Timid Timperina didn't get a chance to hesitate on the ice anymore. I drove her off-trail and got her galloping across the dry wilderness. The outlaws had at least a quarter-hour's head start, probably more. But I moved fast and Timp could still run with the best of them for a short while.

After about an hour or so, structures formed within the haze about a mile off. Gunshots cracked. Cows moaned in what passed for fear from such simple creatures and a flock of birds took to the sky from a nearby tree.

I grasped the Winchester off my back, spinning it into the proper grip while checking to make sure she was loaded.

Elkhart was organized along three tiers, dotted with shops and homes made from ruddy clay. The bank stood proud at the center of the ground level, the only building as tall as the church, which was high above it all, steeple reaching for Heaven.

Figures.

The whole place had gone off like a powder keg. A tidal wave of people ran toward me and in all other directions. Women and children mostly, screaming in terror, but some men were with them. The others took cover behind porches and storefronts, armed and ready to defend their homes.

One of whom I assumed to be the outlaws was on the roof of the bank with a marksman rifle, which answered for sure the question of whether there were two or three of them. The thing was so loud it made every other shot seem like a whisper. Just as Sheriff Dale had thought, it wasn't looking like he was shooting to kill. Just sending people running for the hills and doing a damn good job of it.

Another odd thing. Where all other birds had scattered from the chaos, a hawk circled above him, screeched.

An open stagecoach was parked outside the bank, a wall of ice arcing in front of it, so I couldn't see much. Bullets chipped away at it while the vague, ice-blurred shapes of the other outlaws moved on the other side.

Dirt plumed upward a few feet from me and Timp.

The marksman was aiming at me.

I swore and fired at the roof to send him into cover. Then I jumped down and gave Timp a slap to send her off to safety. The marksman didn't relent, firing back, dust exploding by my feet and sending fragments into my eyes. My guess was now that I was posing a threat, he would be shooting to kill.

A deputy heard me coming and swung around. By the look of me, I'm sure he figured I must’ve been with them.

"I'm on your side!" I shouted, firing again to keep the marksman at bay before sliding to safety behind the crates the deputy hid behind. "What the hell's going on?"

He stammered, trying to respond but ran short on breath. I saw then that he was injured in more than one place. "They showed up, and next thing we knew, they're robbing us from behind some sort of wall…"

I laid my hand on his shoulder to get his attention, doing my best to avoid his many wounds. But it was nearly impossible. He winced when I touched him, but it was better he not get distracted trying to wrap his mind around how a wall of ice got formed.

"Get your men to focus on the marksman," I shouted over gunfire. "Keep him down."

"On it—"

My head snapped upright as his words got cut off…

* * *

I found myself looking through the deputy’s eyes back at my own ragged face, speaking those same words I just had.

"On it," I said, though it was the deputy's voice.

Then, the crate to my left splintered, and a bullet sliced through my skull. It all happened so fast. Even the pain. A sharp burst like lightning, then nothing…

* * *

The next thing I knew, I was kneeling next to him, gasping, back in my own body and imagining what had to be the worst headache possible. I knew the pain was all in my mind, but that didn't matter.

I blinked hard to drive away the experience of the accidental Divining. The deputy's head hung to the side, body slumped next to me, skull blown open, brain matter spilling into a trough meant for horses.

"You bastards!" Another deputy shouted and ran out of the general store, firing two pistols up at the roof. The marksman didn't return fire this time. Didn't even show face. Then, out of nowhere, that hawk I'd seen above zipped across my view and slashed the deputy's throat with razor-sharp talons.

That was a new trick.

In case it isn't clear, hawks don't typically join in gunfights and hunt down the law of their own accord. It seemed the ice-wielder wasn't the only of these outlaws with abilities some wouldn't consider natural.

Some. As if anyone thought any of this was normal.

I charged out with my pistols drawn, taking the same cue. Only, I didn't fire upward. I fired straight into the ice wall. I vaguely recognized the impact of enemy bullets riddling my chest, but only because it slowed me a fraction.

Sprinting full-bore, I threw my whole body into the ice with reckless abandon. My shoulder shattered through its center sending shards in a wide arc.

On the other side, I rose from the dirt, staring into the eyes of the brutish ice-wielder. I'd only seen him in the Sheriff Daniels’ Divining back in Lonely Hill, but up close, I realized it wasn't white wolf skins he wore over his shoulders and head. His own hair was pale as snow, long and wild. Beard too.

What skin I could see over his mask was leathery, and his eyes, dark gray, on their way to black soon. He bared his teeth, mostly human but with two sharper fangs beginning to form.

