M31.004, Location: The Black Veil – A twisted moon on the edge of the Maelstrom, echoing the unfiltered whispers of the Warp.
The Joker lounged atop a throne of petrified memories, the remnants of shattered minds swirling around him like a tempest. He sipped from a goblet made of shattered glass and screams, savoring the sweet nectar of fractured thoughts while he studied his latest acquisition: a broken Inquisitorial dataslate. Half-corrupted by daemonic echoes, half-preserved by stubborn logic, it flickered before him, names and incidents dancing across the cracked display.
He turned it over in his hands, a smirk creeping across his face.
"Darth Vader – Segmentum Obscurus – Warp Anomaly Confirmed," he read aloud, eyes glinting with mischief. "Shao Kahn – Subsector Malkor – Hive Massacre Patterns. The Witch-king – Aelion Void – Plague-Dread Signatures. Griffith – Calixis Fringe – Political Uprisings Aligned. Hisoka – Cerulean Reach – Disappearances Traced to Psychic Clusters. Dr. Henry Wu – Jericho Reach – Biomutant Plague Scourge."
"Interesting," he mused, a quiet smile forming, teeth hidden like a knife kept just out of reach.
He tossed the goblet aside, the screams echoing as it plummeted into the abyss.
"Well now…"
He had always known he wasn't the only player on this board. The gods, after all, were greedy. Selfish. They claimed to desire entropy and ecstasy, stagnation and scheming, but they didn't trust each other with all their eggs in one depraved basket.
"Quite the party," he whispered, eyes flicking skyward. "You're cheating on me."
—
With a flick of his wrist, he summoned the Warp around him, the chaotic energies swirling in anticipation. In an instant, he was no longer in the Black Veil. Instead, he stood in the Echo Chamber of Tzeentch, a library filled with contradictions, where every book screamed when opened and whispered your demise when closed. Infinite staircases twisted into Möbius knots, defying the very nature of geometry.
From the shadows emerged a Herald of Tzeentch, a many-faced being whose expressions shifted with every word it spoke, eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and danger.
"You seek clarity, little paradox?" it cooed, its voice a silky caress.
"I seek the punchline," Joker replied, stepping forward, his grin fading into something darker. "I thought I was the only act. Turns out this is more of a... variety show."
The Herald rippled, its features morphing. "You are still center stage, blessed one. The others are... supporting acts. Noise. Contrast. You bring color to the madness."
"Liar, liar, feathers on fire." Joker's words were sharp. "You chose them too."
"Did we not say you would be one of our voices?"
"I thought that meant the voice. Singular. Me. With a capital 'M' and a murder count to match."
The room tilted, reality stretching under the weight of their conversation.
"You are the one who dances," the Herald replied, enigmatic. "But dancers often perform in troupes."
"And I thought the gods loved me."
"They do. But love is not loyalty."
Joker's eyes narrowed, a spark of defiance igniting within him. "Then I'll make you love me. I'll make you need me."
With that, he turned and vanished, leaving an echo of silence in his wake, sharp enough to cut through the fabric of the chamber.
—
Next, he arrived in the Garden of Sensation, a domain of Slaanesh, where screams and moans formed a symphony and every sensation was worshiped. A Keeper of Secrets lounged among fountains that spat molten silk, its form shifting and undulating with every breath.
"Ahh, the sweet clown. Come to bask in pleasure? Or to question?" it purred, eyes glistening with a thousand desires.
Joker's demeanor hardened, his voice low. "You've been busy. Dipping fingers in more pies. I thought our flirtation meant something."
The Keeper licked the air, a tantalizing gesture. "And it did. But monogamy is so… mortal."
"I'm not jealous," Joker said, his tone sharp. "Jealousy implies loss. I want to make it very clear... I don't share center stage."
"You are unique," the daemon murmured, a sly smile creeping across its face. "But chaos is pluripotent. Multiplicity is worship."
Joker giggled, a sound that resonated with both delight and menace. "Then let me unify your choir."
With that declaration, he vanished again, leaving behind a shadow that moaned long after he had gone.
—
He chose not to visit Nurgle or Khorne. The first would offer only rot and denial, the second only violence and dismissal. He could sense that they had chosen others; they hadn't even invited him to the blood feasts or the plague circles.
He didn't need their excuses. He needed a plan.
—
Back in his hidden sanctum — a floating ruin tethered to a Warp rift like a balloon — Joker sat down to write.
Plans. Paths. Plots.
He mapped each champion, analyzing their styles, their gods, their likely ambitions. He painstakingly recorded every word spoken in the Crucible, replaying them with new ears.
Vader's silence? A mask hiding deeper layers.
Griffith's civility? A throne waiting to be stolen.
Shao Kahn? A hammer looking for a skull to crush.
Wu? A scalpel with no master to guide it.
The Witch-king? Death unspoken, lurking in the shadows.
Hisoka? Chaos incarnate in flesh, rivaling even Joker's own madness.
And himself? The wild card. The one no god could fully predict.
He laughed, truly laughed this time — a sound that reverberated through the Warp itself, drawing attention from the unseen.
"You've made your little warriors," he said to the shadows, the gods, to the infinite possibilities around him. "But me? I'm the punchline they'll never see coming."
He stood, spinning in a circle, arms wide, embracing the madness that surrounded him.
"Let them burn worlds! I'll burn meanings. Let them slay armies — I'll slay narratives. When they think they've won, I'll change the rules."
His grin turned cruel, a glimmer of insanity flashing in his eyes.
"And when they fail you — and they will— you'll come crawling back to ol' Mister J, begging for a laugh to save your sorry pantheons."
He clicked his heels together, the sound sharp and defiant.
"Let the other champions play their little war games. I'll write the script... and set the galaxy on fire with the punchline."
The Warp twisted around him, a chaotic embrace, as he reveled in the possibilities.
And somewhere, deep within the Eye, a Chaos God smiled, intrigued by the unfolding tapestry of madness.