Side Story: The Graveslinger and The Vengeful Dead

“The man mended and healed by day before nightfell and the dead rose with the gunsmoke of every kill.

For that was the duality of man, as much a killer as he is a healer.”

--- Samuel Grim ---

“So tell me again who it is you’re looking for?” The barkeep asked, giving him a look.

“I’m looking for a man in a black suit, and carrying a weird looking gun.” Grim repeated for the umptenth time.

“A suit, do you mean a black jacket maybe?” The barkeep tried, scratching at the scruff around his neck. “Don’t see anyone but city folk and politicians wearing suits this far out. And even then most people don’t want black in this heat.”

“Well this man is definitely neither a city slicker or a politician.” He admitted, looking down at his bounty poster. “Alright, forgetting about the clothes, what about the gun? Any strangers carrying around a weird gun?”

The barkeep looked down at the gun strapped to his side and gave him a curious look.

He shook his head. “No, weirder than an engraved gun.”

“Well, I haven’t seen much weirder than a gun engraved with magic.” The barkeep confessed.

“Can recognize that?” He frowned, knowing how much harder things tended to get once people realized what kind of heat he was packing.

“Sheriff has a gun like that.” The barkeep shrugged. “It’s weird but I doubt he’s the man you’re looking for.”

“I doubt that too.” He nodded. (Though I should probably check to make sure.)

Someone walked in through the front of the old saloon and while the noise didn’t stop completely you could tell that it wasn’t quite as joyful as just a moment ago.

Glancing over his shoulder he spotted three men walking through the place.

“Who are they?” He asked more out of curiosity than concern.

“Trouble.” The barkeep told him. “Just keep your head down and they’ll ignore you.”

“Never been much good at that.” He confessed before downing his drink.

“A grey haired man, with a magic gun.” A man noted from behind him.

Choosing to ignore the man he motioned for the barkeep to refill his glass.

“You know there’s a bounty out for a man fitting that description.” The man told him.

“More than one bounty, and more than one man fitting that description.” He pointed out. “Hells, the sheriff is supposed to fit it if you want to take a look at him.”

“Hmm, sheriff has brown hair.” The man argued, taking a seat next to him. “Guess you haven’t been in town very long if you don’t know that.”

“Just rode in this morning.” He admitted. “Though I was about to go have a talk with him if you wanted to join me.”

“I just might, especially if it means claiming the bounty on the infamous Graveslinger.” The man told him.

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You and the Graveslinger? He’d eat you alive… Even with your friends there.”

“Oh, and what exactly makes you so sure that the Graveslinger, infamous bounty hunter outlaw that he is, could survive a bullet through his head?” The man asked, and he felt a barrel put to the back of his head. “Especially when his bounty is dead or alive.”

“Because the Graveslinger is already dead.” He smirked at the man. “He’s been shot, stabbed, burned, decapitated, and so much worse, but he’s still here. Graveslinger ain’t a man you can kill with any old gun.”

The man just stared at him, deep in thought. “Then I’m guessing those rumors of him being a Necromancer of some kind.”

“More than a little true.” He nodded.

The man was silent for another moment. “You know we don’t get much in the way of spell slingers out this way. I mean the sheriff has been here a fair while but he doesn’t much talk about what all he’s capable of.”

“Not surprised.” He shrugged. “Magic is a hard thing to work, especially the darker things. Better to keep quiet and tell no one, that way when you need bring it out no one is ready for what you’ll be throwing around.”

“But everyone knows the Graveslinger is a Necromancer.” The man pointed out.

“Perhaps, but maybe that just means everyone need be scared of what he’s not showing off.” He figured, before chuckling darkly. “Then again, turning every man he kills against you is something to be scared of? Tell me, you ever have to shoot your brother down because he’s trying to tear out your throat with his teeth?”

The barrel pressed to his head began to shake as the man swallowed, paling considerably.

“Let me give you a tip.” He told the man, leaning forward. “Shooting them in the heart or head ain’t going to do much to slow them down, you’re better off shooting out their knees and torching the corpse before they can get back up.”

He stood from his seat. “Then again, you’d have to worry about being shot by the Graveslinger while you’re doing that, so good luck surviving that long.”

He turned to the barkeep. “How much do I owe you?”

The barkeep swallowed. “I-it’s on the house mister.”

“Mighty kind of ya.” He nodded, before looking at the shaking gun still pointing at him. “I’d suggest putting that away before you hurt yourself.”

The gunman practically leapt out of his way, leaving him free to continue through the saloon and out the doors onto the town’s main street.

Looking around he stopped a passersby and asked for directions to the sheriff’s office, figuring that since he was running low on leads, it was the best place to go next.

Walking through the town’s streets, he couldn’t help but note the fact that despite being seemingly in the middle of nowhere, it was a fairly large size even if not quite big enough to call itself a city. (But it might just be on its way to becoming one.)

Eventually he managed to find his way to the sheriff’s office and walked inside, where he found a large brown skinned orkin sitting at a desk just a size too small writing away at a pile of documents.

(Well, there’s something you don’t see every day.) Orkin were a warrior race, the idea of them doing paperwork was… laughable at best, and grounds to get stabbed by an Orkin at worst.

“I don’t suppose you being the sheriff?” He asked, just a little skeptically because while he wasn’t against the idea he knew the leather skinned folk weren’t exactly liked by the common man, and he felt one being sheriff would earn a little more hub-bub.

The Orkin snorted at that. “No, I’m a deputy. What do you need the boss for?”

“I’m a bounty hunter passing through. Figured I’d introduce myself and see if he could point me in the direction of either my bounty or at the very least another job.” He answered walking over to a bulletin board with a number of flyers on it.

“Anything on that board is an open bounty.” The Orkin told him never looking up from the paperwork as he gestured towards the board. “You want to talk to the sheriff, you’ll have to wait.”

Looking things over, he pulled off a flyer mentioning a sighting of some kind of monster on a nearby farmstead. “How long?”

“Had to ride out to the O’learys, probably be a few hours.” The Orkin informed him.

“Don’t suppose you’ve seen any strangers in town wearing a blacksuit and carrying an odd gun?” He tried

“Boss only lets me out when he needs more muscle, says I scare the town folk.” The Orkin chuckled as if he found it funny rather than offensive before looking up to meet his eyes. “You soft-skins, always frightened by every little thing.”

“Sorry to tell ya I’ve seen far scarier than you friend.” He apologized without blinking as he stared into the Orkin’s eyes.

The Orkin smirked before shaking his head. “I’ll tell the boss you were looking for him Mr…”

“Grim, and mighty kind of ya.” He nodded before raising the flyer. “Don’t suppose you can point me towards the McKenny’s farm?”

“Don’t leave the office so I never bothered learning who lives where.” The Orkin shrugged. “Ask someone out there, you humans love to gossip about one and other.”

“Fair enough.” He sighed, folding the bounty poster and slipping it into a pocket.

Stepping out of the sheriff’s office he was just in time to see a large man knock a dark haired woman to the ground. “You stupid bitch!”

With a frown on his face he made his way over.

“It’s not my fault you cheated on your wife!” The woman shouted at the man as she picked herself off the ground.

“But you’re the one who sent out that newspaper!” The man growled, looming over the woman.

“Hey, now what’s this all about?” He asked, stepping between the two. “Can’t think of a very good reason for a man to be laying hands on a woman.”

“Because of this bitch here my wife left me!” The man spat trying to step around him.

“And what exactly did she do to make your wife leave you?” He couldn’t help but wonder.

“I published a picture in my newspaper of an event at the saloon.” The woman laughed. “And this idiot was sitting with a working girl in his lap when we took the picture.”

“You shouldn’t have used that picture!” The man yelled.

“How were we supposed to know you were cheating on your wife?! I don’t even know your name!” The woman argued, forcing him to step between them once more as the man moved to strike the woman again.

“Hey, now there’s no need for that.” He told the man. “Now from the sound of this, the woman here was just doing her job and meant you no harm. Hells, how do you know she was the one to take the photo in the first place?”

“Because this whore is the only reporter in town!” The man answered once more trying to step around him.

“Listen friend, you're making a scene.” He warned the man, gesturing to the few passerbyers who had begun to gather round. “If you don’t want this to end badly I suggest you back down.”

“Are you threatening me?” The man growled, moving his hand to his gun.

“Only if you’re threatening the lady.” He answered, hands in the air.

They were both tense for a moment, staring into each others eyes before the man started to draw his gun.

Rather than reaching for his own, Grim’s hand shot forward and grabbed the man by his shoulder before sparks began to dance from his hand and the man cried out as his body began to spasm, forcing him to drop the gun on the ground.

He held the spell for a moment longer before letting go, and letting the man fall limply to the ground.

“Now then, with that settled-” Someone sucker punched him across the face.

“Get your hands off my brother, witch boy!”

Turning to a second man who’d run out from the crowd, he wiped at the corner of his mouth and found a bit of blood from where his cheek cut on his teeth.

Grim nodded once, before wreathing his hand in shadows and punching the man twice as hard, dropping him to the ground in a single blow.

“These two got any other family that wants to try something?” He asked the crowd, pushing just a bit of magic in his eyes to make them glow.

No one in the crowd stepped forward.

“Good.” He told them, letting the glow fade before turning to leave.

Or rather he would’ve left if the woman hadn’t stepped in front of him. “Thanks for helping with that mess.”

“Uh, no problem.” He frowned before trying to leave again.

