Everyone in the town square goes dead silent. Of which there are not many, only five total are still conscious, but all conversation stops. Even breathing becomes hard to detect as we watch Johnny put the gun against Frederick's skull.

Johnny says a few words, his mouth moving at Frederick, but I cannot decipher what he says from all the way over here.

But I do get the gist of what he's saying as I notice him pull back the hammer on his Colt, the barrel pressing against Frederick's forehead. The metal of the gun will definitely leave a mark.

But just before Johnny squeezes the trigger to put an ounce of lead into the man's head, a bloodied Levi enters the square. Levi is stumbling, coughing, and struggling to speak, which is the opposite of when I last saw the tough man.

I only see a split second of his entrance before tiredness falls over me, my eyelids drooping almost instantly.

*******************

Johnny Caldwell

I pull back the hammer of Downpour and look Frederick in the eyes, the man who is significantly younger than me despite possessing the same level of Sigil. He is impressive; I cannot lie. His speed is a good counter for my marksmanship; hard to hit something that can move faster than your trigger finger. Not that I ever thought that was possible.

Not to toot my own horn, but I have always thought that my right eye and trigger finger were the two fastest things west of HHQ, Hunter Headquarters. As far as I know, only a few monstrous humans and those who have gone beyond are faster than my gun, all of whom are far from this spot near the border. Guess there is another to add to that shortlist. Frederick is a man to admire, that's for sure.

My attention never leaves Frederick. However, I know the man is deadly, so I give him the respect a monster of his caliber deserves. Unwavering focus and zero mercy. I do, however, give him the consideration of a human as well, for I know he does not wish to fight. The powers above control him like a puppet, forcing him to dance to their whims.

Throughout this entire tango with Frederick, I have barely even glanced away from him. He's always been the true threat, not the other Hunters he brought with him. They were only distractions, tools to get him closer to me.

And they worked. A litany of wounds run across my body, showing each injury in grim detail like an old prayer. From my cheek to my calf, holes exist all over me. Even old wounds begin to act up, and the scar left from a battle with a demon that stretches over my lungs makes it hard to breathe. Only my extreme control over Ether and its many forms keeps my body running at tip-top shape, but that won't last forever. Even I, an old vet with a more remarkable adaptation to Ether than most, eventually run out of steam.

Despite all this, I never let up on my skills, keeping my own form of Adrenaline Surge the whole time, which I aptly named Rapid Fire. It focuses on my hands as opposed to the rest of my body. I also constantly flow an obscene amount of Ether into Downpour, forcing the Colt to never stop creating bullets for me to fire, just in case. At the same time, I imbue my will into each and every shot of mine with my Ether. Only when the bullet and I are one can I never miss or be distracted when firing.

I've learned never to drop my vigil against an enemy over the years. Too many friends, allies, and even enemies have fallen to foolishness. This experience is why I am so angry at what I let happen.

I already asked Frederick what his last words were, and the man deigned to not reply. So I prepare to fire. Yet just before I pull the trigger, Levi stumbles into the square before my eyes across the area from me. The man is bloodied. So, so bloody. and struggling to the point it looks like he's about to fall unconscious. For a man known for his scars, I've never even seen him this injured.

The 5th Sigil he was fighting must have done a number on him. Frankly, I didn't expect him to survive when Primrose told me he engaged with a Vengeance Squad Major. But he both impresses me and makes me feel pride for the man. I've led him for over five years through just about every horror one can think of, and I'm happy to see that he's made it through another one.

This happiness, however, is a mistake as my attention turns to him just slightly. And as it does, Levi tries to sputter something out from his mouth covered in his own blood.

"Jo—-y w—ch o–t… T— more."

His attempt to say something to me despite his injuries sparks my vigilance as my eyes dart around, expecting another Hunter somewhere lurking. But my caution is misplaced as a wrinkled hand emerges from the darkness behind Levi, covering his mouth. Then another hand appears, which uses its nails to slit Levi's throat.

The second I see the hand, my heart drops.

They didn't just send a single Colonel.

They sent her.

The only woman who I've never been able to beat in faux combat.

Darkstep.

One of the most formidable Forerunners alive. Among mortals, second only to Diabolic Lennon Hull. The dark hand of the Estates. They send her to do their dirty work or those she enslaves.

