The hunt was a success, the enemies of man were eradicated. But at what cost? The people of Riven prayed as their hero, their protector wrestled with death itself in the operating room. But in this new world, medical knowledge was non-existent, to save the gunslinger from these injuries, impossible. The little boy stood outside, wondering if his father would ever open his eyes again. He waited, clutching his own revolver, the carving of his name scratched the boy’s palm.
His mother was different, she was a person of action. In this moment of life and death, she left her husband’s side. The young woman went to the heretical doctor, one who tried to deny God, Dr. Frankenstein.
“Please” She bowed to him “Save my husband, the people need him”
The heretic agreed. The doctors were flabbergasted to see him entering the operation room. All of them backed off, however, they despite the heretic but all knew he was unmatched.
Dr. Frankenstein proved his superiority. Every cut was perfection, all with blistering speed. He opened the patient up fixing his insides as easy as one cleaning the chamber of their revolver. No one could help because no one could come close to his speed.
The city of Riven rejoiced as the news broke, their protector would live. Red and blue flares were fired, the signal was passed throughout the endless sand scape.
That day, the whole West rumbled as the Desert Ranger all fired a shot in the sky. Their leader survived the battle with monsters and death. The young boy also participated. Normally, the recoil of the revolver would shatter the wrist of a kid his kid. But the boy was different, he was son of a hero and this was his gun, he carved his name on it himself.
But there were two people who didn’t share this festive mode. The young wife of the gunslinger and the hero himself.
He opened his eyes and saw his beloved sitting by his side. “Theresa” He called out, reaching for her hand but he couldn’t. The hero could only see a bandaged stump where his arm once stood. Horrified, he tried to throw off the blanket but couldn’t muster the strength to do so. But the man could feel his body with pieces missing all over.
The hero was now reduced to nothingness.
“Why did you save me” He asked his young wife “If I die then, I would die a hero”
“The people need you, the Desert Ranger needs you” The woman answered “Live on, not as their protector or commander but a symbol” She could never say the truth, ‘live for me’, those words never came out of her mouth. It wasn’t enough, her husband was withering in front of her eyes. The young wife sighed, she wanted this revelation to come at a more festive time “Live for our child” She placed her hand on her stomach, a new life was budding.
And so, the hero decided to live. But he was simply a shadow of his former self.
No one but his family was allowed to see him. It was a battle of the ages, the man needed his rest, that was the excuse.
The hero sat in the courtyard, watching his son practicing the family art, quickdraw. The boy pulled the revolver with frightening speed and landed the shot square in the target.
“Faster” His mother was unsatisfied.
Looking at the stump on his arm, the hero sighed. The boy was already faster than him, the blood of the founder wasn’t in him. He was only allowed to lead the Desert Ranger because his wife, the true heir, was too young. And so, the hero discarded his family name and took on her own. But even though he was a formidable gunslinger, he was no match for her.
“This is how it should be done”
The woman stepped in to demonstrate. In less than a blink of an eye, the shot already reached its target. Such speed, the hero couldn’t even see her movement. Was she faster than the founder, he wondered. The only person who could come close to her now was Dr. Frankenstein, not the hero himself.
‘I’m sorry’ He told himself.
And so, the hero bided his family farewell. “You will lead them, the Desert Ranger, out people” He told his wife, it was natural, it was always her place, he was simply a placeholder.
Then at the dead of the night, the hero struggled with his wheelchair, all by himself. Such effort, just for the simple task of moving… But he finally reached his destination, the place that housed the heretic. Dr. Frankenstein wasn’t surprised about the visit.
“You want your test subject, here he is” The hero said “I want to fight again”
It was simple task for Dr. Frankenstein. After all, he still had that nefarious concoction, the substance that could defy god. With it, fixing up the hero was a simple task. But he decided not to, giving the hero such a power would only bite him later on. Besides, the doctor was researching another way to transcend. It considered forbidden by the old world, but this was the wasteland now.
Automaton, the art of creating machines, complex items that could function without magic.
“It would be my pleasure to help you” Dr. Frankenstein with a smirk on his face. There was no need to hide it, both of them knew, the hero was dealing with the devil.
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The wheelchair was left behind as the ‘hero’ left for the waste in the cover of the dark. He couldn’t face his family, his people anymore. The record said that the hero left on an urgent mission, one that only he could face, an eternal crusade.
No one would see him ever again, Darius Black disappeared into the night.
___
The dark is banished by the searing flame, cleansing everything in its way. Father Walker, in his weakened state could barely avoid it by crashing through a nearby window. This isn’t a normal flame, the priest could tell, this is capable of burning an acolyte like him. But the wood that made up this place is drenched, unable to catch fire.
It doesn’t stop the machine, however. With his double barrels gun, he blasts the wall open with countless destructive pellets. A few go through the wood and easily lodge in the priest’s thigh. Running away is no longer an option.
His only other hope, the old hunter, is also occupied.
Can he hold onto his life long enough? Or would he have to… kill. In all of his existent, Father Walker has never ended a person’s life himself. The man is a devout follower of saving lives instead, either through pain or something else, preferably the later.