“Hmm, you’re bleeding from that blow.” The woman noted with her own frown as she once more cut him off.

“I’ve had worse.” He assured, trying once more to leave.

“Come on, you should see the town doc about that.” The woman told him, grabbing him by his arm and dragging him after her.

“I really don’t need that.” He argued, pulling his arm free.

“Don’t be stubborn.” The woman frowned. “With the Doc’s magic you’ll be healed up in just a minute rather than having to deal with a sore cheek all day.”

“Magic?” He repeated.

“What, you didn’t think you were the only one with it did you?” The woman asked with a fair bit of sass.

He nearly scoffed, knowing far better than most magic users that while rare they weren’t one of a kind. “And where exactly is this doc?”

“Just down the street.” The woman pointed.

Nodding he started down the way she’d gestured.

“Name’s Sarah by the way. Sarah Princeton.” The woman introduced herself, still not leaving him alone.

Aware that she wasn’t going to stop he went ahead and answered, “Grim. Samuel Grim.”

“Pleasure to meet you Mr. Grim.” Ms. Princeton nodded, before walking into the middle of the street and continuing on. “Wyatt’s place is right here.”

He couldn’t help but blink as he saw the building or rather what was behind the building. “Your uh, Doc, he’s a uh, he's a good doctor right?”

“Oh, that? That’s his other job.” Ms. Princeton shrugged as if there was no problem with the graveyard behind the doctor’s office. “He says if he can’t save them, then at the very least he owes them the courtesy of a proper funeral no matter who they are.”

“Hmm.” (Still ought to make sure he’s not a necromancer stealing people’s health to heal others.) He’d met a necromancer like that once, and it had been a bitch and a half to convince his town that the man was doing more harm than good with his methods.

Ms. Princeton held the door open for him, waiting for him to follow her into the building that he could just hear two voices arguing inside of.

“And I’m telling you we have no right to meddle in this.” A voice with a clean city accent practically growled.

“As doctors we are clearly more qualified to deal with this matter than nurses and midwives.” A second older voice with a mix of country and city accents proclaimed.

“As male doctors?” The first voice scoffed incredulously. “Managing menstruals has been a femenine responsibility for hundreds of years, what makes you believe we’re more qualified than them to rule on this?”

“Given how we have actually been educated on the health and welfare of our patients, unlike many of our femenine competitors we are certifiably more qualified.” The second voice argued as they stepped into the main office.

“The fact that you called them competitors shows that this isn’t about health, it’s about profits.” The younger voice -a pale blonde man in his mid-twenties and wearing glasses- pointed out. “This isn’t about doing what’s best for our patients, it's about eliminating the competition so that they come to you and you can charge them for what some mothers teach their daughters for free!”

“This isn’t just about profits it’s also about ensuring that women-”

“That women what Mr. Presley?” Ms. Princeton cut in, making them known.

The apparent Mr. Presley -an older man with balding ginger hair- froze before giving Ms. Princeton a dirty look. “As it looks like you have company, we can continue this talk at a later date Mr. Cross.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s today or a year from now, I still refuse to be a part of this.” The younger man called after Mr. Presley as the older man stormed out of the building.

“Hate that man.” Ms. Princeton spat before giving Mr. Cross a concerned look. “What was all of that about?”

Mr. Cross raised his glasses and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “He was trying to convince me to join in some association of his in the hopes of lobbying the state to make it illegal for non-Doctors to help women to um, manage their uh, menstruals.” The young man coughed with a mild blush.

“And what right does he think he has to do that?” Ms. Princeton scowled.

“That he thinks women an inferior sex, like so many of my professional colleagues.” Mr. Cross answered with his own frown. “You’d believe that educated men would know better, but it seems like we’d be incorrect in the matter.”

“Well like you said mothers have been teaching their daughters about that kind of thing for years, so I very much doubt his little group will accomplish much of anything.” Ms. Princeton assured Mr. Cross.

“I hope you’re right.” Mr. Cross sighed before finally noticing him. “Oh, uh, sorry you had to witness all of that. Is there something I can help you with, sir?”

“Think nothing of it.” He told the man before explaining that, “The little miss wouldn’t let me go without seeing a doctor, and given how you’re supposed to have ‘healing magics’ I figured it wouldn’t hurt too much.”

“If you think healing magic won’t hurt you’re sadly misinformed.” Mr. Cross warned him. “Though luckily that’s usually reserved for the more extreme treatments than whatever seems to ail you.”

“It’s nothing too bad, just a nicked cheek from a sucker punch.” He explained.

“Ah, yes, that shouldn’t take too long to fix up.” Mr. Cross nodded before gesturing to a nearby doctor’s chair. “Why don’t you take a seat here and we’ll fix you up?”

He gave the doc a nod of his own before climbing into the chair. “You know I’m going to be honest, I thought you doctor types were supposed to have a problem with magic?”

“Many of us sadly do.” Mr. Cross admitted, pulling out a small stick with a crystal bound to the end. “But my personal philosophy is that you should use whatever means at your disposal to save those under your care, regardless of what the more scientific community tries to ban.”

“Fair enough.” He said, figuring that saving people was supposed to be the man’s job.

“Now kindly open your mouth would you?” Mr. Cross asked as the crystal in his hand lit up with a light.

Seeing no reason not to, he did.

“Hmm, that must’ve been some punch to cut your cheek on your teeth.” Mr. Cross noted with a frown. “Then again you do seem to have sharper teeth than most.”

“Ma used to joke that Pa had a vampire in his family tree, no idea if it’s true.” He shrugged.

“Well regardless of whether or not it's true I should be able to heal this easily enough.” Mr. Cross assured him as he grabbed at his tie where a gem of some kind was held.

Placing his glowing hand near Grim’s cheek the Doc began to frown after a moment. “Hmm, there… may be some truth to that vampire story.”

“A problem doc?” He asked, more curious than worried since he knew why healing magic didn’t like him.

“Yes, you seem a bit resistant to healing magics for some reason. Not enough to stop me from healing you, but enough to slow me down.” Mr. Cross explained, as his hand began to glow brighter. “Most likely one of your innate affinities doesn’t like my brand of healing, not exactly common but not something I haven’t come across before either.”

“Probably the shadow magic.” Ms. Princeton noted from off to the side where she was watching with a bit of fascination.

“Shadow magic?” The doc repeated.

“I’m Arcane.” He offered as way of explanation, even if not entirely accurate.

“Ah, then I suppose that would explain it.” Mr. Cross nodded, though after a moment or two the younger man felt the need to ask, “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly do you do for a living… I’m sorry I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Grim. Samuel Grim.” He introduced himself. “And I’m a bounty hunter by profession.”

“I see…” The doc frowned at the mention of his profession. “I apologize for asking, but given the rarity of magic in these parts I feel it’s better to be cautious when a new magic user appears.”

“That’s just common sense.” He fully agreed. “Funnily enough, I’m actually out this way on a hunt for a pretty nasty magic user myself.”

“Ooh, is it someone famous?” Ms. Princeton asked from the side.

“In his own way I suppose, don’t really have a name for him. Just know he wears a black suit everywhere and carries an odd looking gun.” He answered in case either of them might be able to help him out with his big one. “If he’s up to trouble he’ll also be wearing a plague doctor’s mask, but I know he doesn’t wear one when he’s just walking around.”

“Have you heard of anyone who fits that description Sarah?” Mr. Cross asked as he pulled his hand away.

“Mm, not that I can think of.” Ms. Princeton frowned. “Though if they’re in the area then they’re probably involving themselves with the O’learys.”

“The O’learys?” He repeated, remembering how the sheriff was supposed to have gone out to see them.

“Yeah, they own one of the largest farmsteads in the region but they’ve also got a hand in a lot of the shadier business in the nearby towns.” Ms. Princeton explained.

“Sarah, you really should stop spreading such rumors around.” Mr. Cross sighed. “If you keep up with such talk people might start to think less of your family’s paper.”

“I know for a fact that they’re paying the mayor to look the other way on their business.” Ms. Princeton argued.

“Yes, with their taxes.” Mr. Cross nodded. “Something they pay more of due to owning more property than anyone else in town.”

“Oh, Caleb, you're so innocent.” Ms. Princeton told him as she shook her head. “You’d think growing up in the city you’d be more on the lookout for corruption.”

“Sadly I’m more focused on injuries and illness.” Mr. Cross pointed out. “Things that I can actually do something about if I’m confronted by.”

“Well, regardless of whether or not they’re corrupt, they’re something I can look into if I find nothing else in the next few days.” He admitted, not wanting the two to have a full on spat when he’d be stuck listening to it.

“I suppose, given how that is your professional prerogative.” Mr. Cross shrugged, before taking a step back. “Unless you have another health problem, then that’s about it for your treatment.”

He ran a tongue over the cut on his cheek and didn’t even taste the half-rusted copper that was his blood. “Huh, that’s surprisingly good work.”

“If I couldn’t heal a simple cut then I’d be no good as a doctor.” Mr. Cross argued, as Grim climbed out of his seat before stumbling a step. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just a bit hungry.” He confessed. “What do I owe ya?”

“Hmm, well this was a relatively simple procedure so I don’t feel right charging you full price.” Mr. Cross told him, taking a moment to think about it. “How about ten cents and we call it even?”

“Can’t be making too much of a living healing people that cheaply.” He blinked, knowing most ‘Mystic Doctors’ would charge a full fifty even for a cut as simple as his, and that was before accounting for his… medical conditions. (Honestly, I’m lucky I’ve got my own brand of healing if a bit darker to use.)

