Shakre Kanf

Two Prehistoric Fish walk into a bar...
Shakre Kanf, otherwise known as Pectore Devoratrix, was awakened through a sacrilege ritual conducted by her father figure and all around actual National Socialist, Dunkel, after being banished from his seat on the metaphysical council, using his new daughter weapon, he returned to the council's pocket dimensional meeting room and preceded to let slip the Shak of War unto his former associates.

After Shakre had finished tearing the concepts of order and conformity asunder, Dunkel decided best course of action would be for her to lay low on a little dirt ball that had only just recently attained its water, and so he dropped her off at the nearest Cenozoic, Trilobite shaped Bus Stop and vamoosed back to the metaphysical plane.

And unfortunately, that's where our story begins.

Shakre spent much of her developmental years stomping in the spawning pools of what would be Earth, admiring the much tinier and pathetic life forms for what they were, the millions of years went by like days as a Young Shakre grew alongside her cold-blooded friends into large, toothy, muscly killing machines.

The Grit and Tit of the Mesozoic Era, Shakre Kanf soon found herself on the top of the food chain. Any colossal reptilian competition found itself powerless to the 9'11 Engine of Destruction. Although, the day to day grind of fight after fight, brawl after brawl, suplex after suplex, found itself tiring, and so Shakre decided it was time for a change.

So she laid an egg, like all the other big scary things around her did once and a while, she wasn't exactly sure why, but maybe it would come to her once she had one.

And come to her it did.

Shakre was enthralled by her little bundle of yolk and eggshell, she carried it around wherever she went, eventually she realized that using two arms to carry it severely reduced her PPM (Punches-per-Minute), and so she jerry-rigged a satchel, the very first papoose, (coined and named by Shakre herself) to carry the egg in and around her bosom as opposed to her underarms.

Eventually, throughout many bumps, rolls, shakes, and blunt force trauma, the egg had finally hatched, and from it, an entire Crayola's Box worth of babies poured out, and so the days of Mommy-ing began.