Dio Cooking Mama

The woman stepped forward. She examined some of the severed limbs of the ground, which had been roasted by the pipe steam. "These cuts... The heat..." A gleeful smile spread on her lips. Her eyes lit up—literally. Starry light shone from them as she clasped her hands together beside her cheek.

Isaac spoke. Which was pretty weird, because Foo wasn't sure he had said anything before then. He said: "It's her... One of Dr. Ivan Ooze's strongest minions, behind only the Elite Eighty-Eight...

"Cooking Mama."

"Result—Beef steak! 100 points. You're just as skilled as Mama!"

"Cooking who now?" said Foo.

"Next," said Cooking Mama, ignoring the question, "let's cook the perfect pizza."

The ground slid apart and swallowed them, down they went, until with a big hard thwack they slapped against something metal and rolled around moaning and groaning and rubbing their elbows. (Foo wasn't hurt, she just wanted to feel like she belonged.) Eventually she and Isaac sat up, rubbed their eyes and/or metal mask faces, and tried to figure out where they were.

It was dark. Hard to see anything. Feeling around, Foo figured out they were in a cramped, circular room, maybe with an area of 78.53982 etc. square meters, which when put that way sounded a lot bigger than it actually was. The floor was strange too, it wasn't exactly flat, there were holes spaced evenly along its surface, but the purpose of this pattern confounded her. Also, the floor wasn't hard, it was squishy and soft, with a pliable texture kind of like Foo's own body when she was plankton instead of people. Wet, too, although a chunky sort of wetness. She got down on her knees and licked. Tomato taste!

Isaac, somehow, seemed to know what was going on. "Just my luck. We're in the ovens."

"Ovens? Like—"

Along the outer rim of their enclosure, a ring of flames lit up from the holes in the floor. Instantly the place got a lot hotter, a lot. It also got a lot brighter, so she could see they were standing on a giant doughy crust that spanned the entire room. The crust was coated in goopy red sauce.

It was also covered in corpses.

"This pizza needed a bit more pepperoni," said Cooking Mama from above. "Now it's perfect! Just as good as Mama!"

"But you're Mama, and you're the one cooking, so that's obvious—"

The oven door slammed shut overhead. The fires from the outer burners blazed brighter and hotter and Foo started perspiring more liquid than she liked. She got down and tried to slurp up the tomato sauce to replenish herself, but it was way more tomato than sauce—homestyle recipe! The way Mamas around the world used to do it, no industrial mass production. The worst time ever for premium ingredients.

- Voeltz Finals