“Unlike some in my profession I’m a doctor to help, not to make a profit.” Mr. Cross explained as he adjusted his glasses.

“Honestly, he has no head for business.” Ms. Princeton added. “If it weren’t for his family’s money he wouldn’t even be able to keep this office open.”

Mr. Cross seemed to grimace at that. “While my family was fairly well off, I’d like to think I’m not quite so beholden to their wealth.”

“Well I suppose you did move this far out of the way to get away from all of that.” Ms. Princeton conceded.

“Nothing wrong with a man wanting to make a name for himself.” He pointed out, before handing the doc twenty cents. “Our family is where we start, but we shouldn’t let their legacy be the end of our own.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you really don’t have to pay me this much.” Mr. Cross told him, looking at the coins in his hand.

“It’s not that much, especially since I’ve got a second bounty in the area that I should be able to wrap up before supper.” He argued, forcing the too kind man to accept the money. “Kind and honest folk deserve a better turn if only for how rare you lot are getting.”

“I suppose…” Mr. Cross frowned as he accepted the money.

“So you said you’ve another bounty in this area?” Ms. Princeton asked after a moment. “Surprised there’s two bounties out in this area.”

“The big one is in this region, no idea where it actually is. The one for today is a small thing on a farmstead.” He explained, figuring that this was as good a time as any to get directions. “Apparently the McKirdy farm has some kind of beastie harassing the edge of their property. Either of you know where that is?”

“Mm, yeah, that’s not too far if you want I can show you the way.” Ms. Princeton offered.

“You don’t have to do that.” He assured her. “Just tell me which way to take my horse and I’ll be able to find my way there eventually.”

“Or I can show you the way, and I can get a first hand account of a bounty hunter for my paper.” Ms. Princeton countered.

“My profession isn’t exactly safe.” He reminded her, while glancing at Mr. Cross hoping that given how they seemed like friends he’d talk her out of trying to tag along.

Mr. Cross shook his head. “Yeah, no, she’s not going to listen to me.”

“No, I’m not.” Ms. Princeton admitted with a shameless grin.

(I’m going to regret this…) He sighed, already feeling an ache in his gut.

---

“You’re sure this is the place?” He frowned, looking at the fields surrounding a small house with smoke coming from its chimney.

“Yep, this is the McKirdy’s farm.” Ms. Princeton nodded. “So how exactly do you go about this bounty hunting business?”

“For starters we should probably tell him we’re on his property and what for, else he might try and shoot us in the back.” He answered, climbing off of his pale horse Ghost.

“Does that happen often?” Ms. Princeton frowned as he made his way to the door. “I mean, wouldn’t most want to see who you are and why you’re there?”

“If people are actively hiring a bounty hunter then odds are they no longer care to know the ‘why’ of the strange going ons.” He explained, before knocking on the door to the house as he pulled the bounty poster out of his jacket.

After a few moments a man with a bushy beard opened the door, eyeing him cautiously, and clearly with a revolver in the hand hiding behind the door.

“Names Grim, I’m a bounty hunter passing through town. Saw this on a board in the sheriff’s office.” He handed the man the bounty poster, before saying, “I was hoping you could point me in the direction I should be starting my hunt.”

“Hmm, thought only one of the town’s youngin’s would take a shot at that.” McKirdy admitted handing him the poster back. “Give me a moment and I’ll take you to where me and my boys keep seeing this thing.”

“Much appreciated.” He nodded, before making his way back to Ghost and climbing up onto the pale horse.

“Sarah, is that you?” McKirdy asked as he stepped out of his house. “What are you doing with this stranger?”

“Couldn’t pass up on interviewing a bounty hunter in town, especially not one after some really big game in these parts.” Ms. Princeton smiled at the man.

“Hmm, your pa know you’re out this way?” McKirdy frowned, walking towards a nearby stable. “Don’t think he’d like knowing you’re runnin’ about with some strange man. Er, no offense Mr. Grim.”

“None taken Mr. McKirdy, I’m more than aware I am both a strange and dangerous man that the miss really should leave now that she’s helped me find my way to your farm.” He agreed, giving the girl a look he knew she’d ignore.

“I’m not letting go of this story that easily.” Ms. Princeton told him, firmly rejecting their opinions.

“Not going to be much of a story.” He shrugged, hoping this was one of his more straightforward hunts, if for no other reason than to get rid of her so he could eat in peace.

“Right, well, she’s a stubborn lass so I doubt that much matters to her.” Mr. McKirdy admitted as he climbed onto his horse. “Now come on, last time my boy spotted this beast it was on the north eastern edge of the farm.”

“Think you can tell me what exactly it is I’m hunting?” He asked as they set off. “Your poster was a bit vague on details.”

“Well that’s because I don’t rightly know what it is you’re hunting.” Mr. McKirdy sighed. “At first we thought a coyote or some such got onto our property and was attacking the livestock, but when me and my boys tried to hunt it ourselves we found this two legged thing out a bit into these woods just outside our land. Whatever it was spooked our horses anytime we tried to bring them near it, and when we shot at it the thing just kept moving without a care.”

“Don’t suppose you or your boys got a decent look at this thing?” He frowned, knowing a few too many too legged things that would scare off any horse that hadn’t been trained to deal with the beasts.

“Nah, we would’ve kept shooting but it let out this roar and started sprinting after us, which is when our horses decided to get us out of the way whether we liked it or not.” Mr. McKirdy explained.

“Hmm, well if it just ran at you then usually you just gotta shoot it with the right type of bullet to put the critter down.” He told his client, idly noting the now visible woods.

“And I’m guessing you’ve got the ‘right type of bullet’?” Mr. McKirdy asked, eyeing him with a bit of skepticism.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Trust me when I say my gun was built take down a beast far scarier than whatever you’ve got on your farm Mr. McKirdy.” (Just as soon as I find the slippery bastard…)

“Well, if you do manage to kill it you’ll get your money.” Mr. McKirdy nodded.

“Yeah, hard part is just going to be tracking this thing down.” He admitted. “Even if your guns didn’t hurt this thing, I very much doubt it stuck around wherever you last saw it. I’m guessing its head will do as proof of kill?”

“It’s head?” Ms. Princeton repeated looking up from her notepad. (Has she been writing this whole conversation down?)

“Well if it was a clawed creature, or had a memorable feature I’d cut that off and use it as proof of kill, but sometimes people want the entire corpse which can be a bit trickier if the creature is big enough.” He explained, something that even the more mundane hunters would know.

“If you were on your own I’d say yeah, but given how Sarah is with you, I’ll accept her word if she says you killed this thing.” Mr. McKirdy told him.

“Hmm, I’ll still grab the head.” He decided with a shake of his head. “Just taking someone’s word on it when you haven’t witnessed it doesn’t sit right with me, especially if it turns out there’s more than one of these things out here.”

“And if there are more than one of them out there?” Mr. McKirdy frowned.

“I’ll hunt each one I see, but I’ll expect double if I have to kill more than two.” He answered. “I get you know there’s only one so if it turns out there’s two, I won’t charge you for the second one, but if there’s more than that I’ll need hazard pay to restock afterwards.”

“Fair enough.” Mr. McKirdy accepted. “Though I should warn you we probably won’t be able to pay more than double if you decide you want more than that.”

“I’m not trying to bankrupt you, I’m just trying to make a living.” (If you can call it that.)

Mr. McKirdy gave him a nod before looking around a bit and pointing a bit further ahead.

“Here’s about where we went in to find the critter.” Mr. McKirdy said, gesturing towards a bent and twisted bit of wire fence. “Whatever keeps getting onto our land keeps tearing this bit of fencing up. When I put the bounty up I decided it was best to leave it and move the animals to the next pasture early so that I could leave the fence marked and get them away from whatever is attacking them.”

“Smart enough idea.” He nodded before climbing off of Ghost to get a better look. (There’s space wide enough for a single horse to get through, but the thin path means the family’s horse tracks have messed up the ground too much to spot anything belonging to whatever I’m hunting. The fact that the wire is barbed adds to it not feeling pain, though the fact that it didn’t leave any flesh or blood on the wire when tearing it down is a bit odd…)

“Well?” Mr. McKirdy asked after a moment.

“Nothing that lets me narrow down what I’m hunting.” He admitted, taking Ghost by his reins. “Going to have to go into the woods to actually track it down.”

“Figured as much.” Mr. McKirdy told him. “If you manage to find this critter in the next couple hours the Mrs. can send you off with a plate before supper gets cold.”

“That’d be much obliged.” He thanked the man, not wanting to point out he probably wouldn’t eat something he hadn’t prepared himself. “I’m Ms. Princeton here would love to have some of-”

“Nope, I’m not leaving.”

He sighed. “Look Ms. Princeton, this is the part where things actually start getting dangerous, and having to protect you-”

A gunshot tore through the air as Ms. Princeton drew and fired in a quick second.

“My Pa made sure I knew how to take care of myself Mr. Grim.” Ms. Princeton assured him.

“Surprised you didn’t draw that on that fella back in town.” He told her eyeing the gun speculatively.

“We were close enough to the sheriffs that I didn’t think he’d actually start any trouble.” Ms. Princeton admitted.

“Never underestimate stupid.” He warned her, before looking towards Mr. McKirdy. “Well, since I can’t talk her into leaving, I’ll try to have this wrapped up before nightfall and if not I’ll pick it up after getting her to you, because it is too dangerous to be around an unknown beast in the dark, gun or no gun.”

