Mass Mother Murderer [4/15 Chapters, 55k words]



This is a gripe I’ve actually had, too.


Oh, good, so it isn’t just me. I hadn’t seen anyone else bring it up so I assumed that maybe I was just being picky and no one else had a problem with it.


Oh no, I’ve thought this for a while, actually. But my brain was like, “C’mon, that’s too much of a nitpick.”


It’s in the late medieval period. Still, I wouldn’t call it wildly anachronistic. :stuck_out_tongue: Cloth swimsuits aren’t anything they couldn’t have in those days and pens and notepads are also very simple technologies that, while a bit odd, could still be made then.

I do understand what you’re saying, but just know that little things like these are intentional, kinda like a bit of commentary, I suppose. Notepads and pens, for example, would of course be less common and more expensive than they are today, but if people could make giant castles and catapults, they could certainly make these little doohickeys. :stuck_out_tongue:


Yeah the things I mentioned aren’t extremely anachronistic, but I was thinking more of the shower when I wrote that (i was in the code :sweat_smile:). It just takes me out of the story a bit, because none of those things were invented until the 1800’s at least (and poor people wasting fabric or money on dedicated swimming wear is a little weird. not unfathomable, but strange). It’s just the image of someone in full guard-ly uniform and a cape using a little ballpoint pen and notepad is… odd, I guess. It doesn’t feel like there’s enough anachronism for it to feel natural to me is what I’m trying to say, I guess.
I figured they were probably intentional though, it’s just how the little details effected my own experience.


Haha, I get that. I was going to mention that magic has also effected some of the things their society has, like mana-powered ceiling fans and mana-powered showers for the more wealthy people. They’re very expensive and used sparingly, but they are around.


Yeah, there are several phrases that take on a whole new meaning in the context of MMM. :grimacing: “Motherfucker.” “I could be your mother,” etc.


I genuinely do not understand the appeal of stuff like this. Like… I’m genuinely trying and I just can’t come up with any explanation that wouldn’t likely be offensive.



Idk what to tell ya. This is by far my most popular work, despite it being up for the least amount of time and having the least amount of content so far. There are lots of people who don’t like American Psycho or other stories like that, either, but those stories do have their merits and very large target audiences, too.


It’s an escape from the monotonous hero trope.


I mean… There are more options than just “monotonous hero trope” or “At least I’m not a Adolf Stalin.”


Right, and those options have clearly been explored in Trial of the Demon Hunter, Captive of Fortune, Foundation of Nightmares, The Magician’s Burden, Winter of the Bovine, and The Enchanter’s Misery. I didn’t just spin a wheel and randomly land on this kind of story and decide, “Welp, that’s what I’ll go with.”

It’s very intentional. I like it. My readers seem to love it. You’re clearly not part of the target audience, and it comes as no surprise that a story like MMM has attracted lots of controversy because it’s unabashedly CS’s darkest story yet. But it not being to certain people’s tastes doesn’t mean I’ll change it or stop writing it or anything like that. I’ve got a whole trilogy planned and it only gets crazier from here.


We’re all arrogant mad(wo)men here, if you can’t accept it, then you don’t belong.


I think I already mentioned my own view points about it before.

I would assume the vast majority of people interested in this story aren’t murders themselves or have any plans to become them. Sometimes you’re just generally curious how far the rabbit hole goes, or just want a different experience to things.

Killing someone in fiction will not make you Jeffery Dahmer or Ted Bundy. Honestly, if someone plans to emulate anything they read in this because they saw it in an IF game, they already clearly have waaaayyy deeper problems with them well prior to playing the game.

That’s just the way I see it. I don’t know.


Another excerpt from Chapter 5:

#Leaning down so you’re looking him in the eyes, you gently stroke your fingers across his cheek and say in a reassuring tone, “There, there, mother. Don’t be upset. This is a good thing. After you have paid for what you’ve done in blood and tears, I’ll finally be able to forgive you.”
*set charisma +2
(+2 Charisma)

Werner blanches, his face going deathly pale and his eyes going wide as if from a sudden realization. “You’ve lost your mind,” he says in a hushed tone, his jaw agape and his expression distant.

He doesn’t even say this as an insult, but rather like it’s some horrifying truth that he never wanted to know, but has discovered all the same. Swallowing hard, he adds, “This is just some sick fantasy to you, isn’t it? I’m nothing to you but a puppet, a dummy.”

You chuckle not unkindly and shake your head, ruffling up his wig in an almost affectionate way. Tutting your tongue, you reply, “No, mother. I’m more sane and lucid than I’ve ever been. After all these years, I’ve finally been able to muster the courage to kill you and set myself free.”

Then, before he can react, you suddenly dart your hand out and pinch his larynx between your fingertips, squeezing hard with a predatory look on your face. His eyes bug out and he splutters violently, his complexion going red.

Only a second later, though, you release him, standing back up and breathing calmly as if nothing had happened. He coughs loudly and tries to reach up to massage his throat, but you’re already turning away, your face contorted in contempt. As gratifying as it can be to manipulate your victims like that, it also leaves a bitter taste in your mouth to even pretend to be so sanguine towards someone.


Note: If you didn’t read my story before this, the ending won’t make sense to you.

Blood drips from swollen flesh onto the cold, unforgiving wood floor. In this underground prison that is called the basement, a dying man attempts to make peace with his inner demons before the outer one takes his life. It is in this moment that the human psyche breaks; an eternity of suffering and despair leading to the price more ultimate than death being paid: the loss of one’s mind, one’s self. It takes not much to infiltrate the fortress we call our bodies, but it takes a true monster to penetrate one’s soul; the true fortress of the human being.

Whether or not he’s realized it yet, does not matter. The patron of his agony only cares for how it’s done. This doesn’t phase the victim like earlier, however. No.

