George stood there, gripping his wounded arm, his expression unreadable. "That’s why I did it, sir," he said, his voice calm but sharp with conviction. "That’s why I killed them. Revenge." He exhaled slowly as if the confession weighed on him. "Does that make me the bad guy? Yes… and no. I did what I had to. For peace."

His gaze hardened. "If I gather the crystals, I can make the world right—no more suffering. I’ll finally have peace."

Cody, trembling, reached for his gun. George’s eyes flicked to the movement, and before Cody could raise it, George pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, and Cody collapsed to his knees, clutching his arm as blood seeped through his fingers.

Cody let out a choked scream, glaring up at George. “Why… why do you want the crystals?” His voice was strained, each word a struggle. “What wish are you going to make?”

George stepped closer, his expression calm, almost pitying. “That’s not how this works, Cody,” he said. “The better question is, what wish are you going to make?”

Cody, panting through the pain, forced the words out. “To bring… my brother… back.”

George’s eyes narrowed slightly, his composure unbroken. "Your brother…" He let the words hang in the air, his face betraying no emotion. Then, in a measured tone, he said, "It’s always about what we’ve lost, isn’t it?"

He turned slightly as if pondering Cody’s words. "You think bringing one person back will fix everything? No, Cody. That’s not peace. That’s denial."

His voice dropped, cold and unyielding. "You’re not thinking big enough." Meanwhile, miles away in Grant’s Pass,

The faint clatter of hooves on frostbitten dirt echoed as Charlie and Jed rode into Grants Pass, the crisp January air sharp enough to cut through layers of worn leather and cloth. The small town unfolded before them, a collection of modest buildings with peeling paint and stoic charm. Smoke coiled lazily from chimneys, and the streets bore the quiet hum of a place content to mind its own business.

Jed tugged the brim of his hat lower against the setting sun and gestured toward the town with a casual flick of his reins. “Boy, you ever wonder ‘bout the ground yer standin’ on?” His voice was gravelly, laced with equal parts wisdom and mischief. “Grants Pass here’s older than it looks. Back in the 1820s, Hudson’s Bay Company trappers were wanderin’ through these parts, followin’ the Siskiyou Trail. By the 1840s, settlers were makin’ their way along the Applegate Trail, headin’ to the Willamette Valley. That there is the spine of this place—a trail beaten by ambition and desperation.”

Charlie rolled his eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “And here I thought we were just ridin’ into another nowhere town. Thanks for the history lesson, Professor Jed.”

Jed smirked, undeterred by the sarcasm. “You’re welcome, boy. Name came about on account of General Ulysses S. Grant’s victory at Vicksburg. Thought it’d be real grand to name a place after him. Post office got set up back in March of ‘65. And don’t get me started on the weather—hotter than the devil’s back pocket in summer, colder than a well digger’s ass come winter.”

“Sure sounds like paradise,” Charlie muttered, steering his horse around a patch of slushy mud. “You writin’ a guidebook now? Maybe publish it in the Grants Pass Daily Courier?”

Jed barked a dry laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Well, if you read, you’d know that paper’s been around since 1885. Used to be called the Rogue River Courier. Mighty fine publication, if I do say so myself. Better than whatever nonsense fills your saddlebag.”

Charlie shook his head with a smirk, muttering under his breath, “Should’ve left you in the last town.”

Jed reined his horse in and fixed Charlie with a sharp look, the humor fading from his face. “Listen, boy, this town might look plain, but there’s stories buried in every step. Stories folks like you ignore ‘til they’re bitin’ you in the ass. And mark my words—those damn crystals are gonna leave you buried in a town just like this if you ain’t careful.”

Charlie tilted his head, defiant. “You done? Or are we settin’ up camp for a history lecture?”

Jed leaned closer, his voice dropping low, almost conspiratorial. “What I’m done with is chasin’ after somethin’ that’ll tear a man apart from the inside. Crystals don’t grant wishes, boy. They twist ‘em. You can’t cheat this world, no matter how much you think you can. .

“Uncle Jed,” Charlie said, his voice trembling with determination. “Please. Let’s just find the crystal and get it over with.”

Jed’s reply was sharp, like a whip crack. “No. I can’t allow you to. Not like this, not for that.”

Before Charlie could argue, the crash of a man being hurled through the saloon window silenced him. Shards of glass rained onto the wooden porch as a burly figure hit the ground with a groan.

From the saloon’s swinging doors emerged Josa, clutching his side where blood had soaked through his shirt. His face was pale, but his eyes burned with fury. He marched up to the man on the ground, grabbed him by the collar, and hoisted him halfway to his feet before wrapping his hand around the man’s throat.

“I dare you to say that again,” Josa snarled, his voice low and venomous.