Ms. Princeton gave him a petulant stare before eventually conceding, “Fine.” as she realized he wouldn’t budge on this.

“Well then, I guess I’ll leave you to it then.” Mr. McKirdy nodded before taking his horse and returning towards the farm house.

“So then Mr. Grim, now that it’s just you and I, how exactly does a bounty hunter go about hunting their less human prey?” Ms. Princeton asked, guiding her horse through the downed fence as he climbed back on his.

“Well there’s a few ways,” (most of which I can’t use with you here) “but for now we should head deeper into these woods and see if we can’t find anything mundane first.”

“Hmm, and I was hoping for something more… mystical.” Ms. Princeton admitted.

“Trust me when I say my methods aren’t exactly ‘mystical’ in nature.” He warned her. (If anything, seeing them might just give you nightmares.)

“Shame, I was hoping for something more… exciting to give my readers in town.” Ms. Princeton told him.

“Hunting is a job, same as any other, just a bit more dangerous at times.” He explained, before pausing as he sniffed the air. “You smell that?”

“Smell what?” Ms. Princeton frowned.

He sniffed the air a bit more before turning. “This way.”

“What exactly are you smelling Mr. Grim?” Ms. Princeton called as he and Ghost sped through the woods.

“Whoa, boy.” He told Ghost as he pulled on his reins, slowing the horse down, before hopping off of it.

“Mr. Grim, why exactly did you take off like that?” Ms. Princeton asked as she caught up with them.

He held a hand up and sniffed the air, noticing how much stronger the scent had gotten.

A nearby branch snapped.

Power surged through his mind as the world around him slowed, his reflexes going far beyond that of a normal human, even if just for a few seconds.

He drew his gun and fired a ghastly green bullet from his revolver before watching it impact the face of the man who had stepped out of the foliage and sending its grey matter flying.

As the corpse hit the ground, the world around him sped up as he lost his grip on the energy that had been flooding his mind and speeding him up.

“Fuck, that’s going sting.” He admitted to himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose to try and force back the migraine that trick always gave him, a migraine that grew all the worse when he realized he still hadn’t gotten a chance to eat anything yet.

“Mr. Grim, why in tarnation did you just shoot that man?!” Ms. Princeton (loudly) screeched as she aimed her gun at him.

“Take a second look.” He told her, motioning towards the corpse. “And I mean really look at it.”

Ms. Princeton narrowed her eyes before looking at the corpse and promptly grimacing. “He’s covered in wounds.”

“More than that, he’s half-rotted.” He pointed out, kicking the corpse over just enough to show off a few bones sticking out of the undead.

“Is this one of those uh, Deadmen I’ve heard about?” Ms. Princeton asked, eyeing the corpse with a fair amount of fear as she moved her aim from him to it.

“No.” He assured her, before pointing at the bullet hole he’d put in the cruel caricature of a creature. “See how the blood is an almost reddish black color? Deadmen have green blood unless they’re actively starving themselves, in which case their blood would still be a brighter red than this.”

“So then what was this?” Ms. Princeton frowned.

“It’s a Risen Dead.” He answered, looking the corpse over. “They’re what you get when a Necromancer decides to pump a corpse full of dark magic and puppet them around. Honestly, this one is of a pretty shit quality given how much rot it has. If it had been decently made, even three weeks later you wouldn’t be able to tell it was dead until you saw its glazed eyes.”

“That’s horrifying.” Ms. Princeton paled.

“Maybe.” He admitted, dusting his hands as he stood up. “At the very least it means whoever raised this either didn’t put too much effort into this one, or they're not all that good at the whole Necromancy thing.”

“And how do you know that?” Ms. Princeton grimaced, no longer able to keep looking at the dead thing on the ground.

“Professional experience.” He shrugged, looking around for the corpse’s trail. “My… occupation makes sure I know this kind of thing.”

Spotting what he was looking for he started walking deeper into the forestry. “If this is too much for your stomach I suggest you turn back, because things are only going to get darker from here on in.”

“You’re not taking its head?” Ms. Princeton asked. “You, you said you needed it for proof of the kill.”

He gave her a half-bitter chuckle as he paused. “Yeah, but let’s be honest this isn’t over until I take the head of whoever raised this thing. I suggest you tie your horse’s reins to Ghost’s and leave them here, best we continue on foot from here.”

“Why?” Ms. Princeton frowned, even as she did as he said.

“Undead tend to spook horses if they get close enough to notice them.” He told her once they started to move. “Ghost can handle it but I doubt your horse can, so it’s best to continue on foot until we deal with this mess.”

“You’re… You’re not asking me to leave?” Ms. Princeton realized after a moment. “I thought you’d tell me to leave, given how adamant you’ve been thus far.”

“If you want to, I won't stop you, but honestly it’s now easier for me if you are here.” He admitted.

Ms. Princeton narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “How so?”

“If I have to put the necromancer down, having you vouch for me as a witness will keep me from being run out of town for murdering a supposedly innocent man.” He explained.

Ms. Princeton gave him a concerned look. “Has that happened before?”

“People want to believe the best of their neighbors and will happily blame the stranger who makes a living killing things.” He chuckled before sighing. “Doesn’t actually bother me mind you, just wish they’d let me track down whatever dark books they’re using before they run me off.”

“Meaning that someone else could find those books and start the whole thing over.” Ms. Princeton figured, coming to her own conclusions.

“That does happen on occasion.” He nodded before pausing as he noticed multiple sets of tracks on the ground. “Good, the necromancer has been regularly recalling their undead before sending them back out. Trail should get easier to follow the closer we get.”

“Why exactly would this person want to send their undead out and then summon them back?” Ms. Princeton asked. “Aren’t the undead best for guarding a place or attacking a place?”

“Those are their most common uses.” He admitted, before clarifying, “Though there are a fair few other reasons, such as ‘collecting materials’, scaring people off from an area, or if they know a spell I doubt this amateur does scouting out wherever they go.”

“When you say ‘collecting materials’?” Ms. Princeton paled.

“Corpses.” He confirmed for her. “Though they don’t have to be human if the necromancer knows any Flesh-Sculpting.”

“I don’t think I want to know what that is.” Ms. Princeton grimaced.

“The name says it all.” He told her with a smirk, before thinking about the matter for a moment. “I don’t suppose you can tell me what these woods are near can you? Should help me figure out why they’re active in this area.”

“Oh, um, well there’s the McKirdy’s farm of course… then there’s the Washingtons farm to the east, the O’Leary’s to the north, and the Foresters to the west.” Ms. Princeton listed for him.

“So there are four properties that border this forest and none of them own it?” He frowned.

“Well that’s because the town owns it due to this old mine that dried up a few years back.” Ms. Princeton explained.

“A mine that someone probably found wasn’t really dry.” He guessed, having seen something similar once before. “And if not, then the mine is still probably where this Necromancer is hiding out until they decide to make a bigger move. Don’t suppose you know where to find it?”

“From the town maybe since there should still be an old road, but from in the middle of the woods?” Ms. Princeton shook her head. “Best I could say is find the river and follow it to the ravine they built the mine into.”

“Well hopefully these tracks will lead us that way.” He sighed, deciding to keep his ear out for any running water.

---

It took over an hour on foot, but eventually they managed to find the river Ms. Princeton had been talking about, and from there the ravine and mine as well.

“Are you sure this is where this necromancer will be based?” Ms. Princeton asked as he lit a lantern they’d found in an office building near the ravine’s opening.

“Given how many fresh tracks are in the area, it’s a pretty safe bet.” He nodded, handing her a lantern. “Real question will be how deep they’re hiding, and how many there’ll be.”

“Shouldn’t you grab a lantern as well?” Ms. Princeton frowned as he moved to enter the mine.

“Don’t need it.” He admitted, letting a little power make his eyes glow.

“That must be useful.” Ms. Princeton blinked.

“Sometimes.” (Though usually it’s just a dead give away of what I am.) “At the very least it means I’ve got both hands free.” He told her, drawing his revolver and making sure it was only loaded with quartz to keep from damaging the mines with his heavier artillery.

“I suppose that can come in handy.” Ms. Princeton agreed, watching him curiously. “So how exactly are we supposed to find our way through here?”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out an old map of the mine he’d swiped from the office. “Well, going off of this map I found… This mine spreads out over almost a hundred acres of land, meaning there’s a fair bit of space for them to be hiding underground. Especially given how this mine goes more than a hundred feet deep with different levels.”

“That’s… a lot of space for just two people to cover.” Ms. Princeton admitted as they started into the mine. “Are you sure we can handle this by ourselves?”

“Honestly, if I thought it was an option I’d just seal the mine off and let the bastards suffocate inside.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Problem is we don’t know if they’re actually inside at the moment or just storing their dead here. What’s more, depending on how long they’ve been here they could’ve mined out a second entrance to escape if things go wrong.”

“I see…”

“At the very least there shouldn’t be too many dead in here, given how if they’d gathered enough corpses to be a legitimate threat someone would’ve noticed the missing people or graverobbing before now.” He tried reassuring her so he wouldn’t lose his witness.

“Well, that’s something at least…” Ms. Princeton said in a way that told him how little that did to reassure her.

(Probably shouldn’t mention the fact that they could’ve turned an unknown number of animals into undead without anyone noticing.) He figured, as he glanced into a nearby room to make sure it was empty.

“I’m surprised we haven’t seen anything yet.” Ms. Princeton told him after some time wandering the mine.

