Harvest Moon: Doom the Homeland
Chapter Seven: Psycho with a Sickle
Unintentionally Made Part of "Greenfrie's 666 Spectacular!" (Thanks to lazy updating)
Okay, I'll admit, this was just SO OMFG-Apocalypse-esque that I had to include it in my "special" 666 update. Check out the other 666 fics in my profile.
Dia flipped through a magazine, completely oblivious to the murderer outside. Suddenly, her elderly maid burst into the room, breathing heavily. Her wide eyes displayed absolute terror.
"What is it this time?" the rich girl sighed, not bothering to look up.
"It's Kurt—he's been found stabbed to death with the knife still in his body!" Martha announced. Dia was uninterested.
"That's it?" Dia moaned. "Who was he again? The weasel that lived in the trees? One of those wild dogs that the idiot farmer's trying to tame?"
"He was a carpenter, madam," the maid confirmed.
"Whatever. I can only hope that some of the other idiots meet the same fate."
Idiot farmer. Idiot farmer. Idiot farmer.
Who was she to call him that?
This had triggered the emo character's primary instinct: kill anyone who angers you.
Jack was perched on the roof, hammer in hand. He'd never used it for farming. And, chances were now that he never would. Not with his transformation.
The hammer crashed into the roof, sending Dia's face directly upward. Bits of tile fell onto the carpet. Her eyes narrowed. There was only one person in the town foolish enough to do this. And it had to be him. Even the rules of nature would bend in fear of her, or at least she believed.
But she was wrong. Jack's vengeance was nothing that could be considered the work of a human. He knew it. With the carnage he would cause, it would be considered an act of God, or Satan, or Elvis. Someone in the top three. Top four, now that he'd come along.
After the barrage carried on for an entire minute, the blows growing stronger with each attack, he broke through the roof and into Dia's living room. He looked deranged, which was fitting, considering that he'd just killed a man.
"What did you do to my roof?"
Jack wouldn't waste his energy talking to a mere mortal. He raised the hanner, dented and falling apart. He was breathing heavily, which would strike fear into the heart of anyone but the wealthy girl.
She roared and ran towards him. He casually swung the giant mallet into her stomach, then rubbed his face to get clean off the blood.
Jack spent the rest of the day killing anyone who so much as didn't say 'hi' to him on a regular basis, because that hurt is self esteem, much like how a hammer to the face hurts someone in other ways.
Eventually, he came across Gina, who was walking around as if nothing had happened. As the village was so behind other locations as far as technology goes, news spread slowly. Not to mention the fact that there weren't many people around to tell the news.
"Hi, Jack!" she said, not her usual, shy self. After all, she could definitely trust Jack, her childhood pal, even though he was carrying a mallet that looked like it had been used to bludgeon everyone in town to death. Oh, young people these days.
The farmer, who had recently begun foaming at the mouth, stared at the girl's innocent eyes. Then, for once since he'd grabbed a weapon and started ruthlessly murdering everyone in sight, he felt somewhat sad. Jack began to debate whether or not to commit the crime, when he decided to make the choice by drawing his paperback copy of Darth Vader's Guide to Homicide. The excerpt read:
If you find yourself completely turning away from your old self and why you started committing atrocious acts of violence in the first place, that's normal. And GOOD. Remember, you're no longer a human, even though you walk, talk, breathe, and function in many ways like one. Unless you're foaming at the mouth; then you're damned creepy. So you can't 'think' anymore. Go along with it, kill that son of a bitch! He's probably asking for it. After all, think of how good it turned out for me?
Not one to question a fictional character's advice, Jack swung his hammer. But as much as he thought he was a god, he had grown tired, and the fatigue dropped him to the ground before the hammer moved an inch.
When he finally regained consciousness, Gwen and Gina were hovering over him. They seemed to be in the carpenters' cabins. At his side was soup and water to help him regain his strength. Tears formed in Jack's eyes.
"You did all this…for…me?"
"Yeah, but don't get used to it," Gwen said somewhat less harshly than everything else she says. "But, yeah. There's vegetable soup over there, since chicken soup is murder."
"…I really don't know what to say, except--" he finished the sentence on swing of the axe later, "—this is murder, too."
The farmer ran out of the bed, leaving behind the axe. He'd lost all traces of humanity, as horror-fic characters tend to do.
And because of that, he laughed manically as he ran into the forest. There wasn't a single human being left in the village. The Harvest Sprites were gone; they had been especially fun to kill in a sadistic bastardization of "Whack-a-Mole".
But now that Jack could rest in the seclusion of the forest, he could focus on bigger fish; specifically, the Harvest Goddess. He needed to prove that he was greater than any human. The effortlessness that he depopulated the area with proved it somewhat, but destroying the local deity would definitely brand it into the minds of all humanity.
He saw a bit of her green hair sticking up from under the pond, so he immediately slammed the mallet through her skull. Unfortunately, since we all know that only sharp objects can kill her, she shook it of and obliterated Jack instantly.