My fear and distraction allow Frederick to escape. The speedy man uses his hands to slap away the barrel of my gun from his forehead before I can even react as he jumps back. Then, he holds something up into the air; it looks like a handheld detonator.

This revelation on top of the Darkstep's arrival makes me pause. I worry for myself and Wyatt, but I do not let my eyes fail me or reveal what the detonator belongs to. I keep my eyes strictly focused on the two hunters before me. Darkstep's booted feet stomp onto the ground as she walks into the center of the square. The whole while, her face is shrouded by darkness, disallowing any to see her countenance other than her dark-skinned and wrinkled body.

She steps up to Frederick and pats him on the back as the man holds the detonator up, using the item as a ransom for his life.

"You've done good, little Freddy. Your only mistake was not taking care of your team. You know what that means, right?"

Frederick shudders under her words and touch. The way she speaks is the first time I've ever seen her be serious. Whenever I met her before, she was always playful and joking. I guess that was all a ruse. After terrifying Frederick, she turns to me.

"And you, Johnny. Tsk. Tsk. I had so much hope for you. And you've thrown it all away. You know how pointless this all is, don't you?"

The old hag's disregard for what I'm trying to accomplish builds rage within me so quickly that I almost let some of it out, but I'm not some rash teen. I take a moment before I retort to the woman who's been in this game of death even longer than I have.

What can I do to get out of this situation? I don't want to reveal my ace. It's too early. Way too early. But they already have Wyatt's detonator, so should I give him up? Surely they'd be willing to trade a young, malleable Graves for me and this town. And at this point, I'm unsure if the Deadman's switch will even kill the lad.

I know they're said to be nigh unkillable, but by the Devil below is he impossible to put down. Like an undying Wendigo, he stands no matter the injury or setback. He truly fits the title. I see why it was given to him.

I'd prefer not to give up the kid, however. I have plans for him. He is the only person I've met ever since I left the Hunters whom I am confident can make it to the Angelic stage. Primrose is iffy, the woman talented, but I just don't think she has the raw grit needed. Levi never had a chance, at least I don't think so, but he was still one of mine. Bonfire also has potential, the fire within his jokester's heart unending. But he's not serious enough.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

For humanity to survive the times to come, the winters, the summers, and the wars in between, we will need influential leaders. They will need me. And they will need someone like Wyatt, unafraid and willing to stare down any threat regardless of what it is.

So after a moment of thinking, I come up with the only thing I can think of to get Darkstep to leave. The only thing that will ever make one as old as her retreat. Invoke in her the fear of death.

I stand tall and bluff my leftover strength. I feel weak, tired, and nearing empty on Ether I can spare before I turn into a fading thing like the Graves over there. I have a way to fix oversaturation, but every time one does it, their lifespans drop. I'd instead not lower my life any more than I already have. Despite all that plagues me, I spin my Colt's cylinder and speak with the utmost confidence. And just in case things go awry, I flow Ether into my eyes, my vision turning a tint of gold.

"None of this is pointless, hag. I've been waiting for you to show up. Kept some Exorcism rounds just for your darkness. Once I kill you, they will finally take me seriously. Then these little attempts on my life will stop."

Darkstep laughs from behind the veil of darkness, which shrouds her appearance. She takes a few steps closer to me as she pushes Frederick back.

"Freddy put down the detonator. You don't need that to kill some kid already about to die over there. It's best to leave; your bum leg won't help anyone."

Frederick responds with a shaky voice as he retreats from the square. Unable to do anything to stop him without just immediately revealing my facade, I watch him leave and focus on the old woman in front of me. My mind sparks with a fearful thought. How does she know that the detonator goes to Wyatt?

"Yes, Ma'am."

After Frederick turns away, Darkstep takes a few more, light in sound but heavy in pressure, and steps toward me.

"So, you say you were waiting for me, Johnny, right?"

I stride toward her, meeting her movements, trying to ignore the thoughts brewing in my mind. I need to focus on how to get her away from here.

"That's right."

The old woman taps her fingers on her arms while she watches me.

"If that's the case, why haven't you already attacked? Surely you wouldn't want to waste this opportunity?"'

