Blue eyes snapped open.

Ace Ryker screamed, his chest feeling as if a hot brand had been pressed there. Like he was some kind of beast of burden. A cow or a goat or something.

Ace Ryker, one of the wild west’s most notorious. Ace Ryker, leader of outlaws. Hanged before Revelation, broken nose after being bashed in the face by a woman and a horse.

He convulsed, eyes streaming tears. As his vision became clearer, he saw another pair of eyes staring back into his.

At first, he thought them to belong to that bootlicking traitor, James Crowley, but they immediately disappeared into a puff of smoke, leaving him staring up into darkness.

The pain in his chest suddenly vanished. He was lying on his back, the surface hard, but he felt no discomfort in it. This hadn’t been the first time he’d been out of sorts when waking, but something was different this time. Numb.

For starters, he was sober as a priest on Sunday, and Ace Ryker was never completely sober. This wasn’t the result of some blackout bender. Wasn’t the bed of some painted lady neither. Apart from the eyes, which he’d clearly imagined, he was completely alone.

Then, his own thoughts replayed in his head…

Hanged before Revelation…

Hanged?

Am I… Am I dead?

He quickly disabused himself of that notion on account of his thinking and breathing.

Or am I?

Thinking, yes. But as he considered the latter, his lungs neither burned nor begged for air despite his lack of taking it in.

He sat, bolt upright like a gunshot.

Where am I?

Is this Hell?

He was more than convinced he’d done nothing in life to grant him passage to Heaven. Wasn’t even a question. Though, there was no fire. No brimstone or sulfurous stench. He heard no weeping or gnashing of teeth.

All those preachers and bible thumpers, full of shit as he’d expected.

He raised his hand to his face and felt nothing. How bad was his nose broken? He could almost feel that bitch’s wallop… Rosa. It was her hand that had done it. He should've chased her and her mama down that night he’d failed to kill Crowley.

“Chauncy Ryker.” The voice spoke his name—his true name—as if it knew him. He hadn’t heard that name in decades. Not since before he shot his piece of shit moneybags of a father, stole an inheritance that was rightfully his to begin with, and took off running.

“That ain’t my goddamned name!” Ace snapped.

“Blasphemy!” the voice bellowed and the whole room shook. Stones clattered off the walls and broke against the floor.

Fear overtook Ace like he’d never felt. He stuttered and said, “Just c-call me, Ace.”

“Ace then,” the voice said, no small amount of mockery in its tone.

Ace rose to wobbly legs, nearly falling over as if he hadn’t walked in years.

“Who are you?”

A soft drip, drip, drip echoed from somewhere in the distance, the only response.

Ace reached for his LeMat Revolver, but it was gone. All his things were gone. What was more, he was naked as the day he was born. Was this some kind of… rebirth? What did the preacher call it, being born again? Maybe this was his tomb. Like Jesus.

“Shit,” he said. “There’s no way any God would make that mistake twice.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Here, in the darkness, unarmed as he was, knew he was at the mercy of whoever spoke. Ace called out again but only heard his own voice bouncing back at him.

He took a few tentative steps toward the sound of dripping water, but his feet were numb too. It was hard to stay upright. He’d reached the point where any normal person would start to panic. But Ace embraced a challenge. Always had.

Now that the voice was gone, he felt nothing. No fear. No anxiety. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He felt something.

Curiosity.

Following a snaking path brought him to a small pool and the source of the pinging drips. Approaching it cautiously, sure some big tentacular beast was gonna burst out and gobble him whole, something sparkled off to the side.

His gun.

His clothes.

And on top of it all, Crowley’s strange bone harmonica.

He changed course, heading for his stuff. Soon, he was dressed again and checking his revolver. It was full. Though, he had some innate understanding that the bullets wouldn’t be needed. Not here. Not now.

He spun the instrument around and sneered. Just holding it, all he could think about was bashing Crowley and his woman’s head in over and over again. Until he stuffed it in his pocked.

“Hello?” he called again, shuffling back toward the water.

He leaned over and gazed upon his reflection.

All was as he’d always known it except his nose, flat and crooked off to the left side from where he’d been struck.

