Dark Harvest {[PSYSIM]-SeKi: C-Line}

A small, psychotic giggle slipped from lips as I pulled my knife out of the chest of a mare who know laid lifeless on the cold stone ground beneath me. Sliced open from chest to crotch, the mare's splendid organs- coated in a crimson red- shone brilliantly in the moonlight and added to the deep luster of the cobblestone street. I licked the serrated blade I held in my hoof and savored every drop of metallic, piquant goodness that was the mare's blood. Mildly satisfied, I sheathed my knife and used my yellow-orange magic to remove the mare's organs from her body and place them neatly inside of the cooler I had dragged around with me throughout the night. I wiped my hoof across my forehead, smearing a bit a blood across my dark red coat. I was going to have to wash my hair when I got home, as blood stained my deep red and yellow mane and tail, which were styled into curls at the top and into waves as they went down. Normally, I wasn't quite as a brutal as I was tonight, but, I had decided that- for once- I'd give into the 'killer rush' I normally felt but usually put aside to minimalize damage to organs.

My identity remained a tightly sealed secret to the ponies of Canterlot, but all knew who to blame when another corpse was found somewhere in the back allies and side streets. Some called me the Ripper, others knew me as the Harvester. Quite a few had come up with rather interesting nicknames, such as the Angel of Death and the Crimson Killer. All rubbish and rather silly names, if you ask me. Not that they knew- nor would they ever- but I preferred to be called Karma. Just Karma. No 'the Karma Killer' or 'the Crimson Karma' or whatever other silly names they could possibly create. Just Karma, pure and simple. Karma certainly was not my birth name, but such a name had not been suitable for such a skilled killer- or hunter of the night, as they called me- thus, I dubbed myself Karma. So much, in fact, had I preferred and referred to myself as Karma that, at times, I had forgotten what my birth name was at all.

My parents had been upstanding citizens, no brush ups with the Canterlot Police, no trouble with government agencies and- all around- the most saintly couple to ever grace the face of Equus. They had but only one child- me- and raised her to be a spitting image of them, like a mere clone produced through Mitosis. However, somewhere along the way, their perfect little princess had started to fall off the path of grace and began to descend into a never-ending spiral of evil. For as long as I could remember, there had always been this animalistic urge deep down inside of me. An urge that wanted nothing more than to see the blood of another living being stained upon the silver sheen of a sleek, serrated knife. An urge the begged to hear the pathetic wails and fruitless begging of another pony as they died slowly but surely- and as painful as possible.

It wasn't until my first day of biology when I had been in high school that that urge- that unearthly plea- hadn't, for once, been ignored and suppressed. That day, we had jumped right into dissection. With the images and each pleasurable moment as that unfortunate frog had been meticulously yet carefully taken apart- bit by bit- still fresh in my mind, I had gone home and looked at my parents like they were the frogs from biology. Of course, I had the slightest bit of an inkling that acting in such a brash and hasty manner would result in consequences that would've barred my freedom today and thus, I bid my time and sated the animalistic urge with the deaths of several, several small animals.

The Nightmare Night celebration the following year had been the last for my parents as well as few other partygoers. Hours prior to the party, I spent my time meticulously setting up various traps and making sure everything went accordingly for my experiments. To prove to myself that I could kill somepony for a rational reason- and to just kill somepony in general- I had decided that at the Nightmare Night party my parents would be throwing, I would observe and record how ponies would react to the actual deaths of once living, breathing ponies after realizing there were no special effects involved. I also wanted to see how they would react when the power had been cut, all possible exits sealed, any and every means of contacting help out of the picture after realizing there was a killer amongst them. Needless to say, the experiments had been a rather smashing success and I had even managed to successfully evade the suspicion of the police. From that day henceforth, I have made a rather killer living- pun intended- off of my less than reputable hobby. Oh, might I include that ponies of Canterlot had not the slightest clue that- when they dine at my restaurant- they're eating the flesh and organs of some poor, unfortunate victim?

Snapped from my thoughts by the sounds of rats scurrying about in a nearby dumpster, I finished my task and disposed the mare's body inside the designated disposal bin. Almost immediately, I heard the unmistakable sound of flesh being chewed upon and shredded by small, sharp teeth coming from within the dumpster. With another night's work completed and feeling moderately satisfied tonight's kill, I walked triumphantly back to my humble abode with my delectable prizes towed not far behind.

About halfway there, the ground around me began to shake with utter violence. The night sky began to flicker with jagged lines of whitish-blue. The scenery around me changed in an inexplicable manner that left me at a loss for words. A voice began to blare loudly, informing of some failure, but seemed to be coming from within my head. As the voice continued to blare, everything around me seemed to fragment and fall apart, much like taking a hammer to a pane of glass.