Tonight, in the silence, I shall tell you the tale of Calamity Jack, and what happens when transmigration is done by a transparent but much... Much worse entity.

Jack was... Someone nobody knows. His past is a mystery after all, even to the man in question. Perhaps the only one who truly knows Jack's sordid history is the vile creature that drew his very soul, shrieking, pleading, and begging, from it's mortal shell.

Jack probably even had a different name before this, again, none truly know.  Before this penultimate entity of madness and wreckless abandon, his old name no longer mattered.

Suffice to say this shifting amorphous mass of writhing flesh of man, beast, and every unholy combination between can never be accurately described for fear of losing not only my sanity, but yours as well.

Let it suffice to say that as a torn, shredded, confused soul was attempting to orient itself in metaspace of something that can only make Eldritch seem like a complimentary term... Jack gazed upon It, and his soul was rent asunder, shattered like glass, and melted like ice before the sun.

Only the mirth of the monstrosity at the irreparable damage and agony to this beings very existence  caused it to have the barest whim of putting everything back into a clump of barely recognizable soul, a collection of memories, no longer with identity.

Laughing at the destruction it wrought, it's inhuman mouths moved in impossible ways, teeth and fangs wiggling, clinking, breath whistling between gaps, lips and gumlines writhing into unfamiliar and esoteric shapes like a poor dubbing of an ancient historic foreign film.

Yet understanding rumbled forth, a cacaphony of noises in disharmony creating a thousand and one voices in unison saying one thing together.

"You are now Jack, as my Bound, go Forth and Bring the Inevitable. Little Seedling must now Grow, but Cannot be allowed Death. But to Live, Cannot be of the Deathless. Go forth my Calamitous Warlock."

The sudden silence from the space was as absolute as anything could ever be. It was no longer simply an absence of most sound, it was an absolute Silence.

As if the words had twisted the very weft and weave of reality, it was Imprinted upon him. Knowledge. Knowledge beyond Reason, Knowledge beyond Law.

Chaos.

In the instant it was done, his soul was whisked off through the ethereal barrier between realities once more, this time with the strength of something omnipotent, or so near enough as to have no difference in the eyes of this ant dubbed Jack.

Whence next Jack Knew existence once more, he found he has no recollection of anything but the knowledge of two worlds, but not Himself, not Other, and not how he gained any of it, nor appeared where he was.

Jack tried to look about, instinctively knowing a Form, but not cognizant to realize his had started different. As he rose to a standing form, a clatter was heard from behind, Jack turned, and a farmer, frightened out of his wits, face tinted a flickering blue-green, seemed to have found his tongue, as he let loose a holler of terror and bolted from the pumpkin patch Jack had found himself in.

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With a bout of curiosity, Jack gazed upon his hands, only to find a four digit  dessicated and woven branch made of pumpkin stem. Three sharp claws and an arguable thumb with similar qualities.

Gazing upon his forearm as he moved it, a rising dread infiltrated his skull, though he knew not why. The branches making up his arms were similarly thin, emaciated and gaunt if seen upon a man, ghastly upon his ghoulish bark and vine, a yellowed brown with hints of dirt and pebbles.

Gazing lower, his torso was a ribcage of hard thorn like growths with gaps between. And inside that, a pulsing arguably beating, gourd abomination, as if a pumpkin had each section swollen and mutated. Placing a claw upon his chest, he could feel it. His heart, but it was... Wrong, somehow. It felt like it was three hearts, all stuck together.

Below his torso lay a robust and bark coated weave of vines, allowing for fluid flexibility, as hips woven of stems around yet more thornbones sat upon gaunt, thin, spindly legs with a digitigrade stance. It felt natural, but also like it should be strange. Each foot was several vines making a footpad, and three sharp but relatively capable claws at the end. Were they supposed to be a cross between a birds graspers and a rabbits foot?

He felt like they had potential, but before he could think any more about his form, a niggling thought was jostled to the front of his mind, he had no pants!

This lead to him searching for, and spotting, a scarecrow not far off in the field, with ginger steps he began to better understand how his new feeling legs worked, and in spite of his thin frame, he could feel the explosive strength in his legs, the whipcord taut vine muscles of his arms, back, and core.

Snagging the clothes, hat and all carefully with his rather pointed claws, he donned the worn and patched scarecrows outfit before something else in his mind barged to the forefront...

Knowledge of this world.

He was likely to be deemed a monster, the farmer was likely to deem him a threat, and he was a Seedling, he needed time to grow! With a glance around, taking in his surroundings and the finally returning farmer with what looked like a magically glowing iron pipe with a wooden cap, Jack followed what could only be called instincts at the moment as he sprang in the opposite direction of farmer, farmhouse, and field, loping towards a deep forest he could spy in the distance.

Black tattered hat fluttering upon his dome, Jack fled into the Dark woods, with black bark and skeletal branches reaching, nay, grasping towards the sky. With a rustle of clothe, Jack vanished into the unknown woods.

The farmer stood at the edge of his property, clutching a what could only be called a magitech varmint rifle of some sort, eyes wide with terror. He'd never been a particularly religious man, but he prayed he had seen wrong, that it was just a new magic trick by the Farrson boys. But he knew in his heart, he'd watched as that pumpkin STOOD, thorns loudly popping and bursting out of ordinary pumpkin vines, drying, hardening, twisting and squirming into an approximation of wooden skeleton and some sort of clawed goat demon.

He'd nearly fertilized the fields fresh when he noticed it wasn't paying attention, he had only one chance to survive or kill the damned thing. But as he watched it leave his farm, he knew the inquisition would burn his pumpkins. That was no ordinary demon, that was a Grimwoods Shepherd. Known to lead entire countries to ruin just by being a locus of monsters and demons alike, many called them the Fruit of Apocalypse, the Harvest King of Demons, many names and many titles followed these beings, each seeming to correlate to the plant that made up their head.

Fruits could bring prosperity or pestilence, depending on specific breeds, an apple demon brought pestilence, pears brought prosperity, if you could handle a low level demon wave at least, and typically ignored small communities, which made it easy for kingdoms to wall up and hold the fort for a month before the beasts either died or dispersed due to losses.

Most vegetables were a mixed bag, if you survived, t was a boon, but surviving was the hard part. Gourds were special, as they could be a world ending calamity, such as a supposed wine gourd demon that brought an entire continent to collapse, it was still overrun now, though the demon had been slain, and new inroads were being pioneered and colonized again.

But pumpkins were the greatest terror. Should it bring calamity true, the world would end they say, if it brought prosperity, the world would be enriched.

Having seen a half white hybrid pumpkin walk off into the woods in a laid back wide brimmed black hat, cotton button up shirt, and patched knee length old black jeans, the farmer cursed ever having tried to crossbreed pumpkins. He could well have doomed the whole damn world.

He'd have to tell the church and hope he wasn't strung up before a the gates. Well... That's if the local priest even bothered to listen to the words of an old farmer.

With a sigh, the old man began the trek into town, worrying if he would see the dawn tomorrow.