CHAPTER 27 – HYPERION SUMMIT

33 AD

Jerusalem

Wild Card Cass

The shaggy dog walked up the side of the hilltop. Both the dog and his supposed master stood upon the hilltop. They looked down as FreeLander left with Iscariot. The young pup sat up, and Wild Card saw something hanging over his shoulder. It was a bandoleer. He took it off of Royal and strapped it on himself, never to take it off again. He wore one holster over his left hip, and there was only one bullet on the belt. Wild Card felt the brandished metal. It was still hot, and far too large for a revolver, more like a rifle round. He knew that he would need this bullet someday. He did not know why, but he felt deep down in his gut, that there was a time and place for everything, and this bullet was very important in that realm of thought. The noose tightened and they left for the doorway. "I have to go," Wild Card said to his dog, Royal.

The dog pouted and reminded Wild Card that man was still worth saving. A notion he was slowly losing faith in. Wild Card jumped through space and time with the medallion and landed back in Satan's Lair. As they sat in the dark palace atop the city Dis, FreeLander answered Wild Card's question, "...materialized in one of his most beloved forms, He bet, like we do, once and for all… over the essence of mankind without any interference from his omnipotence. This is it, Winfield. If I lose, I will fail forever."

"And if you win."

"I prove him wrong and unravel the very fabric of the universe."

He could not believe his ears, that a God was truly out there and willing to risk humanity just to win a bet. He did not focus on the universe being destroyed and the human race being obliterated in the blink of an eye. Why should he? Little did the world know that they were on their own against the strongest forces of evil, all the while being judged by their Creator. This, above all things, was what made Wild Card bitter.

August 10, 1865

Dodge City, KS

Warm blood splattered Ira's face as his mouth dropped. The Colonel was dead. Marshall did not even get off his horse to check the body. Peyton turned his horse around and mildly prompted them to follow him. Ira and Marshall quietly followed as Peyton took them back to the Inferno.

"What are you doing?" Ira worried.

"Finishing this once and for all" Peyton answered.

"What about the town?" he continued.

"It all stems from that saloon, trust me," Marshall spoke up as he got off his horse. Ira pulled the reigns back.

"I'm not gonna leave this town to burn while we settle our personal disputes." Ira tried to persuade them, but Peyton ignored him and kept going toward the bar.

"Marshall..." Ira begged.

Marshall looked up at his friend, "This is where we part ways, Ira."

"You can't-"

"I have to do this."

Then I can no longer watch your back, Marshall."

"Good luck, Ira."

Ira rode off on his horse back into the fight raging all around them, and Marshall watched him go, filled with regret. Even though he just found out Peyton was his half-brother, he knew deep down he belonged by Ira’s side in the fight. Splitting up was wrong. But he had to see this through to the end. He could not let Peyton face his father alone. So, Marshall followed Peyton through the doors of the Inferno.

The street was littered with bodies of soldier and horse alike. Fires collapsed buildings all around him. Ira could not find a front anywhere. The task of bringing the battle to one front, now all alone, was impossible for Ira to accomplish. He found a corner being held down by two horseless Union soldiers. Across the way from them were rebel soldiers shoutin' and hollerin' as they fired their pistols in the air, riding wildly on their tired horses.

Ira shot the first one right in the face. He put the scope back up to his eye and fired still riding for the corner. The riot of rebels rallied and charged at him, opening their blind side to the two soldiers. Ira blew another rebel's head back. The two did not panic, they did not falter. As Ira reloaded and watched a rebel raise his rifle up to kill him, one of the two soldiers saved his life and shot the rebel dead. Ira fired off one more rifle shot before switching to his sidearm.

Another rebel raised his pistol at close range as Ira gunned down the two enemies next to him. Ira kept firing, unblinkingly, and buried two revolver shells into his chest. The gun remained in the air for a second as the rebel fell and Ira snatched it with his left hand. He swung the horse around and finished the remaining chambers off. The last of the rebel posse fell. Ira brought two horses over to the soldiers and led them further into the fight. Ira turned the next corner and the trading post store they were riding past exploded. The impact launched Ira off his horse.

* * *

When he got up, the entire block was in ruin. Smoke lingered over the fallen rubble. The two union soldiers were gone, presumably crushed to death. He looked around for any survivors of the explosion. Ira could not tell where he was. This was not Dodge. The concrete rubble did not look like the shabby stores in town. These were ancient ruins. Their surfaces were shiny and white polished, ridged and columned. Ira walked out of the wreckage. He was up on a mountaintop, peering over a sea of clouds, with a white churning sky. He looked all over for something he recognized. It was okay that he was lost. Even with no clue to where he was, Ira mysteriously felt at home, at rest.

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The closest foundation that was still in one piece was Ira's immediate move. It was a long, curving, white balcony running across the mountaintop. He grabbed a hold of the stone and looked up. Above him, at the summit, a storm was raging. Effects of the storm were bringing massive chunks of the mountain down all around him.

Dark bolts of lightning tried to break the temple closest to the summit. Ira wanted to help, but a high ivory gate kept him from climbing the rest of the mountain. The white gate was unbreakable and towering. Nothing could penetrate these walls. He would have to find the doors in. Ira crossed balcony after balcony, observing the abyss of white smoke below him, and the shadowed fury raining drops of fire down from above him all the while.