“Probably a small operation…” He admitted, before spotting something just ahead of them. “Though the fact that that light is lit means we’re getting close to it.”

“I… I suppose it does.” Ms. Princeton frowned, looking a little more warily than a few moments prior.

“Ms. Princeton.” He started to get the young woman’s attention, before offering the map when she looked at him. “Once we see the undead or whoever is behind this I want you to take the map and get out of here, before finding the sheriff and bringing him here.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that without a horse?” Ms. Princeton asked. “If you recall you had us leave our horses behind.”

“If you tied their reins together like I told you, your horse and mine will be waiting outside.” He assured her. “Ghost’s not a normal horse, and he knows not to let me go too far from him.”

“That’s… right, you’re an Arcane I should just assume magic.” Ms. Princeton sighed.

“Sure let’s go with that.” It was far easier than the actual explanation anyway. “Still need you to stick around until we confirm the necromancer is here though.”

“Of course.” Ms. Princeton nodded with a bit of determination in her eyes. “If something is going on here I want to get to the truth of the matter.”

(Not exactly smart, but it works in my favor so whatever.) He figured, knowing to keep that thought to himself.

“Let’s try to keep quiet from here on out. Don’t want to alert anyone who is here.” He told her instead.

“Right.”

As they continued through the tunnels he found that the tension seemed to increase despite the fact that the lanterns on the wall provided them with even more light to work with. Most of said tension coming from Ms. Princeton’s nervousness as she seemed to jump at every shadow they passed despite him looking through them before she passed.

He of course didn’t share said nervousness if only because a bullet to the head would only slow him down, but her jitteriness did remind him why he preferred to work alone. (Or at least with something a little less lively.)

Eventually they did come across an undead shambling through the tunnel and he had to stop Ms. Princeton from raising her gun. “Too loud. Gunshot will echo through the tunnels.”

Instead he creeped up behind the corpse, wreathing his hands in shadows as he moved, before grabbing the undead’s skull and twisting in just the right way to break its neck.

With the corpse on the ground he held a hand up to keep Ms. Princeton back in case the thing decided to get back up, but found that whatever magic had kept the thing stitched together had already given out. (This really is shotty craftsmanship.)

“Is it dead?” Ms. Princeton asked.

“Wasn’t really alive in the first place.” He pointed out before shaking his head. “Used to Necromancers giving their creations Death Rattles, a final attack to kill whatever kills them.” (Or that’s what the smart ones do anyways.) “Either way this one isn’t getting back up.”

Ms. Princeton took a closer look at the corpse before nudging it with her boot. “You think this is enough to go get the sheriff?”

“No. Like I said, need to see an actual person here or else it could just be mistaken as a corpse wandering into the mines.” He explained, before taking in their surroundings and remembering that the map had forked the mine’s path around here. “Hmm, lights are lit down both paths which you want to take?”

“Don’t you have some kind of magic to find them, like you did back in the forest?” Ms. Princeton frowned as she pulled out the map.

He shook his head. “Need more open air. Tunnels are too cramped, and there have been too many undead passing through too frequently.”

“Then… the right.” Ms. Princeton decided, motioning towards said path. “Map says there’s a larger cavern in that area. Seems like a better place to store an army than a few dead end tunnels.”

“Fair enough.” He nodded, once more taking the lead.

“Do you hear that?” Ms. Princeton asked after a few minutes.

“Yeah… keep quiet and stick to the walls.” He told her, hearing the same voices she could.

“How much longer is the boss going to have us messing with bodies for him?” Someone asked.

“However long it takes to build a horde to overrun the O’Leary’s.” A second answered. “As long as that family is around, they’ll keep muscling us out of anything in the area.”

“I know that.”

“Then you also know they have more guns than us.”

“Yeah, but there’s a dozen of us and how many of them?”

“Depends on if we count everyone that works for them, either way it’s more than us. Hence the undead.”

“Still don’t these things unnerve you?”

“I trust the boss, don’t you?”

“I trust him, I just don’t trust this necromancer he hired.”

(Well that explains what’s happening here at least.) He frowned, peeking around a corner and spotting a handful of men through an opening leading to the cavern Ms. Princeton had pointed out on her map.

He heard a faint growl echoing from down the tunnel.

“What has the dog upset?”

“Don’t know…”

“Shit.” He cursed as quietly as he could before turning to Ms. Princeton. “Run and get the sheriff, I’ll hold them down.”

“But what about-”

The sound of barking had his eyes widening. “Fuck, get moving now!”

Wreathing his hands in shadow he stepped in front of Ms. Princeton right as a hound tore around the corner before lunging straight at them.

The beast’s fangs bit into the shadows shielding his arm as he was forced to stare into the half-rotted face of the undead hound.

He glared over his shoulder at the still present Ms. Princeton. “I said move!”

Ms. Princeton blinked before finally doing as he ordered and fleeing back towards the entrance to the mine.

With her gone he turned his ghastly green eyes onto the beast trying to devour him. “Now as for you…”

He grabbed the top of the hound’s maw with his free hand before slowly prying it open enough to free his other arm, at which point he also grabbed the bottom of the beast’s jaw and began slowly opening it until the hound’s jaw began to crack. Not that that actually stopped him of course.

Tearing the beast’s maw in two he saw the unnatural light in the hound’s eyes fade and tossed both half of the corpse to his sides.

He inhaled slowly before exhaling as he forced himself back under control. (Right, now that it’s just me and them I just need to draw out the necromancer… this is going to suck.)

Two of the men he saw earlier rushed out with their guns trained on him, and he raised his hands into the air.

---

The men dragged him back to the man cavern and forced him onto his knees after confiscating his gun, leaving him free to count out the eight others present as well as the dozen or so corpses they had standing off to the sides of the room.

“So this is the man who set us back a week’s worth of work?” A voice asked after several minutes.

“Yep.” He nodded, turning his attention to the man entering the cavern, a tall thin fellow wearing a suit, mask, and top hat like some sort of theater villain. “I should warn ya though, it says something that killing three undead sets you back that far.”

(Really wish I had a better plan for drawing this guy out before he can run away.) Unfortunately he’d long since learned that necromancers tended to run very far and very fast while you were stuck slaughtering their horde. (Well, most necromancers anyway.)

The ones that didn’t run were the ones you should run from.

“Hmm, was he alone?” The necromancer asked one of the men, deciding to ignore his constructive criticism.

“As far as we can tell.” One of the men stepped forward.

“We figure out why he was sniffing around our mines?” The necromancer continued.

“I’m a bounty hunter, one of your corpses has been harassing a nearby farm.” He cut in with a shrug. “Was just doing my job and tracking down its source.”

“Of course…” The necromancer sighed, before glaring at the man. “Who was in charge of hunting animals with my creations?”

“Louis.” The goon answered. “I’ll go and have words with him when we’re done here.”

“If you’d be so kind.” The necromancer nodded, before turning his attention back to Grim. “While I understand you were just doing your job I can’t just let you walk out of here alive.”

(Not really a problem.) He admitted to himself. “I’m guessing you’re also not just going to hold me captive until you finish your business here.”

“Can’t risk you talking, and since you’re a stranger don’t know if we could just pay you off.” The necromancer explained his reasoning, before grabbing at Grim’s face. “Though you look like you’d make a good undead.”

(You’ve no idea.) “I’ll pass.” He told the necromancer with a snap of his jaws. “If a necromancer is going to do any work on me I want a professional.”

“As you can see by my little operation I am a professional.” The necromancer assured him before snapping his fingers, causing two of the nearby corpses to wander over. “I understand you’ve no understanding of the dark arts but my corpses are the finest you’ll find in the valley.”

He glanced at the half-rotted corpse before looking the necromancer in his masked eyes. “Yeah, being the smartest idiot does not mean you are smart.”

The necromancer frowned at him. “You clearly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Same could be said of you.” He pointed out before gesturing to the corpse. “I mean look at this thing you’ve clearly only resurrected it by pumping it full of magic and hoping for the best. You haven’t even modified its skeletal structure or stitched in animal musculature to try and enhance its physiology, let alone enchanting the remnants’ flesh and bones. All in all the only way this would look more amateurish is if you were resurrecting mice to figure the basics out.”

The necromancer blinked before taking a shifty look at the other men in the cavern and gaining a deeply offended look.

“You dare criticize my work?! Do you have any idea who I am?!” The necromancer yelled, leaning in close enough that he could see the man’s brown eyes through the mask.

“A sad pathetic little man?” He offered as a far kinder alternative to what he actually believed the man really was.

The necromancer struck him across the face. “I am the fucking graveslinger-”

“Pfft-ha-ha-ha!” He couldn’t help himself, even as everyone other than the necromancer looked at him as if he’d lost his god damned mind. “No, no, you’re not.”

“How dare you?!” The pathetic fake growled.

“Oh, oh, I needed a laugh.” He admitted, unable to completely stop his laughter. “But have you ever actually looked at a corpse risen by the Graveslinger?”

“That depends, have you ever looked at the Graveslinger’s gun?” The necromancer asked, drawing a revolver with a simple enchantment on it -one that resonated with his own Shadows- and aiming it at Grim’s head.

“Please tell me you aren’t trying to pass that off as the demon’s Requiem.” As someone who operated as his own gunsmith he felt deeply offended by this (idiotic amateur) trying to pass this piece of junk off as that complex piece of magical machinery.

“The Demon’s Requiem?” The necromancer repeated.

