Crimson light shimmered beneath the surface of the moon, diffused through a dome of chaos-fusion energy that crackled like a living storm. The lunar bedrock had been torn open and reshaped, revealing a sprawling city built by mad hands and brilliant minds. Beneath the dome, towering steel megastructures clawed toward the curved ceiling. Black metallic streets wove between the titanic columns, pulsing with glowing crimson circuitry, like veins in some vast subterranean organism. A massive blood-colored pool shimmered at the city's center, reflecting the eerie glow of bioluminescent trees and vine-wrapped towers sprouting from the ash-gray soil.
Wanda Maximoff stood barefoot at the edge of the chaos pool, her fingers slowly weaving arcs of glowing red magic through the air. As her hands moved, the vegetation around her shifted and pulsed. Red lotus flowers bloomed from silver bramble stalks, bleeding tiny streaks of chaos energy into the soil. Trees with obsidian bark and red-glowing leaves twisted slowly to follow the Kara-shaped golden statue still under construction at the city's heart. Jean Grey floated nearby, her eyes half-lidded in concentration as she telepathically regulated the growth patterns, pruning and nudging the chaos-fueled lifeforms into balance.
Kara Zor-El hovered above the tallest spire of the city, arms folded, cape fluttering softly in the low gravity. Her gaze swept the landscape: the biome's growing flora, the forge chimneys venting cool vapor from fusion infrastructure, the rhythm of construction crews laying more infrastructure by the minute. "We're really going for a good hellscape theme, huh?" she muttered.
Jean descended, landing beside her on the platform. "Deliciously depressing. I love it," she replied dryly, brushing imaginary dust off her red and black coat. Her gaze lingered on a formation of steel arches covered in thorned vines that pulsed with ambient power. "There's poetry in making a garden of horror."
Kara raised an eyebrow. "Beauty and terror should always coexist. It keeps people loyal and just a little too afraid to ask questions."
Down below, a group of juggernauts marched past with crates of fusion cores and chaos-nurtured seedlings. They walked in silence, clad in matte-black exo-armor and carrying ornate gardening tools strapped next to plasma rifles. Several turned to bow toward Kara's statue under construction before resuming their tasks.
Kara's eyes drifted to the thick braids of conduit that stretched between the main fusion generator—built from Dr. Octavius's stolen blueprints—and the environmental control systems nested across the lunar complex. "Isn't it weird how fast we're building all this?" she asked aloud, voice more contemplative than concerned.
Wanda turned from her spellwork and walked toward the spire's balcony. "Kara," she said with a soft, amused expression, "we're evil yanderes. Of course we can invent tech faster than anyone else. It's part of the lifestyle perks."
Kara nodded slowly, as though considering the truth of it for the first time. "You know what? That makes perfect sense." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Should've embraced this sooner. My old world was such a waste of potential."
Then, with deliberate grace, she floated back down to ground level, her boots landing before the giant golden statue being molded from molten ore and reshaped by her laser vision. The statue towered over the rest of the city—regal, hands extended outward as if offering chaos and salvation in equal measure. Her own eyes, pulsing with solar heat, fired twin beams of gold into the statue's eyes, carving intricate pupils that would soon emit ambient warmth and ultraviolet light.
"This," Kara said, motioning to the monument, "is not vanity. It's a necessary centerpiece of faith and fabulousness."
Wanda laughed lightly behind her and resumed weaving a network of chaos-touched vines across a metallic balcony above the nutrient pools. "Should we etch a hymn into the base?" she asked.
"I've already written five," Kara replied.
Jean stood near a control panel, her mind linked with the entire lunar climate system. "Oxygen levels stable. Humidity rising within acceptable limits," she announced. "We'll have breathable air within seventy-two hours." Around her, the chaos flora adjusted, growing more efficient by the second.
"Excellent," Kara said, crossing her arms and looking up at the dome. The swirling chaos shield that enclosed the underground crater rippled like silk in a breeze, its hues shifting between crimson and violet as Wanda's spells maintained its durability. The air shimmered with latent power—subtle but unmistakably alive.
"We've just taken our first step off this pitiful little planet," Kara said, her voice rich with satisfaction. She turned and watched Wanda adjust her gauntlet, red energy threading between her fingers like ink in water.
"Do you think they'll even realize it?" Jean asked.
"No," Kara answered. "Not until the Earth is already kneeling."
Construction crews worked tirelessly. Large drills bored further into the moon's crust to expand the facility downward, while scaffolds of golden alloy stretched toward new wings of the city meant for civilian colonists, loyalist househusbands, and re-educated scientists. Plans had already been drafted for an underground tea ceremony amphitheater, an archive vault of villainous manifestos, and a psychological reprogramming center disguised as a spa.
In the distance, several juggernauts tested new gravity-warping boots over chaos-laced flooring while engineers installed crimson-lit signs bearing Kara's sigil. Overhead, automated drones floated like steel angels, dropping modular supplies and rewiring core systems on the fly.
Wanda approached again and stood beside Kara, arms folded as she admired the city's pulse. "We've created life here," she said.
Kara gave her a sideways glance. "Crimson life. That's the best kind."
Wanda reached out, touching Kara's arm with faint affection. "We're not just building a home. We're building a throne the stars will one day kneel before."
Kara smiled—quiet, satisfied, radiant. She looked again toward the statue of herself, towering golden and serene, its eyes now glowing gently. "Let them look to the moon," she said softly. "Let them wonder. Let them dream of gods."
And beneath a moon no longer barren, where blood-colored waters rippled and golden gods looked down, the Empire of London's most sacred outpost bloomed—crimson, alive, and ready for conquest.
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