He’s prepared to lose his last grand ppossession. His predator already took all the others.

With wounded eyes, he stares at the blurred brown canopy that is the floor he lies on.

“What do you feel?” The words come out as pained vowels that reflect his torment but echo his resolve.

The subject of his question stands across the room at the workbench of deadly instruments, his face lowered to the table and his cloaked back turned towards the man.

Slowly, his head turns slightly in his general direction. ”Your meaning is what?” This voice is deep, angered, yet withheld, and the response itself comes out as a sort of low growl.

“My……meaning, is,” his prey struggled with the words. Blood seeps from his lips. “What’s it like………doing this? What…….breaks a man to this…………ugh, point?

The turns back to face the wall above the table. Even more tools of torture hang along it’s majority.

…A pause. Silence dominates the air for a moment. Pondering?

Then a word. ”Rage.” Then a shaking right hand that the man curls tightly into a fist until it ceases. ”If your intent is to find the source of my purpose that fuel my actions before you expire, then there’s your answer.”

The grounded body struggles to a new position, now risen against the wall, exhausted, battered arms sprawled to both sides. He spits a ball of blood and saliva onto the floor. “Where’s…….the real you? What………created………this?”

Another round of heavy, overbearing silence. Then another answer. ”A multitude of factors.” The killer lifts a particular blade of his liking off the bench. He admires the edges like it’s an object of grace. ”I was born a creature of sin. But there was someone who permanently brought out the real me.”

The man against the wall simply closes his eyes, not even bothering to think as those words sink in. A tear slithers down his right cheek, mixing with the crimson on his face before dropping to his tunic and staining what little original fabric remains.

The “creature of sin” slams the knife down onto the table, his back still to the dying street merchant behind him. ”Any last questions?”

The merchant swallows hard. His eyes open for the last time. His kidnapper and tormentor finally turns.

There it is. That……

“…Mask. What……is that?”

Edmun approaches him. He gets in close, standing over him for a few seconds before quickly kneeling down to his victim’s level, causing the man to flinch as the very thing he inquired about is now mere inches from his face. The fear finally overwhelms him and his hands, head, and legs begin to tremble. The merchant does his best to look away, his breathing growing heavy and heartbeat gaining near-painful speed. After staring directly into his eyes for a seemingly everlasting moment, Edmun can smell fresh piss in the thick air. He doesn’t need to look for confirmation, though. He can hear it. First comes a grim satisfaction, but then images of the killer himself doing it in his bed in the days of abuse from his mother flash across his mind, then his vision begins to pulse with red, and the ringing in his ears sets in.

Two full minutes pass of Edmun just deathly staring at the helpless and battered merchant who is filled with terror at this point. He can’t blink the tears and blood from his eyes, no matter how hard he tries, and he can’t mentally bring himself to say or attempt anything. Yet, in his peripherals, he can see his hunter still kneeling in front of him, still just staring into him, somehow completely unmoving, uncompromising.

What’s he doing?!? He’s so……still……

The merchant lets his head hit the freezing wall behind him, and he simply closes his eyes again.

First, an attempt at inner peace before obvious death.

Then, utter sadness and despair.

Then…….his own anger sets in.

Slowly, his head turns to that awful, vile second face.

“Is that……the real you?”

No response. Just that stare. Still no movement at all. Not even a twitch.

Not even a blink.

I can’t take this anymore.

The veins in the merchant’s neck and temples begin to bulge.

His breaths grow more loud and labored, then:



Gerald the wandering merchant awakens in his bed in the morning, his bed wet and his face and shirt drenched in sweat. Panicked, his eyes dart to the necklace on the stand at his bedside. His right hand shoots off the covers and fumbles for it. It misses and Gerald falls out of bed, tumbling to the hard floor below.

He begins to sob. The necklace suddenly falls and lands onto his face. He fumbles for it again and seizes it, finally holding it tight to his chest. He then, with stinging, dry eyes, opens it.

Inside is a ring. He barely manages to catch in his opposite hand.

Lara…….come home……


Sure you have several other games but it’s not like this was the only thing you hadn’t done. There are more stories than we can count. Of course, none of this actually solves my issue of being unable to understand the appeal. You’ve already stated multiple times that it is appealing to people, and yeah, I get that. Which is exactly why it’s a problem that I don’t understand it.

@Frosty Your response kind of has the same problem as Sam’s. It states the thing I already said without actually doing anything to solve the problem I presented. Killing someone isn’t what the game is about. It’s about playing a victim childhood domestic abuse who as an adult has become a misogynistic serial torturer/killer due to his mother being the one to have abused him. I mean, I’m entirely (well not entirely, as it would be an utterly horrifying prospect) open to the possibility that I’m just the weird one for not finding this kind of experience appealing, and in that case I suppose no one has any incentive to examine it, but it’s hard to imagine that society would still exist if that were the case… but none of that helps me understand.



Except…it’s been stated like nine hundred times that it’s not due to their mother abusing them. That’s just added fuel to an already burning fire.


Well, I protest you calling the MC misogynist, and I never meant to portray that at all, considering I’m a feminist. The MC doesn’t hate women, and actually ends up kidnapping a male and dressing him up as their mother, too, because gender isn’t what the whole thing is about. The serial killer may be a psychotic piece of shit, but they do not believe that women are inferior to men. In fact, the MC can be non-binary or female.


Some of us are wired differently, for whatever reason. Sometimes we are able to discover and explore those difference and gain understanding but other times we are not able to do so.

As of right now, I’d leave it at this because I don’t think trying to explore such differences in this WiP is the right place for such discussion.

Any further posting on this matter will threaten to derail the purpose of the thread which is: feedback.

I suggest opening a new thread or taking the discussion private for those wanting to continue the discussion on this.