“You don’t even know the name of the Graveslinger’s gun…” He grimaced. “I should’ve realized that when I saw the stupid top hat and domino mask.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The necromancer growled.

“The Graveslinger has a giant bird’s skull for a face.” He pointed out. “Half of his bounty posters feature that or at least a plague doctor’s mask, so I don’t know how you messed that part up. Oh, and the top hat looks stupid on you let alone the Graveslinger.”

What he could see of the necromancer’s face turned steadily red, and as the cheap knock off cocked the hammer of the revolver, he prepped himself to take a bullet to the head by marking the necromancer for cheap tracking for whenever he woke up.

“Ah, ah, that won’t be necessary.” A new voice cut in.

“What?!” The knock off snarled before immediately losing all color as he saw who he just yelled at.

He couldn’t say he was much better, “Bill?”

“Samuel.” A dark haired muscular man acknowledged with a nod. “Been a while.”

The necromancer looked between them. “You know this guy?”

“Used to run with his brother back in the day.” Bill explained, before giving the necromancer a once over. “And honestly if you’re going to claim you're the Graveslinger you really should try to look the part.”

“You, you knew…” The knock off flinched.

“Yep, and honestly I didn’t care since I just needed a necromancer,” Bill admitted before turning towards him. “And truth be told I wouldn’t be caught dead working with the Graveslinger.”

He blinked before snarling as he realized that if Bill was alive then, “You traitorous bastard!”

Bill gave a fake frown as he shook his head. “Hey, now you know as well as I that my parents were happily married.”

“You, you left Arthur to die!” He growled, picking himself off the ground as the edge of his vision began to blur green.

“Ah, and that’s how you survived.” Bill said before drawing his gun and shooting him in the head. “Well survived is a strong word for a Deadman.”

--- Sarah Princeton ---

She rode her horse into town as fast as she could, yelling, “Mr. Holiday! Sheriff! Sheriff!” in the hopes of rousing the sheriff.

As she neared the sheriff’s office Earl Holiday stepped out, with his Orkin deputy behind him. “Ms. Princeton what in tarnation is going on?”

“The-the mines.” She began, trying to get her heart under control after riding so hard. “I was following this bounty hunter, Samuel Grim, for a story while he hunted a monster on McKirdy’s farm. We followed it and found an undead, a lot of undead coming and going from the old mines in the woodland ravine. There’s a bunch of men in there ordering them around, and we heard something about them getting ready to attack the town in the next few days.”

Sheriff Holiday’s face grew steadily more severe as he listened to her story before glancing behind her. “Where is this bounty hunter fellow, if he’s a real hunter he should be able to tell me what exactly we’re up against.”

“They caught us and sent some kind of undead hound after us.” She explained. “He caught it before it could go after me and told me to run and get help while he tried to slow them down. If we don’t get moving now they’re going to kill him.”

Holiday glanced at his deputy who gave him a nod. “Samuel Grim is the bounty hunter who wanted to meet you earlier today, and he did take a job out by the McKirdy’s farmstead.”

“Alright, listen up!” The sheriff called out to the crowd. “We’ve got a band of outlaws with a dark magic user out in the old mine I need any volunteers we can gather to form a posse to hunt them down before they can hurt our town, but remember there is a bounty hunter out that way fighting to buy us time so those of you who are coming need to move quick and those of you who aren’t need to go and call for the people who will!”

The towns people quickly began moving either to get their horses or to go spread the word about what was going on, and as she watched everyone moving around she couldn’t help but pray that they’d be able to get there in time to save Mr. Grim from whatever was being done to him.

--- Samuel Grim ---

(He was running.)

(The streets were on fire.)

(His home was empty.)

(Blood, ash, and gun smoke were in the air.)

(He had to find his brother.)

(Corpses were everywhere.)

(A man with white hair and glowing eyes stared at him.)

(He found his brother too late for even a final goodbye.)

(The smoke swirled around the man, revealing his true self in black smoke.)

(He drew his gun and aimed it at the man, the monster who killed his brother.)

(The demon crossed the distance between them in a blink of an eye.)

(He glared into the eyes of the demon as it held his gun away.)

(The demon crushed the metal as if it was paper before throwing it aside.)

(He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he stared at the demon.)

(The demon turned away, dismissing him as a mere ant to its power.)

(His eyes shot to the gun in his brother’s hand, the gun he’d made and gifted him.)

(Picking up the gun he aimed it at the demon and pulled the trigger.)

(The bullet tore through a cloud of smoke as the demon turned to face him, gun drawn.)

(A gunshot rang like the toll of a funeral bell.)

(He hit the ground as breathing became hard.)

(The demon left him to rot, not even bothering to finish him off.)

(He stared at his brother’s lifeless corpse, remembering his smile, and his grip tightened on the gun in his hand.)

(Pushing through the pain, he raised his gun and aimed it at the demon even as his vision began to darken.)

(The gun grew heavy in his hand… Too heavy…)

(He tried to pull the trigger but… he couldn’t as the gun dragged his hand to the ground…)

(As the darkness creeped in he was forced to watch the demon walk away unscathed.)

(He forced himself to stay awake, even as his brown eyes grew heavy, too heavy to stay open.)

(And as the world faded to black only a single thought ran through his mind repeatedly, as it grew into obsession… The thought, the desire, the need for…)

(VENGEANCE.)

Ghastly green eyes shot open.

“F-uck!” He groaned, more pained by the hunger in his stomach than the ache from where the bullet had torn through his skull. (Shit, must be lower on Ectoplasm than I thought.)

Unfortunately, given how much fear outlaw necromancers had caused, keeping his ectoplasm as low as he did was the only way he could walk through a town without someone putting a bullet in him for having green blood.

(Really, wish I’d gotten rid of Ms. Princeton before all of this, could’ve eaten something before coming down here.) He grimaced before finally noticing that he was strapped down to a large wooden table.

With a frown he took a look around the room and found himself surrounded by what looked to be the inside of a butcher’s shop. (Guess the knock off decided that experimenting on a Deadman was too rare of an opportunity to let them completely off me.)

He pulled at his bindings and found they had no give before trying to wrap his limbs in shadow and- “Fuck!” -immediately regretting it as his head began to spin from hunger, as the hunger in his stomach began to cloud his mind.

(HuNgRy…)

He bit his lip and shook his head as he reeled his hunger back under control. “Right… Note to self… eat the next fucker you see…”

“Ah, you’re finally awake.” A voice noted, drawing his attention to the knockoff entering the room. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d be out given how red your blood was.”

“How long… was I out?” He asked, still trying to force his hunger down as his mouth began to water at just how close he was to the (meat.)

“Only an hour, which while not impressive for a Deadman is something for a human.” The necromancer told him. “Though whether or not you count as human is up for debate.”

“More human than you.” He assured the (meat) as he wondered how long it would take Ms. Princeton to get the sheriff and get back. (Hopefully, I can eat my fill before she gets back.)

He shook his head once more.

“Oh, is that infamous ‘hunger’ you deadmen eating at you?” The necromancer asked curiously. “Tell me what’s it like having to eat people to survive?”

“Come closer and I’ll tell ya.” He promised the (meat.)

“Hmm, tempting but I have other ideas.” The necromancer admitted. “You see as a necromancer Deadmen are a special if rare avenue of research for my kind.”

“You mean cheap knockoffs?”

The (meat) gave him an ugly(/delicious) look before smiling. “You know the funny thing is with the research I’m going to harvest from your corpse, I’ll no longer be making cheap knock offs while having to pretend to be some urban legend we necromancers use to scare up business.”

“Urban legend?” He laughed at the (meat)’s idiocy as his head began to cloud.

“Ah, yes, you wouldn’t know.” The (meat) chuckled. “We necromancers made up the legend of the Graveslinger to drum up fear of necromancers so that people would realize how valuable we can be. Then we all dress up as the Graveslinger pretending to be some kind of myth so that we can have this staggering reputation behind us until we’ve built up the power and skill to stand on our own two feet.”

“The Graveslinger… a myth…” He smirked, knowing just how wrong the (meat) was even if he was unable to remember how he knew.

“Yes.” The (meat) nodded sagefully as (it) leaned over him. “Surprising I know but-”

Something inside of him snapped and he felt a burning power flood through his bones, eating him alive even as it gave him enough power to tear through the straps binding one of his arms so that he could grab the (meat) by (its) head and drag (it) close enough for him to bite into (its sweet, sweet, meat.)

The (meat) screamed as (it) tore (itself) free from his grasp, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as relief flooded his system and the hunger devoured everything it could from the meager meal he’d managed to claim.

As the green cloud slowly receded from his mind he couldn’t help but be thankful for the fact that necromancy tended to cause its users to passively build a greater amount of ectoplasm in their veins than the common citizen. That detail was why he specialized in hunting necromancers, given how a single pound of a stronger necromancer was almost equal to a pound of flesh from an actual Deadman, which when combined with the rarity of Deadmen on the planes in general made them a superior food option.

(Though the magic does give them an odd sort of tangy aftertaste.)

After a moment, while his hunger wasn’t completely satiated he found that it was at a point he could think and move freely enough to begin undoing the straps pinning him to the table.

“Hold it right there!” Someone shouted from the doorway, where he found a man -who hadn’t just taken a bite out of- pointing a gun at him.

“No, need to shoot.” He assured the man raising both of his unarmed hands into the air.

“You, you just took a bite out of, out of the Graveslinger!” The man shouted, hands shaking.

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “I wish, would definitely be more filling than that cheap knock off.”

