher had already tried to separate himself by walking away at this point, but the gutsy kid holding his shoulder wouldn't let go. They now stood in the middle of the road, eyes locked on each other. Losing his patience, the butcher finally said "don't make me kill an innocent today."
But Luis Meyer jr is indeed a gutsy kid, and his rhetorical skills don't fall far behind either, as he shot back with "could I still stay innocent if I let you go? I can't, so I must stop your rampage here... even if I have to give my life in the process."
The rumbling of the Butcher's stomach had now reached deafening levels, as evidenced from the fact neither of them noticed the oncoming truck until it was almost upon them. Reacting in an instant, the Butcher kicked Luis Meyer jr away and put up a hand. Unsurprisingly, it was the truck which failed the contest of strength, crumbling like an empty beer can against the Butcher's outstretched palm. What was surprising, however, was what happened next. For, during the contest of strength, that mysterious key given to the Butcher fell out of his apron pocket as it fluttered in the wind.
Upon reaching the ground, that mysterious key sunk into it instead of bouncing like a normal key would. Afterwards, it turned, and a large door appeared out of nowhere. Since he was busy fending off a speeding truck, the Butcher only noticed this happening after the door beneath him had already opened, leaving him no choice but to fall through the doorway and into the inky blackness beyond it.
The door then closed and disappeared, leaving only a broken key and a confused former white supremacist behind. "Shit, I can't believe I'm going to have to contact him," grumbled Luis Meyer jr as he fished the driver from the now destroyed truck and attempted first aid.
Meanwhile, beyond the dimension door, a lazy looking man of a deity lounged on a tuft of clouds and drank wine by himself despite having two glasses in front of him. The reason for the second glass soon became apparent as the baghead butcher suddenly appeared, landing face first on the fluffy cloud platform.
"Hello, dimension traveler. My name is Bacchus, and I have chosen you to represent me as champion in this other world. I'm sure you have many questions, but let me run through this quick FAQ some smarter champions have created to assist us in this process. Now let's see..." the god said before summoning a long parchment and reciting its contents.
Unfortunately for him, however, the Butcher had already ceased paying heed to his words. This made sense, though, considering the deity's aura was much more interesting than anything he could say for a being like the butcher. Thinking to himself, the butcher remarked "how delectable. He may possess evil and good in equal parts, but the fact that both of them are so pure is insane. Ah, i'm drooling just thinking about taking a bite of him."
"Hey, are you listening to me?" the god asked.
"Yes," the Butcher absentmindedly replied.
"Any questions then?"
"Can I eat you?"
"What?"
"Just a taste please," The Butcher said, hog splitter already in his hands.
"What are you doing with that?" the god asked, surprised that this simple axe could even make him feel a twinge of fear.
"Getting my taste," the Butcher responded before making a chop at the god. Bacchus raised his hand in response, but was again surprised as the axe was able to leave a papercut sized wound on him. The hog splitter, upon tasting the single drop of god-blood it spilt, screeched with joy as its malevolence doubled. This blade was clearly just as eager as its owner to get more of a taste of this deity.
His patience well past the limit, Bacchus finally shattered the glass in his other hand. "That's it! I may be the god of madness, but even I have my limits. No boon for you mister!" He said before sending the butcher flying with a well placed kick. But, even as he fell, those ravenous eyes never left the god seated above. Once the nuisance was gone, the god Bacchus burst out into laughter as a set of ram's horns grew from his forehead. "Hahaha! He is perfect for this stagnated world. Let's see how you like this monkey wrench thrown into your schemes father!"
The butcher, meanwhile, had already crashed onto the ground below. Standing up, he looked around to find himself in the middle of a dense forest. Initially unsure of what to do, the sudden scent of evil coming from upwind woke him from his stupor. With a stomach still rumbling and a frame more desiccated than ever, the butcher headed north to the source of the smell, his every step somehow traveling multiple meters at a time.