/hypno/ - board available

In the bleak, starry nights of a dystopian city, where the streets were a maze of twisted alleyways and crumbling buildings, there lurked a veshch—a darkness—so deep that even the most bolshy of the droogies dared not speak its name. It was in these shadows that Alex DeLarge, once a mere malchick of the streets, found himself drawn into a nightmarish voyage beyond the ken of ordinary veshches.

It all began on the cold, drizzling evening when Alex, with his droogs—Dim, Georgie, and Pete—prowled the backways, looking for a bit of the old ultra-violence. As they prowled, a strange, flickering glow emanated from an abandoned factory. Curious, Alex led his gang inside, where they discovered a door sealed with strange glyphs—a language long forgotten. With a veshch of curiosity and a hunger for the forbidden, Alex pushed open the door, revealing a spiraling staircase descending into darkness.

At the bottom, they found a cavernous chamber filled with pulsing, pulsating nadsat—strange, eldritch machinery that thrummed with an unearthly power. In the center stood a towering obelisk, covered in runes and symbols that seemed to shift and writhe. As Alex approached, a voice—deep, guttural, and ancient—echoed in his mind: *"You seek the power, malchick? The chaos beyond chaos?"*

Without hesitation, Alex touched the obelisk. The moment his fingers made contact, a searing pain shot through his skull, like a thousand razors tearing through his synapses. Visions flooded his mind—visions of worlds unmade, of stars exploding in cosmic fury, of the very fabric of reality unraveling. He felt his consciousness expand beyond the confines of his mortal shell, into a vast, infinite chaos—an omnipotent god of destruction.

As the agony subsided, Alex found himself changed. His eyes glowed with an unnatural light; his voice carried the weight of eternity. The chaos within him now externalized—infecting everything around him. Buildings crumbled at his whim, time itself warped and slowed at his whim, and the very fabric of reality bent to his will. He was no longer just a malchick; he was the embodiment of chaos itself.

His droogs, terrified and awestruck, watched as Alex unleashed horrors beyond their understanding. He summoned storms of fire and ice, twisted the laws of physics, and reshaped the city into a nightmare landscape of his own design. The streets echoed with the screams of the lost, the skies roared with cosmic fury, and all who opposed him found their worlds shattered in an instant.

But the true horror was not in his destruction—it was in what Alex had become. The chaos had devoured his soul, transforming him into a living nightmare, a god of destruction and madness that no mortal could contain. His mind, once sharp and cruel, now dissolved into endless chaos, a vortex of horror from which nothing could escape.

In the end, the city was reduced to ash and rubble, a testament to the power of a malchick who dared to touch the forbidden veshch. And somewhere in the void, Alex DeLarge—now an omnipotent god of chaos—laughed a cruel, echoing laugh that reverberated through the cosmos, a reminder that some veshches are better left untouched, lest they consume all in their path.

And so, the legend of Alex, the malchick turned chaos god, spread across the shadows—a horror story for the ages, a warning that sometimes, the thirst for power can lead a malchick into a darkness from which there is no return