This was no mere man. No Nephilim either. No, this entity, I recognized.

Over the years, rumors and myths had become rampant about a creature known mysteriously as a Yeti. Folks say they're half-man-half-gorilla or something similar. Sightings of them by hunters or fishermen in the mountains became ghost stories told around campfires.

The truth is both less exciting and far more terrifying.

A Yeti is nothing more than a desperate fool willing to bargain a piece of his or her mind in exchange for a slice of Hell's power. A half-possession of sorts, allowing the person to become a plaything for a demon. Over time, the demon loses interest, as they are wont to do, leaving the poor vessel to be consumed by madness. Becoming more and more monstrous, they often find themselves living in the woods, scavenging for food, growing their hair wild for lack of care.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Hence all the rumors.

This one was still in the early stages. Still mostly human-looking… Mostly.

The Yeti reached out and clenched his big hand around my throat, lifting me with the strength of ten men. He drew me in close.

"Dufaux's reckoning has come!" he screamed, guttural and raw, sending spittle all over me.

“I’d worry about yourself.”

I shot him in the shoulder with my last round. The silver bullet sizzled and went right through. He cringed, barely. I hit him a few times with the butt of my gun but the blows just bounced right off of him.

“Whatever demon you pledged to, they’re using you,” I said.

“Enough!”

He tossed me aside like a spent canteen.

I crashed through a wood beam holding the roof of the general store's veranda up. Said roof crumbled down atop me.

After shoving aside all the shards, splinters, and boards, I found I was pinned to the ground by a sharp, broken plank skewered through my arm. I worked it back and forth in an attempt to free myself. While I did so, the Yeti's companion stalked toward me—the one I'd seen in the sheriff’s memories, darting around Lonely Hill swift as a jackrabbit being chased by a cougar.

Her hair was black as night, long and silken. She wore a mask and cut a menacing figure, holding two feathered tomahawks, one in each hand.

Jumping at me, she shrieked and brought one tomahawk down. I barely managed to shift out of the way, but dammit, she shaved off a sliver of the brim of my hat.

“Hey, that wasn’t cheap!” I shouted. Then I punched the post with my free arm. It budged a bit. I struck it again, and it broke off just above my flesh.

Now, any normal man would've passed out from the pain, but me? Didn't feel a thing. I rolled back, my arm slipping over the splintered edge, just as she swiped down a second time. An instant later, the other one swung at me again too.

Now free, I sprang to my feet, grabbing the post. Little bits of dried skin and flesh flaking off my arm while the wound was already beginning to close itself up. Probably gave her quite a shock, but she kept her composure enough to unleash a battle cry and charge at me with both tomahawks. They crisscrossed like a twister, and it took everything I had to avoid being chopped to bits.

I dodged two wild swings, then parried with the post. Our weapons locked, and I got a close-up view. The parts of her face that showed over her mask were covered in thick white paint, with red lines down her throat as if left by extended fingertips. The parts of her skin that showed through flaked paint bore a native coloring. And the hate there in those dark orbs? It was palpable.

"A little money worth the blood of all these men?" I growled as we struggled.

"Like your kind spared us, Łiga Ndeeń!?” she spat in a heavy accent.

That accusation cut harder than any ax. She kicked out and caught me in the gut. I doubled over and her her tomahawk continued on its course, slashing me across the back. Blood should've come spraying out, and this time, the surprise when it didn't slowed her. I ducked and shouldered her, then rose with an uppercut swing that caught her below the jaw.

Ma always taught me never to strike a woman, but I doubt she'd fault me here and now.

Tomahawk-lady flew back against the open carriage filled with bags and bags of money. I moved to press my advantage when the Yeti came charging me. His shoulder connected with the force of a cannon. I slid across the dirt, coming to rest ten paces from the bank. I rose, ready to get back into the fight but a stream of ice pinned my boot to the ground. I looked right and saw the Yeti, arm outstretched toward me. Where the woman had unbridled rage, his still seemed relatively controlled. Though in time, the more he drew on his unholy powers, the more command he’d lose.

He sneered at me, the gesture rife with contempt. Might as well've been a middle finger.

"Stay out of this if you value your life,” the Yeti said to me.

If only he knew who he was talking to.

Then, to the others, he barked, “Time to move!"

He hefted the woman back onto the cart.

"Stop there!" shouted one of the lawmen. He rushed the wagon with courage or stupidity and grasped the Yeti by the sleeve. The Yeti turned, gripped the man’s wrist and ice formed over the whole of the lawman's arm.

