It was a hole in the wall of a town, smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Ran mostly by drunkards, crooked law enforcement, and whoever owned the cat houses. Sam?s Pub, awful name for a pub, was just a little shit of a building, run down, but always busy, always noisy.

He leaned against the wall in his corner booth, his hat tipped forward over his eyes, arms on the back of the chair, his body slouched, for all intents and purposes, the gunslinger was sleeping. The noise of the inn, the hoarse cries of dirty, rotten folk conversing, shouting, laugh with or at one another fell on deaf ears. The scent of vomit, urine, feces, and the sweat of hard workers gone bad never reached his olfactory senses. Not even the blazing heat seemed to bother him, which was only magnified by the crowded pub, and the heavy coat he wore.

No, he was sitting, perfectly calm, appearing asleep, ignoring the patrons of this hell hole of a town, he wouldn?t stay for much longer, two months was enough for him, time to move on. These people, they were rotten sure, corrupt and broken, straying from the path of the light. But neither were they truly walking the path of darkness. There was nothing to purge, corruption wasn?t evil, corruption was humanity.

??Ey Sam!? said one particularly sleazy drunkard. ?Who?s that fella over there? The one sleepin? in th?corner!?

Sam, the proprietor, glanced over at the seemingly asleep Zane. ?Him? Dunno, jus? some stranger wanderin? about, don? trust ?im though, somethin? about ?im ain?t right,? the burly man responded, leaning on the bar toward the inquiring man.

??Ee?s a gunslinger though, ya?d do best t?stay away from him, trouble he?s gonna be, I c?n smell it,? Sam finished with a firm, warning nod.

The man?s eyes traveled back over to Zane, landing finally, on the butt of a revolver, the polished wood gleaming faintly in the dim light. He mouthed a silent ?Oh? then nodded in agreement. Gunslingers, you could never trust t

The gunslinger?s eyes opened, suddenly more alert as the smells, sounds, and sights of the inn ran into his senses like a runaway train. It wasn?t the conversation about him, which caused him to stir; it was the feeling that suddenly crept over the inn.

Strange, how even lost folk like the ones in that pub could sense the coming of evil, how even their lost souls could tell when dread was fast approaching. Slowly, the pub quieted down, until all was eerily silent, the only sound that of the dusty wind outside causing the wood to stir to and fro, letting it creak ominously.

The gunslinger remained in position, feigning sleep still, and waited.

The doors flew open, and a single man walked in-no, scratch that. It was a corpse. Mottled flesh, twisted, bloody lips, and ragged cloths were what made up the most of the animated dead man?s appearance. His hands, boney as they were, bent at odd angles, fingertips having been shifted into something sharper than normal. Those muscles of his should?ve been useless, should?ve been weak and unable to lift even a glass, but something dark powered him, something gave him strength he shouldn?t have.

Foolish Sam was the one to speak first.

??Ey! You! We don? need any trouble ?ere, so you c?n just get the hell outta m?place now!? the bartender demanded as he pointed at the corpse.

How the hair on the back of his neck stood on end when the dead thing turned it?s white, lifeless eyes on him. Snarling in some feral delight at the promise of blood and flesh, it lunged forward.

Sam dropped his glass, it shattered, people screamed as the creature leapt through the air far faster than they had anticipated, then fell silent as a loud bang pierced the air. The creature landed atop the bar, then turned it?s attention toward that sound, it saw the gunslinger, standing, revolver drawn.

Torn lips twisted in a sick grin, and the creature instead turned its course toward Zane, hopping off the bar to charge through the inn toward the revolver wielding man. The patrons parted like the water before it, and as it reached the gunslinger, it lunged wildly once more.

Another gunshot was fired, it?s left knee exploded in a pain that it hadn?t though was possible. Howling fiercely, it dropped to the ground, clutching at its knee as it shouted in some foul, abyssal dialect at the gunslinger, promising death a thousand times over.

The gunslinger walked forward, causing the creature to fall silent as the tip of a still warm barrel, pressed firmly against it?s forehead. Quickly it shoot it?s head, those lifeless eyes wide with fear, apparently there was still some humanity left in the abomination.

?The Maiden sheds her tears for you, but they?ll not reach you in Hell,? Zane said as he pulled the trigger, one final bang piercing the air, letting a bullet fly free to rip into mottled flesh and brittle bone. The creature flopped backward with a heavy thud at the force of the impact, blood and brain matter spattered the floor around it, and Zane refilled the three empty slots in his revolver, turning toward the door.

The people of that hole in the wall town watched in a silent sense of enigmatic awe as the gunslinger holstered his weapon, and wandered out, heading away, taking the road to the next town.

Work was just beginning.

He's asleep. It's dark, just past midnight. The air outside is cold, but his bed is warm. So is the mass that lies next to him. He can feel her breath, warm against his neck, and he can feel her chest rise and fall with it, pressing against his side. He knows what she is; it's likely she knows that he's aware. He can feel her fingers tighten on his arms as he starts to wake.

An eye opens. The raven haired woman is no longer beautiful. She's a monstrosity, her jaw gaping wide with mandibles lined with razor teeth. It snaps open and closed hungrily, hovering over his throat. She cackles as she hears him groan in distress, his muscles weighted down like led. He grunts angrily, both eyes are open now. They glare at her.

Her eyes open in wide surprise as a bang sounds. She looks down at her stomach, at the sheet covering the gunslinger. There's a hole there, scorched by the bullet as it tore through and into her. She hisses, a mixture of pain and anger. Her protests are cut off by another bang, and another, and yet another. She reels back, black ichors pouring from her bowels. Then, just after a final shriek, her head caves in.

The gunslinger wakes up fully, crawls out of bed and gets dressed. He reloads his gun, the action is smooth, slow, and calculated. He is entirely calm. He lights a cigarette and takes a drag before stepping out of the room, on to the next town.