The man coughed and spluttered, defiant despite his predicament. “You’re a filthy Mexican! You don’t deserve to be in the same bar as us white folks.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Josa’s grip tightened, and his voice dripped with disdain. “You whites, always thinkin’ you’re the superior race. But the truth is, you’re all pieces of cow shit. Every damn one of you. And here’s another truth: all humans are the same—selfish, chaotic animals pretending at being something more.”

His words cut through the air, sharp and deliberate. “Look around you,” Josa continued, his voice rising. “Humanity is a swarm of ants, driven by instinct and ignorance. They follow the loudest voice, the brightest light, without ever questioning where it leads them. Mindless. Blind.”

He shoved the man to the ground, standing tall despite the pain etched on his face. “But I’m not one of them. I see the world for what it is—a chessboard. Every piece, every person, is a tool, a means to an end. Weakness? It’s a liability. Camaraderie? A chain that binds you. Sacrifices? Necessary.”

The crowd outside the saloon had gone silent, watching Josa with a mix of awe and fear.

“I will rise above this chaos,” he declared. “I’ll reshape it into something worthy of my vision. Call me ruthless, call me cold, but at least I’m not blind.”

Before Josa could say more, he caught sight of Charlie, perched on his horse, a gun drawn and aimed at him. Instinct kicked in, and Josa dove behind the overturned saloon table as Charlie fired.

The shot rang out, striking the man Josa had just thrown to the ground. Blood spattered the dirt, and the man crumpled.

“Damn it, boy!” Jed barked, pulling his horse to a stop. “You just shot someone!”

Charlie didn’t flinch, his voice hard. “Doesn’t matter. We need him.”

Josa, now crouched behind cover, shouted back, his voice echoing with rage. “You think you can just come here and take me down? Try it, escoria. But know this—if I fall, I’ll drag you straight to hell with me.”

Charlie spurred his horse into motion, ducking low as he moved behind a stack of barrels. Jed sighed heavily, muttering as he dismounted.

“Boy, you’ve gone and kicked a hornet’s nest,” Jed grumbled, his tone laced with dry sarcasm. He followed Charlie into cover, his movements deliberate and steady. “Next time, maybe try not shootin’ first, eh? I’d like to finish a conversation before someone ends up bleedin’ out.”

Charlie glanced at him, frustration etched on his face. “We don’t have time for talk, Uncle Jed. I said I'll kill him!”

Jed let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’ve got more fire than sense, kid. That’s your problem. Always thinkin’ you can shoot your way to an answer.”

The air was thick with dust and gunpowder. Jed crouched behind a stack of barrels, his revolver loaded and steady in his calloused hands. A gunshot cracked through the air, kicking up splinters from the broken wagon beside him.

Charlie huddled nearby, his knuckles white around his pistol grip. His face was a storm—eyes cold and hollow, mouth set in a tight line. The boy was changing, and Jed didn’t like what he saw.

“Stay low!” Jed barked, peeking out to spot their enemy.

Across the street, Josa had taken cover behind a water trough, his revolver propped against the edge. The man’s sharp eyes scanned the battlefield, calculating every move. Blood seeped from a wound in his side, but he grinned like the devil himself.

“Cowards!” Josa yelled. “You think you can outshoot me? I’ve fought federales tougher than you!”

Jed muttered under his breath, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Big talk for a man bleedin’ all over the damn street.”

Charlie rose slightly, aiming his pistol toward the trough. He fired twice—one shot ricocheted off the trough’s iron edge, the other buried itself in the dirt nearby.

“Damn it, boy!” Jed growled, pulling Charlie back down. “You’re wastin’ bullets! This ain’t about sprayin’ and prayin’. You gotta aim!”

Charlie shot him a glare, his voice sharp. “I know what I’m doing, Jed.”

Jed’s lips twitched into a bitter smile. “Yeah? Then why’s he still breathin’?”

Another shot rang out, this time from Josa. The bullet struck the edge of Jed’s cover, splinters raining down on his hat.

“Gonna have to try harder than that!” Jed called out, leaning out to return fire. His shot clipped the edge of the trough, sending Josa ducking back.

Josa’s voice carried over the chaos. “You think you’re clever, old man? You’re just another relic, too slow to keep up. And Charlie—he’s no better. Kid doesn’t have the guts to finish this.”

Jed smirked, shaking his head. “Keep talkin’, Josa. Maybe you’ll talk yourself outta that grave you’re diggin’.”

Charlie rose again, his face twisted in determination. He fired three more shots in quick succession. One struck the trough, the second shattered a window behind Josa, and the third grazed his shoulder.

Josa hissed in pain, retreating further into the saloon. “You’ll pay for that, boy!”

