Kira: Previously this was only about 700 words or so, so I decided to spice it up a bit more. Yes, this is about the demon Chaos, about what I think his mind would look like. Oh, and review or Chaos will hunt you down. -sweatdrops- Blame him for that threat! And yes I DON'T own Chaos at all, but this mind of his is mine hahah. My Chaos muse finally shrank to the size of a small five inches and sat on my shoulder dictatoring what I should write basically.

It was dead, cold. A kind of chill resided there, one that could seep into the very marrow of anyone's bones and freeze them from the insides with the essence of dread, choking them with its unforgiving grip. That was what awaited anyone in his mind, his domain where he reigned supreme, or did he? The atmosphere was chilling, colder than the word itself, yet not a bit of snow reached the chilling hard ground, which ranged from sand to mercifulness stone, crumbling as it was. It was a place where death rested. No one's domain but his, yet he was also a prisoner of it. A prisoner of his own mind... Oh the tragic irony for a demon who wished hell upon the planet.

The sky was alight with a black hole nearly swallowing the horizon, the sight of it seemed to nearly crack the very sky, dusk red as it was, like a sunset without the sun, just lingering below the horizon forever suspended. The slight twinkles of dying stars, of all colors, but mostly white for being so far away, glimmered weakly in the wake of the deadly hole, greedily and forever sucking in anything in its path, but it never moved, no, it stayed there, never growing large, and never weakening nor strengthening. The sky was also swarming with monstrous thunder clouds, tearing the very fabric of the sky apart with blinding blue lightning and roaring ear-splitting thunder. Wind shrieked over the hostile dead land, a voice composed of an orchestra of billions of lost souls, wanting redemption, peace, anything other than dwelling in a chaotic world they were in.

Lightning shattered the ground constantly, setting aflame to already burned dead trees. The bark always seemed to rejuvenate itself just so it could catch fire again, the flames hungrily licking at life giving wood, eating, corroding the flesh of the trees, like a real living being. But no mortal could ever survive in this world... The trees littered the small expanse of area, a mile long and wide. Not one sight of other vegetation was seen, seemingly have never grown there at all. Each tree ranged from a sapling to a moderate length of fifteen feet tall.

There was a small beach, dark midnight black waters raging against the small shore, tearing away old sand, replacing with new sand, churched until it became as cold as diamonds. That was how the ground felt, cold like iron, freezing any flesh that dared to try and walk upon it. There was no type of warmth there, even the fires was stark cold, unforgiving to all getting burned, crackling wickedly. Black ash-covered mountains covered three directions, allowing no passage way away from the place. Such an unforgiving place, but it was ripe for a demon who only lusted for blood, chaos, and destruction. Yes, just perfect.

Right in the middle of that single area was a prison. It, however, was not made of strong steel, no, that'd be too easy to break free from. It was thorns, living thorns that could contain the demon's billowing fury. To another that might step foot into this twisted place, so unlikely that is, they would have scornfully laugh at it. But the thorns were stronger than they would seem. Easily can they strip flesh from skin, tear muscle straight to the bone.

Each individual thorn was three inches long with four inches across. The vines that held them formed a strong cage prison, thorns facing outwards and inwards, as well as a few side to side. Blood covered the bottom of the cage, dried and wet, soaking the ground, but never devoured. Scratches dug deep into the ground and thorny vines, made by terribly wicked sharp claws, the ones of the demon. Blood had been splattered everywhere it could even reach, staining anything it ever touched. Yet the demon was still present, held captive, a slave to his own mind-world. Controlled and subdued by those very vines after a while. It was such pity for a demon of destruction, and name known as Chaos.

Those blazing sulfuric eyes were closed, blood dripping to the ground as thorns held tight to their prey, piercing great big tattered wings, creeping up his chest, thorns pressed against flesh, seeking blood. Legs and arms were tightly constricted, held suspended above the ground a few inches. It would hold for awhile, it always did. But he always broke loose… Give him an hour or less, yes, much less. It was repeating, the want, no, the need, to bring ruin to all. But until a host was found, he could never unleash his fury. Yes, his 'host'… What a grand day it would be when that particular vessel was found. Until then, the nightmare would continue in this hell of a place.