When Ira reached the gate-doors it was nearly shattered open. The thin golden bars were bent and mangled all over, but the hinges all still held onto the pearly white archway. Ira tried looking around. After all this chaos, it was hard to believe that there was not a soul around. A man spoke to him from inside the gate.

"It is not your time, Gabriel."

"What did you call me?"

"I am Petros, gatekeeper of-"

"Is this heaven?"

"You still have work to do on Earth," deflected Petros.

Ira looked around again, "What would you have me do?"

"You must tell them."

"Tell them what?"

"Only one can kill the man you know as FreeLander, the one that has risen from the dead."

"Who?" Ira asked.

"Peyton Quade."

"And how can Peyton kill a dead man?"

"With your father's rifle."

Thunder crackled, moving from the distance right upon them. The clouds of the storm lowered into the white mist and the winds kicked up. A fury of neurotic cyclones outnumbered them all around. As Ira tried to keep his stance, he yelled, "WHAT IS THIS PLACE?!"

"The Hyperion Summit."

The dark bolts of harnessed shadow shocked the metal fences, and the eye of the storm was upon them. The pressure peaked, Ira felt as though the atmospheric tension was tearing him apart, and then the bottom crumbled out from Ira. He tried to grab a hold but was pulled down into the darkness. His eyes were covered in black, and he was gone.

* * *

When Ira woke up, he was in an alleyway, being covered by somebody's arms. He pulled himself up and turned around. Wild Card Cass was huddled over Ira. He was protecting his unconscious body from the battle. Ira got to his feet.

"What are you doin' here, Cass?"

"You were half past dead when I found ya."

“So, what!" Ira cried out with his arms spread, "Didn't stop you before when those lunatics beat me senseless!"

"My boss is the-"

"FreeLander."

"How do you-"

"I can save us, Cass." Ira wasted no time.

"No one can save me, kid" Wild Card looked away from Ira, down the alleyway at the battle still littering the streets.

Ira looked up at the sky. The sun had set awhile ago, but the sunset red clouds remained. They had thickened and turned to storm, a storm reminiscent of his dreams.

Wild Card Cass turned back around to Ira, "We must hurry!" He ran down the alleyway and Ira followed. Wild Card brought Ira through the town's vacant seedy underground. It was the quickest route back. He led him to the street that ended at the train station. Across the way was the Inferno. Before the bar, in the middle of the road Peyton stood face to face with Charlie Slaughterhouse Slater, who was yelling. Marshall was nowhere to be found. Did he sneak into the saloon alone?

"You killed Johnny! And Maggie! For what, Peyton? So you could take your guilt out on someone else besides yourself. Well, I’m right here. Your last stop before self-realization."

Peyton had never thought of his sins in that way before. Charlie was right. He was their harbinger of death. One day something deep inside Peyton's soul turned and it was decided that he would bring his fellow Orphan Outlaws to justice. This was a truth he did not realize until now, and so he answered Charlie, "We must all atone."

Slater turned away from him to cover his revulsion. He said as he turned back, breathless, "Then I guess its my turn now?"

"That’s right."

Charlie looked down and closed his eyes. He waited, but nothing happened. Charlie looked back up at Peyton. Peyton already had his gun out, but his finger could not pull the trigger.

"So, what are you waiting for?"

Maybe it was the fact that this was the same kid who saved his life, so many years ago in the Wichita Fires. Or maybe it was the fact that Charlie refused to draw on Peyton and protect himself. Either way, Peyton was having trouble finishing what he had started.

10 Crows walked out of the Inferno wiping his hands clean of blood.

Peyton cried out, "Marshall!" He shot his gun and backed up, while 10 Crows and Slater both drew on him.

Ira tried to get up, but Wild Card held his shoulder down, saying, "Not yet." Ira threw the old man off him and ran into the street, leaving his modified rifle behind. He capped off his revolver and joined Peyton. Ira tried to call to him but was distracted by the pinging of metal on metal.

He turned back around to see Steel Coat Kildare running at them wielding his twin sawed-off shotguns. Peyton and Ira got down low and finished off their rounds, keeping the juggernaut at bay. They all reloaded. But before 10 Crows, Slater, and Kildare could re-engage, the doors to the Inferno opened. Marshall slowly walked out, dragging himself to the dueling line between gunslingers.

A light flashed in the corner of his sight and Ira saw himself standing just behind Peyton. His echo screamed, and a blue pulse rang out swallowing him up whole. No one but Ira had seen it.

Wild Card Cass watched on as Ira faced off with Steel-Coat Kildare, Peyton went up against his orphan brother Slaughterhouse Slater, and Marshall squared off with his two-faced father, 10 Crows. From Wild Card's point of view, in between the good, and the bad, was the Inferno. A dark figure walked out of the doors and Wild Card stood up. He watched Jebediah FreeLander do nothing but grin as their six orchestrated puppets tried to kill each other as the battle for Dodge still raged all around them. It was a symphony of death. The conductor openly relishing in his masterpiece.