The man began to pull the trigger of his gun and power flooded through Grim’s body as he drew on the meager amount of energy his meal had provided him, slowing the world around him to a crawl.

While in this state he aimed his hand at the man and summoned his brother’s gun from wherever they’d left it before pulling the trigger and shooting the man dead with a bullet made of burning ectoplasm.

“Fuck…” He groaned as the world sped back up, leaving him with a migraine as those actions ate through most of what he’d gotten from the bite of the knock off.

Shaking his head clear, he undid the remaining straps before climbing off of the table and making his way to the man he just killed.

He briefly considered taking a bite of the man, but ultimately dismissed the idea knowing that while he probably had some ectoplasm in his veins from being around a necromancer for so long, it wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to fill him. (Better off hunting down the knock off. With a chunk of his throat missing he couldn’t have gotten far.)

Walking through the mines he found it relatively easy to follow the knock off necromancer via the bloody handprints left here and there on the tunnel walls. (Though he’s definitely making it further than I gave him credit for…)

Sniffing the air at a fork in the mines he couldn’t help but frown as he caught the scent of gunsmoke lingering in the air beneath the scent of undead rot and the necromancer’s blood.

(That’s recent…) He noted, turning the way the knock off had run.

Which is when he came across a body with a bullet in its head.

Figuring this was the ‘Louis’ responsible for letting the undead corpse that led him here out of sight, he ignored it while thinking how there had to have been a better place to leave the body if they were going to execute him.

The second body made him pause however.

(Did the sheriff make it here while I was out?) He wondered, glancing around the darkness of the mines. (Then why weren’t these guys more worried about this? Gunshots would echo throughout these mines.)

Unable to deny the fact that something else was going on, he continued moving through the tunnels with notably more caution than before.

(Need to find that necromancer before anyone else. If this isn’t the sheriff I don’t have anywhere near enough ectoplasm to deal with them.)

Every so often he would pass another corpse, and regardless of if it had been turned into an undead or not, each one he found had been shot to death with a gun that had enough firepower to put fist size holes in some of them.

(Really not liking this.)

Eventually he found the knock off’s body amongst the rest, only instead of having bled out to death he seemed to have been shot in the back while running away from something that had been following him.

“Hmm, bet you didn’t like whatever did this either?” He frowned, before grabbing the knock off’s head and sniffing. “Damn, your plasm is already losing power…”

Knowing he had to move quickly, he manipulated what little ectoplasm he had in his system to try and gather all of the necromancer’s remaining power into a single point before opening his mouth and getting to work.

By the time he finally finished he could feel just enough power running through his veins that they had taken on a faintly green tone from the toxic substance keeping him alive.

“Guess that’s the best I’m going to get out of you.” He sighed, wiping his mouth clean before looking in the direction the necromancer had been running to. “Hopefully, it’s enough to deal with whoever is shooting everyone with a silenced gun.” (And find that traitorous bastard while I’m at it.)

Steeling himself, he continued towards the source of whatever had gone wrong here before finding himself in a room full of several dozen undead be they made from man or beast, or rather what used to be several dozen undead were now just a mountain of corpses spread throughout the room as black gunsmoke rolled through the room like a fog of war.

Standing in the center of the room, surrounded by all of this carnage was a white haired man in a black suit with a multi-barreled revolver in his hand.

“Hmm, oh? Did I miss someone?” A voice he would never forget asked. “Then again, you do look familiar… Did I just not kill you well enough?” It asked with a tilt of its head.

But most tellingly of all was the mask upon his face…

“If you want I can easily rectify that.” It offered as the smoke behind it curled into a demon smiling with a maw full of fangs.

… the mask of a crow’s skull.

“Graveslinger.” He growled, before raising his gun and firing.

Blazing green bullets blasted through smoke as the demon’s body shuddered out of the way. “Oh my. How rude.”

“Hold still so I can shoot you!” He snarled at the demon as with one hand he continued to shoot, while he shoved the other into one of his jacket pockets, hoping they hadn’t looted him while he was unconscious.

“Hmm, I don’t think I will.” It told him in a casual tone as if this was all some kind of game.

Finding that they hadn’t looted him, he flipped his revolver open and dumped the quartz out of it, not even bothering to catch the small stones as he replaced them with a number of colored gems.

“Ah, I just remembered who you are!” The demon laughed, hitting the bottom of its fist against its open palm.

His next six shots exploded into flame as he aimed at the ground near the demon hoping to hit it even if only via the result of his shots rather than his actual bullets.

The demon appeared next to him in a cloud of smoke, its gun in hand and aimed at the side of his head. “Your Arthur Grim’s brother.”

Power surged through him as the world slowed around him, allowing him to watch as the demon began to pull the trigger on its gun and giving him just enough time to lean out of the way as a bullet shot through the air in front of him.

“You know I could’ve sworn I killed you.” The demon laughed, spinning its gun on its finger. “After you tried to kill me anyway.”

“You killed my brother!” He yelled, unloading another six shots of flame and ectoplasm at the demon.

The demon rushed forward in a cloud of black smoke until its face was mere inches from his own, and he was forced to stare into gold eyes surrounded by black sclera.

“Your brother was a traitorous murderer.” The demon said its voice a dead whisper.

He wrapped his fist in shadows before swinging at the demon’s face. “No, he wasn’t!”

The demon took a step back before grasping his shadow wreathed hand with a set of black claws. “If he wasn’t I wouldn’t have killed him.”

He kicked out at the demon, but rather than forcing it back with his undead strength he found himself being shoved away instead.

“And if you hadn’t tried to kill me, I wouldn’t have killed you either.” The demon (lied.)

“What about everyone else you’ve killed?!” He screamed, emptying the rubies out of his gun and replacing them with sapphires. “I’ve been tracking you everywhere you go and you always leave a mountain of corpses in your wake.”

“That I do.” The demon admitted as if proud of the fact. “Though I’m sure they’re all oh so grateful that I did.”

“Why would anyone thank a killer like you?!” He snarled, shooting out half a dozen bullets of ice that quickly froze whatever they touched.

“Because it isn’t every day you get to kill your own murderer.” The demon answered softly.

“That’ll be today for me!” He growled infusing as much ectoplasm as he could into his Revengeance Revolver before pulling the trigger and firing a bullet so cold it left a trail of ice beneath it.

“Maybe once I’m done with my list.” The demon disagreed, somehow avoiding the shot even if the smokey shadow of its true self was frozen into a statue. “But I can’t die until I get my vengeance.”

“Neither can I.” He scowled, dumping sapphire onto the ground before replacing it with diamonds.

The demon actually had the gall to laugh at that. “You know it’s funny… We both became beasts of vengeance rather than dying peacefully like we were supposed to… Kind of defeats the purpose of digging two graves when the one seeking vengeance refuses to die.”

“You talk too much.” He told the demon as he channeled his ectoplasm through the diamond bullet, purifying into pure energy as he fired it out of his gun.

“Probably, but when you hold back as much as I do you kind of savor the opportunity to speak freely.” The demon shrugged. “Speaking of, that is a very nice gun you’ve got there… Isn’t it the one your brother had when he died?”

“Just fucking die already!” He screamed, firing as many shots as he could, completely uncaring of how much of his ectoplasm he was burning through.

“Sadly, I’ve still got a few people to kill before I can do that. In fact, maybe you’ve seen the one I’m here to kill-” The demon froze, its eyes shooting to one of the cavern entrances where another familiar face had just entered. “William DeVille…”

Bill froze, taking in the sight in front of him before immediately turning tail and running away.

The demon moved to follow, only to be cut off as he shot at it, actually managing to catch it for once.

“We’re not done here.” He reminded it.

“What are you doing?!” The demon screeched. “He’s getting away!”

“I may have words for him, but killing you is a lot more important given how you’re the one who killed my brother.” He told it.

The demon stared at him without moving, not even to breathe, before ever so slowly turning its head. “You know he’s the reason I caught Arthur.”

“What?” He frowned.

“When he saw they couldn’t run, he shot your brother in the kneecap and left him to slow me down before I could get the rest of their little gang.” The demon explained. “Who knows he may’ve gotten away that day if not for that, and you wouldn’t have had to die in the-”

A gunshot cut the demon off. “Like I said, I’m going to have words with that traitor but killing you is a whole lot more important given how you killed me and my brother!”

The demon once more froze as it stared at him before slowly raising a single hand into the air, its thumb pressed against its middle finger. “So be it…” The Graveslinger snapped. “Grateful Dead.”

Every instinct in him screamed that something was wrong as the very air itself was filled with so much magic that seemed to almost scream out a demonic dirge for the dead.

All around him the clouds of black smoke that the demon had left behind rushed into all of the corpses surrounding them as the demon once more turned to leave. “If you really want your own vengeance, I suggest you do your best to survive until I kill William.”

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” He yelled at the demon as he aimed at its back and pulled the trigger.

The demon didn’t even bother with its usual smoke and mirrors as one of the corpses on the ground suddenly leapt into the air and intercepted the bullet that tore a massive hole into it. Only instead of dropping dead like all of the undead made by the knock off this one picked itself off the ground and glared at him with two pitch black eyes as the hole in its chest slowly sealed shut.

“I should probably wish you luck!” The demon called as it walked out of the cavern, a wall of black smoke filling in behind it as all around him dozens of bodies both human and not began to stand.

And he couldn’t help but swallow as he realized that not only was he severely outnumbered and surrounded on all sides, but each and every one of them was glaring at him with eyes blacker than death.

