The smoldering waves of heat that wafted up from the tar pits intermingled with the shroud of smog like oil and water- never mixing, instead laying atop each other like disgusted lovers.

Treading along the cracked and dead topsoil came a man atop a horse; Durgest, they called him. He was known for his duster and wide-brimmed hat, his stone-like skin hidden in the shadows cast by the hat rim in the dim sun's light. He was horribly disfigured; Lumpy skin and an underbite with jagged, rotten teeth. You could never see his eyes, just the two pinpricks of light that indicated that he could see you. He was simple; Didn't talk much. He just did the Matron's bidding.

He was cruel, and the shotgun he carried on his back was even crueler.

His horse, like he, was just as disfigured; missing clumps of fur and even patches of skin. Its ribs were visible- not just because it was emaciated and dehydrated, but because it had been mutilated. The white bone of its ribcage could be seen poking out, its overextended legs barely keeping it up as it trotted to its destination, barely able to hold its large rider.

They came to a rope bridge that stretched across a stinking pit of bodies and waste; Dismounting from his horse, Durgest walked across the bridge. He needed to collect a debt.

Withdrawing his shotgun he approached the brick building that Roper called home. He had been told that Roper had borrowed a pack of seeds from the Matron and not paid her back with flowers, meaning that he had most likely used them for the occult, a common occurrence amongst the treacherous few in the tainted land. The Matron had hired Durgest almost exclusively for this purpose.

Durgest loaded in the shotgun shells filled with glass shards; A cheap and torturous alternative to the extremely rare and expensive lead pellets.

He approached the old wooden door that barely held onto the rusty hinges; Durgest could smell the hot copper and ozone in the air, radiating from the second floor. He knew he wouldn't have to knock. Kicking down the door with a heavy boot, he stormed in to the residence with heavy, lurching footsteps against the moldy wooden floor. It was so old and decrepit it didn't even creak against his weight.

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Reaching the second floor, Durgest racked a shell into the chamber and entered barrel first into the far room, making no effort to conceal his presence. Standing there at the window stood Roper- tall, lanky, a burlap hood and cloak adorning his figure. The room was dark, no light source to be seen. Around him, old papers and strange implements of surgery sat on the ground, journals upon journals filled with arcane sigils and scribblings of strange creatures- Durgest immediately understood what happened but all doubt was removed from his mind when he saw on the opposing wall what had been the implement of such foul magic.

"Durgest! Wait! You must understand!" Roper had spun around and begun sobbing, speaking through the choked wailing, his fear filled pleas meant nothing as Durgest made eye contact with the flayed human corpse on the far wall; Dark black mist poured out from its splayed open ribcage and Durgest knew that this wasn't just an act of cruelty but an act of witchcraft when the poor souls lungs still heaved in its chest and its heart still visibly beat, its eyes flicking about in the room but it seemed to lack the ability to scream.

"Don't plead with me."

Durgest shot a round of glass shards right into Roper's chest; He didn't die immediately as his torso was eviscerated by the shower of high-velocity fragmentation. The mask that Roper had been wearing, the strange ragged mask that had given Roper an insectoid-like quality, had fallen off exposing his haggard, bald face. He screamed and cried, attempting to crawl away.

"No! PLEASE! My work! All my work!-" Durgest paid him no mind; he would bleed out soon. Perhaps the wounds would become infected or shock would set in or some other terrible fate would befall him. It was irrelevant to Durgest. 

Durgest turned his attention to the flayed corpse that had been pinned to the wall in an awful crucifixion; He took a second to study it. It was a fearsome thing. Durgest wished it to suffer no longer.

He pointed his shotgun barrel at the head and blew it open. The frothing black fog stopped pouring from its chest. Durgest performed a quick search of the premises; Indeed, the seeds had been consumed in this arcane ritual. The Matron would not be pleased...