((Takes place in a mixed Marvel/DC world))
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I CAN'T TAKE REVENGE ON EARTH!?" Mister Nebula wailed, the cosmic decorator flailing his hands in a sissy-like manner.
The Living Tribunal, sitting on an invisible throne, just stared at him. "IT IS OUR DECREE THAT EARTH IS TOO IMPORTANT IN THE COSMIC SCHEME OF THINGS FOR YOU TO SUBJECT IT TO YOUR PERVERSE BRAND OF STYLE," it said.
"But they tricked me!" Mister Nebula insisted. "They said they were implimenting my style on their own, but they haven't done anything to make it more to my taste since then!"
"Your 'style' results in mass suicides," Death said. "Entire planets kill themselves just to escape your horrid modifications to their planet."
"Either that or they call me to devour their worlds," Galactus said, glaring at him. "I get TERRIBLE gas from those atrocities!"
Mister Nebula was shocked. "S-Suicides? And... and you actually EAT my redecorated planets? My MASTERPIECES!?"
Kismet shook her head. "Your style is a poison, Mister Nebula. Earth has done too much for the universe for it to be subjected to your twisted whims."
"We cannot allow you to cause damage to a world that has, against all odds, become one of the most important in the universe," Infinity said.
"Consider yourself lucky," Spectre said, glaring at Mister Nebula. "Trillions of lives call out for your destruction. It is only because of the Tribunal's decree that I do not kill you outright."
"B-But..." Mister Nebula stammered, frightened and confused by the anger on his fellow cosmic entities' faces. "If you'll just let me explain my reasons..."
"No," Eternity said. "This meeting is over. The Tribunal has made his decree. You cannot touch Earth."
With a rush that lesser mortals would have called 'wind,' Mister Nebula found himself back on the bright lavender and yellows of his worldship. Stunned, defeated, he trudged back to his room and curled up in a fetal
position on his bed, putting on the most depressing emo music he could find in his record collection. As he listened, though, he felt a rare anger growing in his soul. His eyes narrowed, the lavender, lime green, and neon-yellow armored villain's face becoming
intimidating for the first time in his entire existence.
He thrust out his hand, manipulating the cosmic aether around him, forming a new being into existence. He was pink-skinned, wearing a gold sequined outfit with a lavender ascot, his eyes crackling with mint green energy,
his hair neon orange. Everything about this creature was tacky, tacky, tacky, right down to his voice.
Mister Nebula grinned. To his eyes, he was perfect.
"They said I couldn't touch Earth, but they never mentioned sending a herald," Mister Nebula said, his voice in a rare actually intimidating tone. It sounded so very, very wrong. "Go, my Stylist. Restyle the heroes
and villains of Earth into something fabulous. Let none stand in your way. Make no alliances. Any that come to you, remold according to your desires. I have only three rules for you, my herald: Be creative. Be fabulous. And be MERICLESS."
"Like, totally," the Stylist said, grinning. "For you, boss man, I'm gonna, like, totally remake those uncouth dudes and dudettes a living tribute to you!" Swirling bands on neon energy formed around the Stylist as
he vanished in a bright light, reappearing on Earth. He looked around at his surroundings, grinning in approval.
"Shyeah, this place is in total need of a makeover," the Stylist said, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "Time to get to work."