His nights had gone from hunts in the moonlight to wasting away in a pub, draining bottles of their drink one after another in a methodical pattern that would leave him sprawled out on a bench somewhere, berating himself for his own lack of control. It was an interesting thing, to see the world when you?ve fallen, what you once considered bad or evil suddenly became necessary, and what you perceived as lawful and good suddenly became corrupt and merciless. It was like having the table turned, the cards of reality played from God?s hand, set before you, and you?ve been wrong all along.

The gunslinger knew he?d done something wrong, knew something changed to put him in his downward spiral, and knew he was getting nowhere fast. His late nights spent drinking were filled with internal philosophical debates. Who was he? What did he hunt? Why did he hunt them? What was the point, when there was no end? Zane Van?drok, the gunslinger, the paladin, a righteous hunter who killed because what he hunted needed to die, for balance. He told himself these things again and again, and then pointed out the flaws in that answer. Zane Van?drok was human, a gunslinger, but no less righteous than the dark creatures and men he hunted. It was during those internal debates, that he fell back on his memories of past deeds, of the days when he was an unquestioning servant of what he perceived to be ?Good?.

Zane sat in a corner booth as he usually did when visiting a town, sticking to the darker places to make himself less visible. The hellhole he?d wandered into this time didn?t seem to know what good parenting was. The bar was filled with drunken men, cheap whores, beaten wives and their children, and in the midst of it all, was that one man.

That man resembled Zane, in a way; dark, tall, aloof, composed despite the chaotic swirl of drunken rants and not-so-secret sinful desires. He was a sharp cut man, tall and firm, a chiseled jaw and broad shoulders, blond hair and blue eyes, draped in black. Revolvers rested at either hip, the symbols of God engraved into their surfaces. Another gunslinger. Zane looked at himself, his ragged attire, his weather worn, dirt stained clothes, and then at the other gunslinger, clean, pristine even. There wasn?t a speck of dirt on him, despite the filth of the pub.

He approached Zane, nodding politely in greeting to the quiet man. ?Been a while since I?ve seen one of like mind in these lands,? the new gunslinger greeted Zane, lips twitching faintly in pleased surprise. Even his voice was clean, clear of the dryness of dirt covered roads.

?Been a while since I?ve seen anyone worth talkin? to,? Zane replied, indicating the seat opposite him in invitation.

The man chuckled, even that, was a clear sound as he slipped into the indicated seat. ?Drake,? he lifted his hand, extending it toward Zane.

?Zane,? the gunslinger replied, taking the hand for a shake, surprised at the cool feeling he was greeted with.

?Well met, Zane, hope you?ll allow me the pleasure of buying you a drink, this is a rare coincidence to be celebrated, you see.?

?A drink?d be well appreciated, Drake,? Zane replied, shrugging as he settled back.

Thus, Drake waved down one of the barmaids, ordering a couple of drinks for the two gunslingers, and turned back to Zane.

?So tell me, Zane, what brings you to this delightful piss-hole??

?Just passin? through, you??

?Passing through are you? So you don?t know about it then?? Drake replied, evading the question proposed by the gunslinger.

?S?pose I don?t, why don?t ya tell me what ?it? is??

?The demon,? Drake replied, and even as he spoke, the tavern went silent. It was only then, that Zane noticed the way the tavern?s patrons studied him and his company, their eyes mostly on Zane, some of the drunker folk seeming taken by a feral hunger.

Quietly, discreetly, Zane let his hands drop to his guns, feeling their familiar coolness as he turned back to Drake. ?Don?t think I know ?bout any demon here, feels a bit off, but that?s all. So why don?cha tell me ?bout this demon??

Grinning, Drake leaned back comfortably gesturing about the room. ?It?s all around you, Zane, that?s why you didn?t know, you couldn?t pick it out.?

His guns were drawn, one aimed under the table at Drake, the other directed toward the crowd of the inn. ?So then, how do I go about getting? rid o?this demon, without killin? everyone in town??

?You have to kill everyone,? Drake smirked, removing his hat to set it on the table before him. ?Women, men, children, the sick and the elderly. They?re all tainted, all turning into the demon?s spawn.?

?S?pose I best get started then,? Zane grumbled, pulling the trigger to sent a bullet into Drake?s gut. Surprise etched a pretty expression onto the gunslinger?s face, Drake slumping to smack his forehead painfully against the table.

Two more shots were fired just to be safe, you could never be too sure with demons. The gunslinger then turned to face the surging mass of frenzied patrons all tainted with the demon?s darkness. The men and women were killed without hesitation; bullets flew every which way, causing the patrons to drop like flies. The children were different though. Zane had never taken a child?s life, tainted or otherwise, and as he stared down at the children, conflicted. They weren?t attacking, were fueled as the men and women were, yet he could sense the taint, he knew eventually, they would become as their elders were, spawn of a demon, killing whoever passed through.

With a silent pray to the gods he had long ago lost his faith in, Zane let loose the last round of bullets, his face callous and stoic against the fearful screams of dying children, screams that would haunt him for years to come. Finally, the deed was done, the town was silenced, and not a thing lived.

The gunslinger was silent as he took what he needed, preparing his pack for the next travel, and set out on the road, wandering onward toward the next town, where he?d probably have to kill again.