It didn’t hurt, but he looked like a damn frying pan. His hair, still blonde with gray begging to be seen. A small bush covered his chin. His clothes were adequately disheveled, but he didn’t need a mirror to see that.

His eyes though…

They didn’t look the same either. Leaning in for a better view, Ace nearly leaped from his skin when his reflection became a smoky mist and those eyes—which were not his eyes—remained.

“Ace,” boomed that same formless voice.

Ace stood proudly before whatever this was, though all he could manage was a, “Huh?”

Within the water, smoke swirled, mesmerizing.

“Congratulations, Sinner,” the smoke said. “Your debt has been paid and you have been chosen.”

“Chosen? By who? Speak sense dammit!”

“The White Throne.”

Despite the strangeness of his predicament, Ace waved off the notion. “Sorry, but there ain’t no kings and queens round these parts.”

Water shot up in a geyser, reminding Ace of his last memories in Revelation Springs. And there, inside a cavernous mountainside, the sound of thunder accompanied it.

“You can be returned.” The reflection was now within the geyser, which still sprayed like a solid pillar now.

That’s when he recalled the words, truly heard them this time. This presence had called Ace a sinner, said he’d paid his debt.

“Wait. Returned from where?” he asked.

“The coldest pits of hell.”

“Cold?” Ace shook his head. “Sounds like you need a refresher on the Good Book.”

Another thunderclap and a brief memory returned.

Frost covered every inch of Ace’s naked flesh. A cold unlike anything he’d ever felt permeated his very soul as if his heart was encased in a block of ice. A figure stalked toward him through foggy, cold smoke. Something evil. Purely, unadulterated, fucking evil. It held a rod of some kind, something splintered and long.

A second later, Ace was dry heaving before the pool again. The geyser had disappeared but the whole of the surface was filled with the vague face of a man.

“Who the hell are you!” Ace yelled.

“You may call me Kjeldgaard.”

“I don’t wanna call you nothing. Let me out of here!”

“As I said, you’ve paid a debt, but I could send you back. It would be no less than you deserve.”

“I… Why can’t I remember? Where am I? Wh—”

“All in due time,” the thing said. Still, Ace saw no mouth, no true features, just a hazy human shape in the water. “For now, all you need know is that the White Throne has use of you. Count yourself blessed. A Child, you are, no more.”

“So, you’re what, God?” Ace asked.

“Never even jest,” Kjeldgaard said. “I am but a servant of the Most High. An angel of the fourth order.”

Ace laughed. “You’re serious.”

“Always.”

“And what am I? Don’t tell me I’m an angel too?”

“Not remotely. You have been resurrected as a Hand of God, to face the powers of Darkness for the glory of the White Throne.”

Ace had to stifle a laugh. How many men in his life he’d heard claim such grand ambitions and power? He’d shot and killed most of them.

“Right… so I died?” he said.

“Sentenced to hang some time ago.”

That thought was an unpleasant one. How much of his life went missing, with not even more than a hazy memory of time apparently spent in… Hell.

“Sounds like you’re leaving out some details, Angel,” Ace said.

“Your essence was restored, but not as you once knew it,” Kjeldgaard said. “Your life is not your own, Mr. Ryker.”

“Is that a fact?” Ace said. “So am I your slave, then? Because you might as well send me back to Hell. I don’t follow orders, Kill Guard. I give them.”

“Not to me. Do your job and you will be given a measure of freedom and avoid eternal damnation.”

Ace didn’t like how the angel had said that word, freedom.

“Freedom?” he asked.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Ace clicked his tongue. “Okay. Suppose I buy all this. What job are you talking about, and how much does it pay.”

“You were sentenced to hang by one of our own.”

All the memories came flooding back.

“Crowley?” Ace scoffed, remembering how he'd talked about serving a ‘Higher Power’ of sorts and called himself a Black Badge. “He’s with you?”

“Not me, but he is among us. And he has gone too far. It is up to you to eliminate him… before he destroys the world.”

Ace stuttered over a response. Destroys the world? Sounded like a bit much for a self-righteous shit-shoveler like James Crowley. However, in the end, Ace only heard one thing.

“So, I gotta kill Crowley?” he asked.

“For the second time.”

A grin spread across his face, from ear to ear. “Oh, my new friend. Now that’s something I’ll happily do for free.”