The scream that tore from the deputy's throat could’ve woken Hell. Tomahawk-lady leaned out and brought down one of her blades and his arm exploded into a prism of shattered ice. He fell backward, grasping his arm, writhing in the wet dirt.

Without another word or action, the Yeti climbed to the bench up front and snapped the reins. There was too much money loaded on to be just from one bank, which meant they came here straight from Lonely Hill without stopping… unlike me. Shar was never going to let me hear the end of it.

I spotted a lockbox toward the back of the cart, bearing the name of one Mr. Dufaux—likely the one stolen from the Pinkertons.

I yanked at my frozen leg in a failed attempt to break free.

Stuck for the second time.

The horses whinnied and got startled, loose bills fluttering in their wake.

As they moved, the skinny marksman hopped from roof to roof and finally leaped off in a damn impressive feat to land beside the woman in the cart. As he crossed the air, his shirt flapped up. Something was there. A raised scar from being branded of sorts… except it was, well, glowing bright blue in the creases. I was far, but gun to head, I'd say it depicted some sort of giant bird I'd never seen before, with what looked like scales instead of feathers and streaks of lightning under the wings.

After he landed, what must've been the same hawk that I’d watched tear open one of Elkhart's finest promptly settled on his shoulder. The native woman leaned over, pulled down her mask, and planted a kiss on the marksman's forehead.

The other townsfolk opened fire, their rounds spattering harmlessly against the sides of the cart.

I holstered my pistols and unsheathed my rifle. Then, yelling, I slammed the butt of it against the ice pinning me to the ground. The supernatural ice held up even with my fierce strength, but that's the thing about my condition. I may not be stronger than a normal man in a physical sense, like a Yeti, but without fear of injury or exhaustion of muscle, I can throw my body and weight around in ways no man would ever dream.

Eventually, the ice shattered, and I was free.

I whistled for Timperina as I sprinted, blowing past the newly limbless lawman.

Didn't need to see Timp coming. I listened for her hooves and then reached back, yanking myself up to her saddle on the move. I hastened to reload my rifle as we bounced down the path, buildings racing by. As I fed the last round in, a bullet zipped past my ear. I sent one back.

The outlaws rumbled up the hill out of town. Another shot from the marksman caught me in the ribs, passing clear through. I'm sure he expected me to fall, but I didn't budge in the slightest.

"Steady, Timp."

I aimed down my sights, and my next round hit the marksman right across the meat of his biceps. A half a foot to the left, he'd have been dead, but it blew him back onto his ass and forced tomahawk-lady to catch him. He accidentally kicked the money-filled lockbox, and it fell to the dirt. The hawk flew up, and as the woman laid the sharpshooter back, I noticed his eyes roll back into his head.

At first, I thought he was dead, but then I had another thought.

The hawk redirected course and zoomed straight at me. I tried to shoot it, but the bird swooped around, dodging my aim. The marksman was controlling it, similar to how that Nephilim took over Agatha and Lyle, except no music needed to be played. Purely mental.

I swore.

It went for Timperina's eyes. Too close for my rifle, especially whipping so close to Timp's head.

My poor horse started rearing in the traces, squealing and banking left. I damn near got tossed from her back, but I grabbed my knife and slashed, forcing the hawk to veer away.

"Yaw!" I kicked, spurring Timp along as fast as she could go. She wouldn't keep this pace long, but I closed the gap with the heavier coach and left the hawk playing catchup to me now.

Gripping my rifle tight, I exhaled slowly. The Yeti's head fell between the sights. Just as I pulled the trigger, his wagon hit a dip, and the bullet just missed its mark. Lucky bastard. He must've seen it, because he reached back and tossed a bag of money up into the air. Only, no money flew out of this one because the thing was frozen solid upon his touch.

I steered away from the path of the projectile.

The marksman's eyes rolled back into place, and he sat up. I chanced a glance backward to spot the hawk lifting to the clouds again. My head then spun around to see the kid raising his weapon, tomahawk-lady holding his arm to help him.

I'd entirely missed the point of the frozen money bag. It wasn’t meant to hit me. The marksman fired, and the thing went off like dynamite. Thousands of tiny silvery fragments exploded in every direction. I didn't think twice.

Turning Timp away just in time, I threw my body down across the length of her to act as a shield. Supernatural ice stabbed into me all over, and I couldn't feel it, but I knew something went right into my head since the impact caused whiplash out of my control.

Then, I went straight to black.