She moves closer, within just a few feet of me. Fuck. She's calling my bluff.

I activate Deadeye's Gaze as my eyes rapidly move around the area, searching for anything that may help. I don't want to reveal it. Not yet. Not right now.

I see Earl, Wyatt, and another man who helped Wyatt fight against a wall. Earl is unconscious, and so is the other man. Darkstep's Ether proves too powerful for either of them.

The young Graves seems to be fighting to stay awake, his unbreakable will proving enough to counter Darkstep's Ether that induces sleep.

My eyes flit over to Primrose; it seems the woman is still unconscious, barely breathing, but still alive. The javelin that impaled her has not yet taken her life, but she is running out of time, that's for sure. My heart aches to know that she joined the battle while recovering from the recent hunt that let her leap to the fifth Sigil. She did it for me. Inspiring such loyalty gives me the drive to accomplish my goals, but when that loyalty is severed by a blade, oh, does it sting.

Levi's dead in the dirt and none of my other men are anywhere to be seen. Primrose mentioned that most of those who were in town either died when the Hunters arrived or were killed as they made their way to me. The only ones still alive are the people I sent out to do essential missions before the break arrived, which, unluckily for the current situation, were some of my strongest. Or they were like Bonfire and fucked off to play some game outside of town. If only Otto, Marion, and Frank were here. I'd be significantly more confident. I'd have no problem dealing with this attack if Abraham were here. The bastard's Nightmares make the perfect distraction for my bullets.

But they're not. I sent the first three on the run to procure firearms and whatever Colt or Claymores they could buy from nearby towns, and I sent Abraham to steal food. The hallucinations he can cause are perfect for stealing large amounts of goods. They should be back soon, but alas, they are not yet here. My only backup is a half-dead, half-asleep, half-insane 3rd Sigil. Time for a gamble. And gambles are things I loathe to lean on unless favor is tilted toward me. Too bad my good luck charm is unconscious.

With one hand, I reach into the pack on my waist and pull out a syringe. A Concoction. Something I always carry with me in case one of my subordinates pushes themselves too far. They only marginally help those at my level, however. Darkstep tilts her head as I do so.

"What's that for, Johnny? Are you gonna recharge? I thought you were prepared for me?"

I laugh just at the insanity of what I'm about to do. I pull out a second Concoction to meet the first. The young man needs more than one. I see just how far he's gone. My Deadeye's Gaze can see Ether and its density. The kid has more in his skin than someone his rank should have in their whole body.

I have a Serum as well that could help, the counterpart for higher Sigils when they go too far, but I don't think Wyatt can handle that. Then as I speak to Darkstep, trying to get her to be afraid, I flush Ether into my hands and activate Bullet Sling to help me deliver the Concoctions. The skill is odd, rarely used, but perfect for the situation.

The skill drastically increases my fingers' flexibility, strength, and speed, allowing me to usually send bullets flying just under supersonic speeds. I cannot use it too often, however, as it puts a tremendous strain on my tendons, but this time I use it twice in rapid succession on the syringes of Concoction. This sends the needles straight into Wyatt's neck after barrelling through the air, nearing a sonic boom.

Using a long series of Concoctions or a single Serum might work against Darkstep if I can land one, but I'm worried she's too used to Ether from her long years. The items are likely to not work against her very well. If only I had a Solution, the substance used to clear out the Ether of Pillars and the Prime alike. That would surely kill her. Sadly that is not an option. Instead, I just try to distract her and fulfill my risky plan.

"No, it's not for me. It's for the Graves behind you."

Darkstep turns to look behind her, surprised at a member of the cursed family being here, maybe even unbelieving, and I take advantage of putting the liquid within the syringes within the boy's neck. I pick up two rocks and accurately throw them at the kid, who is panicking because of the needles in his neck. The rocks slam into the back of the syringe and instantly inject all of the fluid into the boy.

I feel a bit of sympathy for the boy as I lift my revolver at Darkstep, but I am relatively confident that he will live. I never had to take a Concoction until I was over thirty and a 4th Sigil, but a Graves can handle it. Their curse, after all, is how hard they are to kill. While friends, loved ones, and allies fall, they stand even if they are bloodied, battered, or sometimes truly broken, even of mind. How else would a family of only one a generation live in this brutal world? It is both their most tremendous boon and their direst curse.

