The wild outskirts of Winchward Beach don't make much sense, biologically speaking. Archey has never been within a hundred meters of a tree before, but even still he's pretty sure they're not supposed to whisper in a forbidden tongue and squirt blood into the eyes of nearby birds. He pushes the concern aside, into that little corner of his brain where all inconvenient concerns go. As Mr. Legion leads him through the accursed brambles and boiling bogs of the Beach's only hiking trail, Archey cannot help but wonder how his life has gone so wrong. He was happy, relatively speaking, winching his winch every day of every week. He would have been most pleased to do that same routine for the rest of his short, medically disastrous life. And yet, his wonderful daily grind has been rudely interrupted again and again. Archey hopes that once Marmalade or whatever his dog's name is has been rescued he will be able to return to his peaceful, backbreaking job once more.

After what feels like hours but was really only about fifteen minutes, they come to a clearing in the woods. Mr. Legion stops Archey at the clearing's entrance and turns to him.

'Do not speak to them, Billiard,' Mr. Legion warns. 'Whatever they offer you, do not speak.'

Due to his crippling social anxiety, Archey doesn't need to be warned.

They step into the clearing. From amongst the trees, robed, hooded figures glide in to meet them. The tallest and most hooded of them all comes right up to Archey and says 'Greetings, my Lord.'

Archey says hello back.

Mr. Legion turns to Archey. 'Really?' he says. 'Just like that?'

Archey didn't want to be rude.

The tallest, hoodiest figure lowers his hood to reveal a head with no eyes, nose, hair, skin, muscle, blood vessels, nerves or skull. Slowly, with long, fingerless fingers, he reaches up and grabs Archey's own, unmoisturized head.

'If they hear your voice, they can steal your head, you idiot,' Mr. Legion chastises.

Archey wonders why Mr. Legion didn't just tell him that straight away, and also why Mr. Legion is able to talk.

Mr. Legion ignores the first question and answers 'I've got heads to spare,' gesturing to a group of hooded figures excitedly carrying away armfuls of severed heads. Sighing, Mr. Legion taps the tallest, hoodiest figure on the shoulder and hands him a severed head.

'Listen, just take this one. It's in way better condition.'

The hoodiest figure shakes its head which it doesn't have. 'Mineself wants the Lord's head. It is the most fine of all heads.'

'That thing isn't our Lord,' Mr. Legion says. 'Not right now. We're here for curses. I can give you all the heads you need. All you guys need to do in exchange is curse a few things.'

The hoodiest figure looks at Archey with its metaphorical eyes. '... Very well. What needeth cursing?'

Mr. Legion draws two handguns from his many pockets. 'Insomnia curses on these. The curse should be carried on any bullet they fire. Make it strong, and no ironic side effects either.'

The hooded figures seem dejected at that last bit.

As the figures get to work on the guns, Mr. Legion draws a third pistol out and hands it to Archey.

'You're going to be shooting some demons pretty soon, so you need to learn how to handle one of these. First, show me your technique. I wanna know what I'm working with.'

Archey tentatively aims the gun at a nearby whispering tree.

Mr. Legion scoffs. 'Pathetic. Why would you hold the gun? That just makes you a target. Give it here.'

Mr. Legion snatches the gun away from Archey, tears open the chest of one of his torsos and sticks the gun inside.

'You have to let it marinate,' Mr. Legion explains.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Mr. Legion rips the gun out of his chest and throws it onto the ground. The gun seems to have fused with Mr. Legions internal organs. It's red and throbbing, with eyes and tubes and veins and fingernails jutting out this way and that. A yellow, foul-smelling ooze drips from the barrel.

'Shoot the tree,' Mr. Legion commands.

From the gun's fleshy bowels, two baby legs emerge, slick with blood. The gun stumbles over to the tree in an oddly adorable way, then projectile vomits a sticky bullet into the trunk. The tree shrieks an otherworldly cry of pain. Red sap gushes from the bullet hole. Archey feels uncomfortable.

Before Mr. Legion can give Archey a go at animating a firearm, the hooded figures return from their dark workshop, bearing the newly-cursed handguns. The guns are now covered with glowing red etchings, and are whispering in the same unearthly tongue as the trees.

'Gorgeous,' says Mr. Legion, handing over several dozen heads as payment.

Before Mr. Legion can finish paying, something leaps down from a tree and snatches one of the heads in its fanged jaw. It's a monstrous, hairy thing, with goats' eyes and gigantic spiraling horns. Across its hideous, deformed body are the tattered, blood-soaked remains of a purple suit.

'JOIN MY PYRAMID SCHEME!' it screeches at Archey after devouring the head whole.

Archey reminds it that he already agreed to join its scheme multiple times.

The monster pounces at Archey. Mr. Legion grabs a cursed handgun from the figures. Archey feels the monster's twisted canines scrape against his neck. Mr. Legion fires the gun. The monster shrieks, curls in on itself, and vanishes with a pop.

'Well,' says Mr. Legion, inspecting the cursed gun. 'It works.'