Whoo, first published story, go me! And it's Homestuck fanfiction. This must say something about the state of my life. XD
I will warn you, I have yet to read the series in its entirety, this is just drabble based off a thorough reading of the Wiki pages.
Don't hate too hard. xD
It was bound to happen. Maybe it was the sopor slime finally taking its toll, or the lack thereof. Perhaps it was an inevitable thing, like a bomb and the timer had finally reached 0. He had desperately tried to avoid it, as one tends to avoid unpleasant things, such as their lusus' abandonment or the death of a friend, both of which have happened in this poor troll's life-pan. They are gone now. He lets the thought sink in slowly, letting it mull over in his addled brain, which is strangely devoid of the jumbled thoughts and random tangents that so often fill it.
They are gone. The feline troll Nepeta and her moirail, the highblood Equius, both sharing similar fates. His beloved rapping partner has been slain as well, limbs torn from him by the troll he has endured so much from. He wonders what the brown-blooded troll saw in her. Pupa Pan and the blue-blooded fairy. Perhaps they were meant to be together, and he was meant to be slain by the troll of his redrom affections. Perhaps it was destined, just as Mindfang was slain by her matesprit the Summoner. There is a certain poetic irony in this reversal of fortunes that is not lost on him.
His clubs, splattered with blood, scrape on the floor as they are dragged behind him. He is weary, remorseful, such strange emotions for a highblood. He dearly misses his moirail, but slowly his thoughts turn to another, more important person, and his thoughts immediately flush red. This troll with her soft, clear voice, and way of caring about every troll from the bottom of her bi-valve system. With her pretty colors and those delicate hands that seem so out of place wielding a chainsaw. But she too is gone. His last memory of her is his best friend crying over her lifeless form, and he hates it.
But just as the sea ebbs and flows, the insanity returns, creeping in from the dark recesses of his mind, filling his head with the murderous intent befitting of a subjuggulator. It whispers to him, frantically, voice crackling like static on a radio, urging him to massacre every last one, interspersed with the strange honks. He thinks of Goatdad and his abandonment; why would his lusus abandon his charge? Long nights the highblood had spent on the shores near his hive, horn clutched in his hand, wishing with all his might for his lusus to return. He thinks of those nights and his rage grows, feelings darkening much like his heart. There is but one thought now.
Kill them all.
They said the last thing you hear is the honk. Or maybe the laugh. Just the very thought of his laugh makes her cringe, that hyena-like laugh full of insanity that echoes off the walls and surrounds the victim, like being lost in a house of mirrors. She runs, footsteps pattering on cold floors, all bravery abandoned as the echoing manic laughter follows her like a ghost. Escape is futile and she realizes this, but she hopes with an unparalled desperation that if she just runs fast enough, just stays far enough ahead, she will make it through this.
What has become of her beloved troll? She thinks back to a time when the two would share long afternoons in his hive, the highblood baking his sopor slime pies while she sat and watched, his freshly brushed hair (her doing, of course) pulled back in an elegant ponytail, an indigo apron tied around his waist. She was always amused by his love of baking that was so unfitting of a highblood, but mostly she enjoyed the way his entire face would light up when the ding of the oven sounded and he would pull a freshly baked pie from the oven.
And suddenly a second of footsteps joins her own, matching perfectly, keeping the two in a sick rhythm that speaks of lack of chance at escaping. He is almost upon her now, shadow looming over her, and she can almost see the psychotic grin that spreads from ear to pointed ear, showing off every jagged tooth, the glimmering indigo eyes that are filled not with madness, but a sickening clarity that means he knows exactly what he is doing and is enjoying every moment of it. She wants to continue running, to give it one last shot, but she knows it would be a waste.
A hand clutches her shoulder, fingernails digging deep into pallid, glowing skin, and despite her efforts to remain strong, she cringes at the contact. He spins her around, revealing the manic grin, the deep scratches that ooze his highly prized blood over the smeared makeup. In that moment, every suspicison is confirmed; he is sober. The laid-back troll has finally snapped. He regards her for a moment, a fondness in his gaze that makes her shrink away from him, away from him, for this is not the troll she knows and loves. For a moment, she thinks she can see recognition in his eyes, as he drops one of the clubs and slips an arm around her. His beautiful green sun, he calls her. Jade green lips turn upward in a smile. Only shine for me, he requests.
Just as the sun sets over the horizon, the light...slowly...fades.