I need an ally to help me fight. I work best with someone to divert attention from me. And while he might only be a 3rd Sigil, I know he's so much more when he needs to be. Otherwise, he never would have returned from the wilds. That and I've seen him cross the Edge. How one reacts when they pass beyond the Edge tells me everything I need to know about their character and body. The young Graves has an unyielding temperament and an unnaturally gifted frame. The rate at which he collapses from Ether, wounds, and exhaustion is far slower than any other I have ever met.

So, he will rise from the Concoctions. Even I don't know what's in those things, and truthfully, I don't want to know. The hallucinations they give almost aren't worth the second life they provide.

But one thing is for sure, he will be more potent than ever with the liquid magma that will flow through him. The sheer interference the Concoction gives to all Ether will help protect him from Darkstep.

He's just gonna hurt, real, real, real bad.

****************

Wyatt Graves

I struggle to keep my eyes open as a woman walks into the square and speaks with Johnny. It's challenging to stay awake even with the enhanced will that reinforces my body. This sleepiness must be caused by the woman's Ether, but I haven't seen her really do anything besides appearing from the dark like Virgil and killing Levi.

Glancing to my left and right, I notice that both Virgil and Earl are unconscious. This discovery makes me immediately try to move. I don't want any of us to get stuck here because it seems like Johnny is about to get his ass kicked; the new woman is a 6th Sigil as well. Not just that, but there is an oddness about her through my Chain Eyes.

Nowhere on her body are the chains focused, all spread out incredibly evenly. Not just that, but they seem to be physical because I can't see through them while Chain Eyes is active. So, I attempt to get up, and as I reach for Earl and Virgil with tired eyes, something sharp enters my neck. No, two things do.

I look down at this strange sensation, and I see a duo of syringes that lack any color within them. The only liquid that seems to absorb all light remains within the needles, the color reminding me of the darkness between the walls of The Cabin. Despite never seeing them before, only experiencing their hell, I understand what they are, bits of my brain tingling in preparation.

Two Concoctions were just stabbed into my neck. But they haven't been injected yet. I reach to grab one, as this is precisely what I'm seeking just that one is plenty, but two will likely kill me. I don't know what happens when you are given two, but I assume it's not pretty.

Just as I wrap a sleepy hand around one syringe, two speeding rocks come in and break upon the injecting part of the syringe. This instantly injects all of the Concoction from each needle into my system. My breath catches, and sleep immediately becomes fictional as I process this.

I look up to see what or who did it as time slows, not because I'm nearing death at this moment, but instead, my whole body does everything it can to push the pain away. Even if it's only by a few internal seconds. My brain sees Johnny with an arm outstretched toward me and another with a gun pointed at the shrouded woman in front of him.

As the slowed time gradually meets up with the liquid that is entering me, there is nothing I can do but wait. Wait for the pain, wait for the agony and the eventual freedom that is delivered. I only have to last long enough to reach it.

My perception of time is so slow that I can see the gunpowder explosion within Johnny's gun. Blasts of air and fiery momentum force a small projectile from the barrel of his weapon that is sent toward the shrouded figure at supersonic speeds.

Half of me prays for Johnny to die because of what he just did to me, and another half begs the opposite so that I can kick his ass myself. He must have never experienced what these things are like.

I get one final glance at the battle as the man's bullet crashes into the shrouded woman and simply disappears. After that little piece of joyful sorrow, I see time reaches me, as it does with all.

The feeling of the Concoctions touches me like the first time, disregarding all other pain I've ever felt. Even the first one. The black liquid burns a trail throughout my body, opening all my pores and forcefully expelling all the Ether in my body by turning it into gaseous Ether.

The heat required to do this leaves me a screaming wreck as all sensory organs shut down.

Vision is the first to disappear, turning black in an instant, as black as the Concoction.

Hearing is the second to go, fading into deafness, more silent than the void.

Touch is the third to leave me, placing me in a void without actually being in one.

Taste and smell disappear together, the tang of blood exiting my mind without me even noticing.

The only thing that remains with me is the Concoction that burns a warpath throughout my body.