Jed turned to Charlie, his tone softer now. “You’re gettin’ too wild. You want to win this, you gotta calm down. Focus.”

Charlie didn’t answer. His hands trembled slightly as he reloaded, his jaw clenched tight.

Josa’s voice came from the shadows of the saloon. “I can feel it, Charlie. You’re breakin’. All that anger, all that desperation—it’s gonna get you killed.”

Jed sighed, leaning out to fire again. The bullet struck the saloon doorframe, and Josa ducked back.

“Charlie,” Jed said quietly, his tone measured. “He’s tryin’ to rattle you. Don’t let him. We stick to the plan, and we’ll walk away from this.”

Charlie’s eyes flickered toward Jed, but he said nothing. Instead, he stood, walking out from cover with his pistol raised.

“Charlie, no!” Jed shouted.

Josa stepped out from the shadows, his rifle leveled. He fired, the shot barely missing Charlie as it struck the dirt by his feet. Charlie fired back, the bullet grazing Josa’s arm.

The two men squared off in the street, trading shots like a deadly game of chess. Jed watched, his heart pounding, as Charlie’s movements grew more erratic, his shots wilder.

Josa, despite his injuries, moved with precision. He fired a shot that struck the revolver from Charlie’s hand, sending it skittering across the ground.

Jed didn’t hesitate. He stepped out, firing twice in quick succession. One shot hit the trough, the other grazed Josa’s leg, forcing him to stumble.

Josa cursed, retreating into the saloon again. “You two really are somethin’. Can’t hit the broad side of a barn, but you sure know how to waste bullets.”

Jed grabbed Charlie by the arm, pulling him back into cover. “What the hell were you thinkin’, boy? You can’t just charge in like that!”

Charlie yanked his arm away, his voice cold. “I had him.”

Jed shook his head, his frustration evident. “No, you didn’t. And next time, you won’t get so lucky.”

The street fell silent, save for the distant sound of wind rustling through the buildings. Both sides were running low on ammunition, and the fight was far from over.

From inside the saloon, Josa’s voice rang out, low and dangerous. “You want me dead so bad, Charlie? Come and get me. Let’s finish this.”

Jed glanced at Charlie, his expression grim.

“You ready for this, boy? ‘Cause once we step out there, there ain’t no turnin’ back.”

Charlie nodded, his jaw set. “I’m ready.”

Jed sighed, loading the last of his bullets. “Then let’s end it.”

The two men stepped out into the street, their guns raised, as Josa emerged from the saloon. The three stood frozen for a moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

And then, the shooting began again.

The air between Chairle and Josa was heavy with tension, the kind that made your chest tighten and your fingers itch for steel. The sun hung low, casting long shadows that flickered as dust swirled around their boots.

Jed stood to the side, watching Chairle take his position. His grizzled voice was a warning and a plea all in one.

“You sure about this, boy? Ain’t no undoing what’s about to happen.”

Chairle’s lips tightened, his eyes locked on Josa with a mix of rage and resolve. “Yeah, Uncle. I’m sure. If I don’t make it, bury me near the sea. That’s all I ask.”

Jed’s expression softened for just a moment before his usual gruffness returned. “Just don’t let your ego outrun your skill. Men faster than you’ve died slower deaths.”

Across from them, Josa adjusted his stance, his face a mask of cool detachment. His dark eyes burned with the kind of murderous intent that sent shivers down spines.

“You ready to die, Chairle?” Josa taunted, his voice low and venomous.

Chairle didn’t flinch. His fingers flexed near his holster as he shot back, “One of us will. And when I put you down, I’ll spit on your grave.”

Josa smirked coldly, his hand hovering over his pistol. “Bold words for a dead man.”

They squared off, traditional dueling stance. The street fell silent, the world shrinking to just the two of them.

Jed stepped back, muttering to himself, “Damn fool kids. Pride’ll be the death of us all.”

Time seemed to slow as their fingers twitched, ready to draw. But just as Josa made his move, he froze mid-reach. A knife had appeared, fused into his leg, glowing faintly as if alive. His eyes widened in shock and pain as it burrowed deeper, aiming for his heart.

“Damn it!” Josa bellowed, his gun arm jerking as he instinctively fired. The bullet slammed into his own leg, an attempt to disrupt the knife's progress.

Chairle saw his chance. His revolver was halfway out of its holster when another gunshot rang out—sharp and unexpected. Chairle’s body jerked violently as the bullet struck him square in the head.

Jed’s voice tore through the air. “Chairle! No!”

Chairle crumpled to the ground, lifeless, as blood pooled beneath him.

From the shadows, George stepped forward, the barrel of his gun still smoking. His smirk was as sharp as his shot.

“Well, now, wasn’t that somethin’? Hell of a show, boys.”