I charge across the corpse-littered floor and down this saloon’s back passage, aiming to drill not one, but two assholes before this day is done.

I know from previous experience that Danworth, the barkeep, locks his back door out of habit. That don’t stop me though. Ain’t got time to go search his body for the key. Instead, I activate my Bull Rush skill and blast through that door like it’s a sheet of thin glass.

I enter the alleyway in a cloud of splinters, guns raised and ready to blaze. Demon boy number five spins about, eyes wide with surprise. His brother is crouched in the dirt behind him, a knife in his hand. He looks to be scratching something into the soil.

A strange time to be taking to street art, I reckon, but then I ain’t yet all that familiar with the customs of demons. I’m more concerned with the hand cannon brother five is leveling at my belly, so I let him have it before he can pull that trigger of his.

The thing with firing two six shooters at once is that it ain’t particularly accurate. It’s more like spraying than sharp-shooting. But at these close quarters it has the desired effect. I manage to snap off six shots in quick succession, three from each Colt. Half of them hit, and one of them manages to strike something vital. The bastard’s blood splatters across his kneeling brother as he drops like a sack of potatoes into the dust.

Progress = 5 of 6

Problem is, that blood also splatters across the pentagram demon six has made with his knife. The blade’s now poised over his forearm, ready to add demon blood to his creation, but I’ve gone and saved him the bother.

Steam rises from that unholy symbol as the cherry-red juice boils away to nothing. And out of that quickly thickening cloud steps a horror of teeth and tentacles. In fact, those teeth are nestled into the ends of them tentacles like each is a goddamn rattlesnake. And now the whole writhing mass is slithering and snapping towards me, leaving a gleaming, slimy trail of god-knows-what behind it.

I’m hit by a pungent wave of poached egg, a strangely revolting smell under the circumstances. On one hand it’s kinda appetizing, especially since it’s about lunchtime and I didn’t have all that much for breakfast. A cup of coffee and a slice of butter on toast was all I could manage. Don’t have much of an appetite before a hunt. Too much anxiety squirming around in my guts.

On the other hand, my stupid brain conjures up a picture of me sinking my teeth into that tentacled mass like it’s a bowl of spaghetti. The thought near makes me sick. But I swallow down that rising nausea and give the monster a taste of hot lead instead.

Four shots I sink into that thing before it reaches me. Blood sprays, thick and black like crude oil. A couple of tentacles go limp, but that’s about it. Then it’s on me.

Tentacles lash out like whips, wrapping around my forearms, pulling my aim dirtwards so that my final two bullets drive uselessly into the firmament. Other tenacles sink their sharp teeth into my shoulders, chest, belly and legs.

My health bar drops from ninety down to fifty, and keeps dropping as those toothy orifices proceed to suck the living blood out of me.

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Roaring through the pain, I drop my guns and use my left hand to wrench the tenacle free of my right arm. Then I draw my bowie knife from the sheath on my hip and start slashing this way and that, pruning this monstrous topiary down to size.

Those tentacles don’t drop away. Their teeth are hooked in too deep for that. They hang limply from me, turning me into some sorta humanoid cousin of this here demon spawn. I could almost laugh at that if the stink of poached eggs weren’t making my eyes water and my stomach churn.

Instead, I drive my bowie knife deep into the center of that creature, skewering it through what I hope is its brain or its heart. The thing’s actual body ain’t all that big so I’m bound to stab something important.

My blade sinks to the hilt in rubbery flesh and a shiver runs through the knife and up my arm. The monster stiffens, its remaining tentacles go limp, and it settles down into the blood-stained earth with the hiss of a deflating balloon.

Just in time too. Seems I’m still bleeding out through those damned tentacles hanging from me. My health bar’s down to twenty. If I don’t get some snake oil into me soon, I’m a goner.

With my free hand I reach for the flask I keep in my coat.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Shit.

Demon boy six is standing over the carcass of his pet, his pistol pointed at my face. At this short range, there’s no way the bastard will miss.

“You wouldn’t rob a dying man of his last drink, would you?” I ask him.

I ain’t holding out much hope. Demons ain’t renowned for their compassion.

His response is a fang-filled sneer. “After you robbed me of my brothers? Hell, I’m going take all you got from your sorry corpse. That is, once I’ve had the satisfaction of watching you bleed to death.”

My health bar’s down to ten. His satisfaction ain’t gonna last much longer, and I don’t exactly feel like giving it to him anyhow.

With a flick of my wrist I send my knife hurtling into his chest. Problem his, I ain’t got no knife-throwing skill. Something I might want to consider unlocking next time I get my hands on some Loco Juice. The flat of the bowie slaps against his ribs and drops to the ground.

He laughs and I close my eyes. I don’t exactly want to see the bullet that kills me. Death ain’t permanent, but memories are. I’ve heard people go crazy here in Grimstone. They just see one too many horrible things and simply… snap. I’d rather curate the horror as best I can. Ain’t much chance of me passing the next Cull if I can’t get myself out of bed.

The shot rings out and I open my eyes, expecting to see that godawful rosebush wallpaper De Costa’s plastered all over her hotel. But instead of red roses, I see a gaping red hole in the demon boy’s face, right between his beady little eyes. He looks damn near as surprised as I am.

The hand cannon falls from his numbed fingers, he teeters there for a moment, like his body’s not quite learned the news of its own death, and then he slumps over his deceased pet with a squelch-tinged thump.

Progress = 6 of 6

The Blackheart Boys Quest is complete!

You and Profanity Jane have done a mighty fine service to Grimstone City by removing the threat posed by these demonic varmints.

City XP Progress to Level 3 = 18200 / 30000

I fetch my snake oil flask from my pocket and unscrew the cap as I turn to lay eyes on my savior.

“Well ain’t you as lucky as a motherfucking orphan getting a sweet orange and a hand job from the matron on Christmas fucking day!”

Jane’s striding down the alleyway, her rifle resting on her shoulder, and I’m damned glad to see her.