[Burn]
The machine whispers blasting his flamethrower. Father Walker strikes back, wrapping his barb wire around the weapon pulling it to the side. The flame barely missing him. The wire goes further, trying to penetrate the flesh, but it could find nothing.
“What is this!” The priest had never encountered a being like this before.
Not stopping, the machine points the gun at his target and fires the remaining shell.
Father Walker raises his arms to block the shot. From within, black stones sprout out, piercing through his skin. The stones absorb most of the pellets, shattering in pieces. Some still hit, sending the priest flying back, colliding at a wall.
The barrels open as two shells are ejected along with a stream of smoke.
After following the Stranger, Father Walker could tell the machine is reloading. His barb wire won’t be able to stop it in time. Most of his abilities propagate through flesh, with a being made out of cold metal, they are useless.
‘If she is to have my power, what would she do…”
The priest asks himself. He bites a piece of his tongue off and spit it at the gun. The chunk of flesh is torn apart by glass shards and spread out, each piece carrying a shard within. They all explode with a shower of glass. It doesn’t hurt the machine but the some of the pieces manage to enter the barrels. They propagate, blocking them to prevent a reload.
Some of them manage to pierce through the glove, revealing flesh underneath. But the glass couldn’t spread far, the human hand is cut off by mechanical wiring. They still make the machine drops his gun.
[Stop struggling, monster!]
The machine pulls his flamethrower back, with barb wire still attached to it. Father Walker is dragged closer, his wire too long, he won’t be able to pull it enough to divert the next gust of fire.
A do or die moment, the priest springs into action. With his injured legs, he leaps at the machine. Black stones sprouting from his fist, he punches his enemy straight in the face.
He made a grave mistake.
The hit tears the skin apart, revealing a metal inside. And now, Father Walker is in close range of a warrior. The machine slams his skull into the priest’s own, black stones shattering against metal, then tackles him with the flamethrower arm.
The muzzle points straight the target’s face, signalling a cacophony of flame. Father Walker jams his arm into the weapon, black stones sprouting as the fire spread out causing a massive explosion. The small hut is blown apart along with the barb wire connecting the two.
Father Walker tumbles into the dark water, welcoming for his horribly burnt self. His right arm is now blackened from the flame, raising it, the priest realises he could no longer sprout barb wire or anything else from it. And yet, he can still move the limb. It is the same with other burnt spots, the acolyte power couldn’t be manifest.
This flame has truly cleansed him.
“God… is this your will”
When the world ends, Father Walker had accepted the pain as his gospel. Faced with the deities, his belief strengthens. It was God that sent these beings to test humankind, blinded and hungry for power and knowledge.
He had endured God’s trial, every moment of his continuing existent is marked with pain. But the priest held on, recruiting others to his belief.
Is this his reward… to finally be free of the suffering?
This flame that is so foreign will baptise him. He will die, but not before being cleansed of sin, he will die a human. Father Walker accepts his fate.
The metal leg of the machine pierces through his chest. The priest looks up to the messenger looming over him. The flamethrower, still functional, is pointed straight down.
Father Walker closes his eyes and he can see light.
Turning back one last time, he can see a shadow in the dark. It’s hard to make out the silhouette, but he could recognise that crimson hair anywhere. It’s the Stranger walking away further and further away from the light.
In this waste, he would continue to spread the words of God through a new mean of pain. But then, the priest encountered someone special, someone so vacuous he couldn’t get through. He had followed her ever since, hoping to finally open her eyes.
Is he going to pass one, leaving her in the dark, oblivious to God’s embrace?
“I’m sorry… but I’ve made a promise”
Walker points the gun that she left with him up, a final struggle. But before he could pull the trigger, the machine grabs it easily and yanks it out of his hand. The man waits for the end, but it doesn’t come.
Even though his hand is torn by glass, the machine could still feel the carving on that gun.
[Clayton… is that you, my son!]
Inside his empty mind, a memory starts to surface. It threatens to bring back Darius Black, but the dark has blocked it out. The machine remains an empty shell. His conscious is not returning but the inner has brought enough time.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH”
With unmatched resolve, Walker drags his body to the side, the machine’s leg cutting his body up. He stands up, grabbing the unfired shells on the machine belt. The flamethrower arm moves up but it is too late.
With the remaining hand covered in black stones, Walker thrusts the shells into the machine’s face. The metallic teeth is burst open. Stabbing the bottom of a shell with his finger, the man slides it with another one, both infested with black stones. It creates a spark that ignites the gunpowder, the shells all explode violently, the countless pellets shred the machine’s head.
Darius Black falls into the water, dead, Walker manages to catch the Stranger’s gun.
Then, he raises the hand that was blown up with the machine’s head. From what remains, black stones and glass shards sprout out. With them, he scratches the burns of his other arm of. His cleansed arm is a mess, but when the last of the charred flesh is scrapped off, blood spurts out. Along with it, black stones and glass shards and barb wire spring out once again.
The man had rejected God’s will, but he does it to continue to spread God’s words.
Walker knows he no longer has the right to, but he still prays anyway. Whether anyone heard his prayer or not, the man doesn’t care. Walker will continue to follow that crimson woman, he will enlighten her or die trying.