I woke up, which is not an activity that dead men often participate in. I mean, they might, and I wouldn't know, as I have limited experience with being dead.

I suppose I got my answer after all. Those damn monks were right, there is life after death. I loathed to find what was so hellish about it, as it seemed relatively tame so far. Just a small, musky cave. I could see the opening exactly 32 feet away.

I could hear movement outside the cave. Probably weren't the shuffle of the angel's feet, that's for sure. Angels didn't sound like four-footed animals. Probably. Are demons four-footed animals? Am I in dog hell? I've shot a lot of guard dogs over the years, so that wouldn't be too far fetched.

I climbed to my feet. I was still covered in blood and grime, still wearing my weathered old outfit, brown pants, and white shirt. I was dressed lighter than usual due to the heat, which I'm sure would serve me well in the fires of hell. My hat was gone, but it probably had a hole in it anyway, so I'd just have to ask the demons for a new one.

Most importantly, my guns were still there, my Peacemaker, my father's Walker, and even my recently obtained sawed-off. Good. It probably wouldn't do much, but ill be damned if I don't shoot the first demon I see. I got a reputation to uphold.

Probably wouldn't be long now. The shuffling grew louder, and three Devils entered the cave. I was obscured by shadow, so they didn't see me. Yet.

I say Devils because I had no idea what else to call them. They surely weren't of God's creation. They walked on four legs, and reminded me of dogs or wolves, and were about that size. The similarities ended there.

I don't know the word for the material that covered their body, but it reminded me of insects. Their eyes too, like a flies, but far too large for comfort. Their mouths were like the pincers, the extended portion vibrating with every hot breath they breathed.

I tapped the grip of my Walker, my usual nervous tic. Their heads snapped towards me in unison.

Okay, I suppose those eyes are great at seeing movement. I drew my Walker and cocked the hammer.

The sounds those...maws made is hard to describe. I once heard a horse have its neck run over by a carriage, and the sound it made then was the closest thing I can think of. It sent shivers down my spine, more than any man with a gun ever did. It had been a long time since I felt raw, animal fear, but I felt it good.

They began to approach, spreading out, much as wolves would.

"Settle down, boys...it's alright..." I said, voice as calm as I could muster, considering the circumstances. I backpedaled, one hand palm out in the universal gesture of peace, the other pointing my Walker. The creatures reminded me of wolves, so I rightfully assumed they wouldn't understand how guns worked.

My back hit wall. The cave was smaller than I anticipated. The sun shone through the entrance, so I could still see the Devils.

I was cornered. I knew it, and they knew it. I opened fire.

My colt uses .45, 40 grain. My Walker uses .44 round balls and is loaded for 60 grain. It is the biggest and hardest hitting revolver in existence. Last time I checked at least. I mean, I wasn't too sure, maybe some obscure gunmaker made a revolver the size of a Gatling gun. But is it still a revolver? I wasn't too sure what actually defined a-

I was doing it again. Right.

The first shot hit the leftmost in the mass of eyes. It made a noise like squished organ and went limp. The other two began to charge me, and I did the same with the one in the middle, its momentum carrying it forward even after its own death.

Wolves would have given up by now, they tend to run away when they realize a fight ain't worth it, which makes them smarter than most men. The Devil did not give up, it continued to lunge towards me.

I admit I did not anticipate that.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

I rarely use my walker due to the fact that it's older than I am, and prone to failure due to being stuffed full of more gunpowder than it can handle. It weighs far more than my other gun as well, so I wasn't used to its ballistics. Due to this, and I will probably never tell a soul about this, but uh...

I missed.

The devil leaped towards me, mandibles stretched to what I presume to be the limit, head tilted for the ideal grip around my neck. I gave it my arm instead.

"Damnation!" I screamed as it bit into my arm. Its mandibles were hooked like a snake's, and i could feel it settle into my flesh. I dropped my Walker.

It swiveled around my arm like a gymnastic pandering to a crowd, its elongated claws scratching towards me as its head held on to my arm, twisted like an owl. Guess neck-snapping was out of the question.

Its underbelly looked pretty soft, so I reached over my chest and drew my new sawed-off.

I then put both shells into its underbelly. Green blood splattered over my clothes, adding much-needed color into the already muddy mix. It went limp, but the head was still firmly attached to my arm, barbs locking it into the flesh.

-Assessment Complete-

-Processing-

I collapsed to the floor, the weight of the corpse and my exhaustion dragging me down. I landed in even more blood and bits of Devil. My foray into the underworld was not going well. At least I still had my guns.

I can't put it off. These damn things might be venomous, I have no choice but to rip the damn thing off my arm. I have no time to question the voice in my head or anything else. No debating, no building myself up to it. Rip. Now.

I did.

Agony.

It burned like fire, each barb seemingly home to a thousand more. I could feel my flesh leaving with it, waving sarcastically as they finally got away from the disaster of a man that they were made from. I have been shot, stabbed, burned, bludgeoned, and betrayed, and all but one of those paled in comparison to this.

It was clearly designed to be as painful as possible. Typical for Devils, I suppose.

The actual damage wasn't too bad, it was just a goddamn huge gash in my arm. At least that was my only wound. It wouldn't cripple me, unlike my last two...three wounds.

I needed to stop the bleeding.

I wished I could check outside first, but I didn't have the time. I only had three shots left anyway, so id probably die if anything else showed up. So I took off my bandolier and satchel, as well as my shoulder holster, then I took off my shirt.

I'd love to describe myself as attractive, with a powerful, toned body, and refined musculature. I did technically have those things, as throwing myself through doors tends to build muscle, but unfortunately, it was ruined by a patchwork of scars and worn skin. Sunlight, lack of showers, and copious amounts of alcohol tends to hamper the complexion, but not as much as being shot, stabbed, burned, bludgeoned, or betrayed.

Not too sure how much the last one actually affects complexion, but I might as well toss it in with the rest for comedic continuity.

Christ, I'm a dead man.

I wrapped the wound with the cleanest parts of the shirt I could find, which wasn't much. It probably wouldn't kill me, but my quick drawing days are on hold. I could shoot with my off-hand, but not as well. It would have to do.

I loaded my guns with ammo from my boots, bandolier, and bag. I carried a lot. Probably not enough. I even had a few shotgun shells leftover from when I owned a pump-action, so I loaded my Sawed-off as well.

No more putting off. Time to see hell. I climbed to my feet and walked to the entrance of the cave, gait unsteady. I stood before the exit, willing myself to go through it. I could see nothing but sky. At least it was blue.

I exited the cave. I felt a shiver, like walking through the doors of a tavern where I'm unwelcome.

Far in the distance were snowy mountains, clouds drifting above and below the peaks. I saw a vibrant green plain, with a roaring river cutting through it. Closer was a forest. A temperate forest with tall trees, just like home. I could hear birds chirping, insects crawl through the bushes, and the distant mating cries of familiar animals.

This wasn't Hell. It couldn't be. I could feel it, I was alive. More alive than I had ever felt. This wasn't damnation, this was a second chance.

-Processing Complete. Displaying Results-

Which made it all the more confusing.

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE

Buck Jones

0 CHIPS

Bronze Core Occupation: Vagabond

Stats:

BODY- 1.3

SPEED- 3.1

MIND- 0.7

Skills: Quickdraw III, Take aim III.

Traits: Deadeye V.

Unique Skill: Outlaw.

Never thought I'd think this, but damn.

Wish I could read.