Lord Of Chaos In DC

War. It is an endless cycle of violence, pain, and suffering.

Humans always wage war, igniting it over the smallest reasons—whose god is more righteous, whose land is more vast, whose woman is more beautiful. The excuses may change, but the result remains the same: bloodshed.

And yet, deep down, humans fear war. They fear its consequences, the death it brings. Some seek to avoid it—through strategy, through politics—but in the end, it never truly matters. Because war always starts.

But what if there was one who did not fear war?

What if there was a man who craved it?

A man who did not fear death, who had no desire beyond chaos—who wished for nothing more than to kill, to burn, to pillage, to take and embrace as many women as his hands could grasp? A man who saw war not as a tragedy, but as the purest, most exhilarating expression of existence?

Such a man would be… terrifying.

Such a man did exist.

He was Nuxsus. The Ruthless King. A name erased from history out of fear that his legend might inspire another like him.

It was he who shattered the world of his time, bringing ruin to the greatest civilizations of the Bronze Age. The Mycenaeans of Greece, the mighty Egyptian Empire, the Canaanite city-states—none could withstand the tide of his warpath. He was a force of nature, a beast that no blade could slay, no army could halt.

But in the end, it was not a warrior who bested him. It was not an army, not a blade, not a hero seeking vengeance.

It was disease.

A fever that rotted his body from the inside out. A slow, agonizing death that robbed him of the battlefield. His flesh burned with sickness, his once-unbreakable frame wasting away, his voice—once a war cry that made nations tremble—reduced to rasps.

To die like this… it was an insult. A disgrace.

Nuxsus, the greatest warlord to ever live, the man who brought an age to ruin, was not felled in glorious battle but by the cruel hands of fate itself.

And so, the Ruthless King fell.

And history buried him, hoping never to unearth his name again.

....

The void was not a place. It was an absence—a vast, endless expanse where time, light, and meaning ceased to exist. It was the space between life and death, a purgatory for those who belonged nowhere. And here, in this infinite nothingness, Nuxsus resided.

For millennia, his soul lingered, untethered and unyielding. He had refused to bow to any god, to acknowledge any higher power, and in doing so, he had become an enigma. The gods of heaven and hell could not claim him, could not control him, could not even speak to him. His existence was a paradox, a human soul that defied the very fabric of creation. And so, he remained in the void, a shadow of the man he once was, his essence slowly eroding in the endless silence.

But Nuxsus was not one to fade quietly. Even in the void, his will burned like a dying star, defiant and unbroken. He had no purpose, no goal, no hope—only the memory of war, of blood, of conquest. It was enough to keep him anchored, to prevent his soul from dissolving entirely.

Then, one day, something changed.

A presence emerged in the void, a force so vast and incomprehensible that it made the gods seem like mere specks of dust. It was not a god, nor was it a mortal. It was something older, something primal. It was Chaos.

Chaos was not a being in the traditional sense. It was a concept, an embodiment of disorder and unpredictability, older than light and darkness, older than time itself. Chaos did not care for gods or humans, for heaven or hell. It existed for its own sake, driven by its own desires. And yet, something had caught its attention.

The phenomenon of reincarnation had begun to spread across the multiverse. Gods were plucking souls from their resting places, sending them to new worlds, and granting them powers beyond imagination. These reincarnated humans thrived, some even ascending to godhood themselves. At first, Chaos had paid little attention. But as the phenomenon grew, so too did the chaos it created. Timelines were disrupted, worlds were thrown into turmoil, and the balance of existence was shaken.

Chaos reveled in it. The more disorder, the more power it gained—not that it needed more power. But the idea intrigued it. "Perhaps," Chaos thought, "I should give this a try."

There was only one problem: Chaos found humans dull. They lived, they died, they ended up in heaven or hell. Their souls were predictable, their desires mundane. None of them sparked its interest.

And so, Chaos searched. It scoured every timeline, every reality, every corner of existence, looking for a soul worthy of its attention. It found nothing—until it stumbled upon a name.

The name was Nuxsus.

At first, Chaos thought it was a mistake. The name was not in the Book of Names, the sacred record that contained every soul that had ever existed or would exist. But upon closer inspection, Chaos realized the truth: the name had been there, once. It had been scratched out, erased, as if the very fabric of existence had tried to forget it.

Chaos smiled.

It followed the faint trace of the name, a thread of darkness and light intertwined, until it found him. Nuxsus.