“You’re going to need it.”

--- William DeVille ---

He ran through the mines as fast as he could, knowing full well that his very life depended on it.

(Shit, shit, shit, how did he find me?!)

He’d done everything in his power to keep his head down, to keep people from realizing he was the leader of this little band of outlaws, even going so far as to let that cheap necromancer be the face of their little group to keep people from connecting his name to this.

Some would say that given how many people he’d killed over the years and just how dangerous he could be that all of that was overkill and paranoia.

Those people had never seen the Graveslinger first hand.

The first time he and his old gang crossed paths with the Graveslinger he burned an entire town to the ground while unleashing hundreds of undead monstrosities across the town, each rising from seemingly nowhere to tear the city apart.

At the time they hadn’t quite realized what they were up against, thinking that this was some necromancer attacking their town in a bout of megalomania, and even going so far as to step up and try to defend the town despite their more illegal activities.

They hadn’t realized it until months later, but the demon and its undead hadn’t actually killed any of the town folk, seemingly only targeting those who’d been rumored to be of a similar profession as him and his old gang.

And each of those people in the hellish carnage of that night the demon had toyed with each and every last one of them before finally claiming their souls for itself.

When they tried to run Arthur had refused, saying that he needed to find his brother and his family. Michael had decided that if Arthur wanted to stay, then he could stay to buy them all enough time to escape the demon that had been tormenting them for over an hour at that point.

That gunshot was what had led to their gang falling apart in the following days, each going in their own direction.

That was when they found out the demon wasn’t there for the town, but rather six people who had made the town their home. Six months later he finally heard about how the demon had burned another town down, going after Sanchez, and then a year later Kate. At which point it became pretty obvious who the demon was after.

He didn’t know who they had crossed badly enough to have them summon this demon to kill them, and unfortunately the list wasn’t short enough for him to sort it out himself either.

So he’d put his head down and started using other people as the faces of his gang as he worked in the background to try and keep the demon from tracking him down.

Hell, the whole reason he’d let that necromancer pretend to be the Graveslinger was in the hopes of making the real Graveslinger look away, thinking that none of them would go anywhere near where it looked like the demon was active.

(Not that that’s worked out for me.) He thought as he darted past a corpse on the ground.

The steps beneath his boots went silent as the grave and a faint humming filled the air all around.

“Shit, shit, shit!” He cursed, as heard the tune that haunted his every nightmare.

Turning around he drew his gun as his eyes darted between the shadows that seemed to dance all around the lantern’s light.

“Oh, William, William, William.” The demon’s demonic voice sang as a pair of eyes glowed in the dark. “I’ve spent a very long time tracking you down. Six months in this little valley searching high and low for you, and here you finally are.”

“W-what do you want from me?” He asked, backing away to the edge of the lantern’s light as he aimed his gun at the demon.

“Oh, William, we both know what I want.” The demon told him, stopping just outside of the light with its own gun raised. “I want to cross your name off my list.”

“L-look I don’t know what we did but I’m sure we can come to some kind of deal.” He assured the demon. “I mean, you, you want the others right?”

The demon tilted its head considering his offer for a moment. “Tell me, William, are you a loyal man?”

“I’m, I’m as loyal as I need to be.” He promised, knowing he could be very loyal if his life was on the line.

“Hmm, and that’s the problem.” The demon seemed to sigh. “You’re as loyal as you need to be… Someone like you just wouldn’t get it.”

“Get w-what?” He asked, knowing that whatever it was it wasn’t good for him.

“You see I am a very, very loyal person.” The demon told him. “So loyal, that if someone hurt someone I loved, let alone everyone I loved, I would burn the entire world to cinder and ash to see that person dead.” The demon leaned forward enough that he could see its glowing eyes within the crow’s skull. “And you William hurt the ones I love, and so…”

Three gunshots rang out.

The first shot the gun out of his hand.

The other two shot out his kneecaps.

“Gaahh!!!” He screamed as he fell to the ground.

“…I’m going to hurt you william.” The demon swore on his grave.

“P-please don’t.” He begged, crawling away. “I-I don’t want to die.”

“Don’t worry, this isn’t the end just yet.” The demon assured him as it tucked its gun away. “After all, would it really be vengeance if I killed you quickly?”

His eyes widened as the demon spread its arms and began walking backwards as the shadows and smoke began to dance around it.

“No, I’m going to let everyone you’ve ever killed gets their pound of flesh.”

From within the darkness he could make out faces and figures clawing out at him from the ethereal.

The demon raised its hand towards him with a thumb on its middle finger before snapping as it said, “Vengeful Dead.”

And the souls of the damned burst forth from the darkness, condemning the one who killed them to join them in death.

--- Samuel Grim, The Vengeful Dead ---

He coughed up a bit of blood as he looked around at the numerous corpses surrounding him, before risking one more shot at one he thought twitched.

“Fu-u-uck” He groaned as he felt a stabbing pain lance through his stomach, before leaning over to vomit blood and most of what he’d forced himself to eat throughout the fight.

It was honestly a miracle he’d lasted as long as he had, because even taking a bite out of one or two of the undead who seemed to have a bit more ectoplasm in them, his stomach just couldn’t process that much (rotten meat) without rejecting it.

Gasping, he took one last look around the room to make sure everything really was dead before turning towards the entrance with his gun raised as someone whistled.

“Well, I guess Ms. Princeton was worrying about nothing.” A man wearing a duster and hat told him.

“Who the fuck… are you?” He half-growled, broken by his labored breathing.

“Name ‘s Earl Holiday, I’m the sheriff around these parts.” The man answered, showing off his badge. “And I’m guessing you’re Samuel Grim, the bounty hunter Ms. Princeton told me about.”

“I guess I am.” He nodded, lowering his gun before running a hand down his face as he tried to focus now that he wasn’t in a life or death battle.

“Given how many of these things are in here, you really have done the town a favor Mr. Grim.” The sheriff admitted as he walked through the mountain of corpses. “Don’t suppose you know what happened to the necromancer who raised all of these do ya?”

His eyes snapped to the sheriff. “Did you see a man wearing a giant bird skull on your way here? He ran down that tunnel before sicking these things on me.”

The sheriff frowned at him. “No I didn’t. Only thing of interest we found was the outlaw William Deville.”

“Where is he?” He asked, taking a stumbling step forward as he forced his body to start moving.

“About halfway to the entrance,” The sheriff told him, keeping pace. “or rather what’s left of him is anyway.”

“Fuck!” He cursed, picking up the pace as he started running through the mines, using his sense of smell to track down the fresh scent of blood, death, and gunsmoke.

After just a minute he found a corpse torn to shreds via a mix of claw and bite marks that left its remains strewn all about. The only reason he could tell this was Bill at all was because the scarred half of his face was frozen in an agonized scream, the other half was so torn up it was barely recognizable without having seen the man in person while he still breathed.

“Damn it!” He spat, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, we’re guessing after you threw a wrench into their plans the necromancer turned on ol’ Bill here with whatever undead he didn’t send after you.” The sheriff explained, having kept pace with him.

“No, this wasn’t a fucking double cross!” He snarled, realizing that his vengeance was- He shook his head refusing to continue with that line of thought. (No, I might still be able to catch him!)

“He has to be here somewhere…”

Taking off once more and followed the scent of the night air through the mine tunnels as

“The sheriff had to have missed him…”

He rushed out of the mine and into the open air of the night, his eyes darting around in search of the demon.

“No, no, no.” (He couldn’t have gotten away!)

But all he found were more of the sheriff’s men, not one of them looking as if anything was out of place.

“Nooooooo!!!” He screamed, his voice echoing through the night like the voice of the damned.

--- The Graveslinger ---

He walked through his office and took off his tailcoat before hanging it up on a hook and doing much the same with his Wretched Requiem and its holster.

“Ugh, you know you’re letting that scum get away.” His passenger groaned.

“To be fair we’re the reason he died.” He reminded his passenger.

“You’re also the reason he’s a Deadman.” His passenger reminded him. “If you just let him die that day we’d both be better off.”

“He was an innocent man until we killed him, trying to save him was the right thing to do.” He couldn’t help but sigh. “Him turning into a monster was because we messed up.”

His black eyed reflection scoffed as he passed in front of a mirror. “He became a monster when he chose to hunt you down for vengeance rather than thanking his luck and going back to his family.”

“And what does that make me?” He wondered.

His demonic reflection smiled with nothing but fangs. “The biggest and baddest monster around.”

“Not something to be proud of.” He pointed out.

“The world needs monsters like us to put the other monsters down.” The demon inside him argued. “If there’s a problem you fix it, and if there’s a murderer you kill it before they can kill anyone else.”

“Thus becoming a murderer yourself.” He sighed, forging his mask out of smoke.

“Second thoughts?” His partner asked, as he gazed into its eyes.

(He could do nothing but watch as the monsters pinned her down and-)

“Never.”

“And that’s why I chose you.” The demon laughed. “You’d see the world burn if it meant killing them. And what is justice but the vengeance of the just?”

Before he could (falsely) argue the bell to the front rang, signaling someone entering the building.

“You can go back to your distractions, we both know you’ll get back to your real work soon enough.” His partner grinned, before delving back into the depths of his soul as he let the mask disperse into smoke.

“Oh, you’ll never believe the story I’ve got!” Sarah told him as she ran into his office.

“Really? Why don’t you tell me all about it?” Wyatt De La Croix smiled as he adjusted his glasses.