Time was of no meaning down below Gardenview. The air was cold, sterile, mixed with the scent of Ichor dropping through pipes and echoing through the ground.

Naturally, Boxten had grown quite accustomed to this by now. He'd no idea how long he'd spent below. How long his corruption had lasted. Even how long he last played music from his head, now filled to the brim with Ichor that formulated a second pair of arms.

Did it matter, though? The Twisted's corrupted, broken mind held nothing but bloodlust now. There was no room for melodies and tunes. No room for anything but death. The thrill of the chase. Cold, wet Ichor staining his hands, dark as his mind and body.

Anything could happen by this point. Anything at all.

[Delete this part: open scenario, go crazy, I'm working on more Dandy's World later trust 🙏]