The Ruthless King's soul was unlike anything Chaos had ever seen. It was a swirling maelstrom of light and darkness, not at war with each other but coexisting, merging, creating something entirely new. It was chaotic, unpredictable, and utterly fascinating.

"So this is you," Chaos murmured, its voice echoing through the void like the rumble of distant thunder. "A soul that belongs to no existence... no wonder they tried to erase you. You are chaos incarnate."

Nuxsus stirred, his essence flickering like a flame rekindled. He did not speak—he could not—but his presence was enough. It was defiance, anger, and an unquenchable thirst for destruction.

Chaos smiled wider. "Arise, Nuxsus," it commanded, its voice resonating with power. "My little flame of chaos. I demand you become mine."

And with those words, Chaos reached into the void, its formless hand grasping Nuxsus' soul. Light and darkness swirled around them as Chaos poured its power into the forgotten king, reshaping him, reviving him.

Nuxsus opened his eyes.

....

The first thing Nuxsus did was scan his surroundings.

The void remained unchanged—endless, formless, suffocating. But the presence before him? Now that was something worth acknowledging.

A woman—if she could even be called that.

Half her hair was a cascade of pure white, the other half as dark as the abyss itself. Her eyes mirrored that contrast but in opposite directions. And her form…

She wore nothing.

Even he, a man who had embraced more women than he could count, found himself momentarily mesmerized. A being of unfathomable beauty, yet not one born of nature—no, she was something beyond it.

Still, her words grated on him.

"Nuxsus belongs to no one but himself. Now, who are you, woman?"

His voice was deep, commanding, both barbaric and regal—a tone befitting a man who had once ruled through blood and fire.

Chaos grinned, a playful, wicked thing. "My, my… you are lovely! Perfect. Not even the gods dare speak to me like that."

"Gods?" He scoffed. "Fuck the gods. I do not submit to the laws of cowards too afraid to face me on the battlefield. If they wished to claim dominion over me, they should have done so when I was alive. The fact that I remain beyond their grasp is proof enough of their failure."

His words made her chuckle.

"Do my words insult you, Goddess?" He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "If so, I care not. No—let me have it. What the fuck do you want? Here to send me to some paradise? Or perhaps damnation? If hell is as chaotic as they say, I'd rather that."

Chaos threw her head back and laughed—a sound that shook the very void itself.

"YES! YOU ARE INDEED PERFECT!" She took a step forward, eyes gleaming with delight. "Nuxsus! Be my life, my soul, my Avatar—my chaos! I too share your view. Life is too dull to serve gods or whatever so-called 'heaven' they preach. It is all about chaos and fun, pain and suffering! So tell me, do you want that? A chance to spread more chaos?"

Nuxsus didn't hesitate. "Of course, I do. But not from you."

Chaos tilted her head.

"Oh?"

"You gods always have some sort of catch." His expression hardened. "I serve no one. Not even you."

She moved closer, her fingers trailing along his bare chest as she circled him, pressing her body against his back. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Of course, my little flame would serve no one. But I only have one request—spread as much chaos as you want. In fact—"

She placed a hand against his forehead.

Visions flooded his mind.

A world. No—worlds. Infinite possibilities. Kingdoms rising and falling. Wars waged and lost. Empires crumbling. The scent of blood, the cries of the weak, the thrill of conquest.

And through it all, the freedom to take. To pillage. To dominate.

"This is only a glimpse of where you might go," she purred.

Then, she licked his cheek, her breath warm against his skin.

"I will make you powerful, strong, mighty, and grant you true freedom. My only wish is to see it—to watch as you spread chaos in its purest form. That is my desire."

Nuxsus was silent. Considering. Calculating.

He still didn't trust her. But did that even matter?

She could claim whatever she wanted. He knew the truth—he would serve no one. And if she truly intended to grant him a second chance, then he would use it.

A chance to live. To reign.

To bring utter dominance over all there is and all there will be.

His lips curled into a grin. "Fine. I'm in. I want this chance to spread as much chaos as I desire." His eyes narrowed. "But if I see even a shred of betrayal from you—if I sense any attempt to control me—I will oppose you. I will bring order and justice to the world if I must, just to spite you."

Chaos only chuckled.

She cupped his face in her hands, her touch both gentle and electric.

"Of course, my little flame."

Then she leaned in—

And kissed him.

A surge of overwhelming power exploded within him.

The void shattered—

And then, everything went dark.