CHAPTER 706: A BULLET IN THE BARREL

Days had passed and the killer of saints hadn’t seen the light of day. Trapped in the lair of the demon general beyond the brambles, he was kept a prisoner with daily visits by monstrous nurses and a singular nun. They checked him for cuts, bruises and ensured that he wasn’t hurting himself. What struck him more peculiar than that, however, was the fact that they drew his blood every week for some odd reason.

A pig drained of blood to be mixed in with some concoction, that’s what he felt like. Why else would these monsters require human blood but to feed on it as nourishment? Or so he thought, and although not entirely wrong in his assessment he wasn’t exactly right either.

"He’s keeping you alive for your strength, one that you’re too blind to recognize." Said the nun, her white, netted veil covering her pale wax-like face. Eyeing her tar lipstick, the saint pondered what kind of devilish nun would choose such a shade. "You’re an otherworlder and your blood contains broken strands of your soul, at least something similar to it."

"What are you talking about, woman?" The man asked, his voice thin and parched.

Leaning against the mossy patch of the wall, the nun crossed her legs and admired her long dark nails. It wasn’t often that she got to view her own body, most of the time in the realm between dimensions, her body was but a concept and nothing else.

"Your soul draws mana from the surroundings and it stays in blood for a long time before reaching your soul, and that’s what the general needs to strengthen himself." Turning her head towards the man again, she smiled. "One of you is equal to a thousand in this world. One glass is enough to quench his thirst for months and strengthen him the more he drinks."

Clicking his tongue and slamming his fists back against the wall, the killer cursed under his breath before glancing right back at the nun.

"Like a hog then, that’s what I am to that there ugly face, huh?" He nodded, and after a moment’s contemplation and a few turns of her head, the nun nodded. "Tck! Jesus and I thought them heads in the skies upstairs were the crazies."

Squinting an eye, a smile tugged at the nun’s lips. She liked the way the killer talked, something about it reminded her of her childhood again.

"You have an interesting way with words."

"And you’re no woman of god if you’re with that old bastard." Reaching under his collar, the man pulled out a silver cross. It had been a gift from his daughter–a daughter that wanted better for her father than to be a murderer. "I swear on christ I’ll get back to my lil’girl and you’re gonna be sorry when I find a way to get outta this damned dank place!"

"Your god can’t condemn me, the only man I follow is the absolute judge." Getting herself off the wall, the nun smiled once more and waved her hand. "I’ll see you tomorrow little pig, unless you decide to join our side after all. Maybe then we’ll set you free, for a price of course."

Walking out of the cell, the nun left the door open. It wasn’t the first time that she’d done it, and that’s exactly why the killer didn’t even attempt to escape as he knew that it was hopeless to do so from the front gates. Some guard or the other always caught him somehow, and with only a bullet left in the barrel, he really had to weigh his options before making another attempt to escape.

Left alone he often checked his weapon, making sure that it was clean and that no rust had settled on it. A lone revolver with six chambers, only one filled at this point. He also had a knife, still allowed to keep it too as the horrors weren’t afraid of his weapons and neither did they pose any real threats. Against the otherworlders that he’d killed, it worked just fine but against magic, the revolver had a hard time to counter, especially with him no longer having any gods blessings.

Taking out the last bullet, he scraped its surface with his knife. Carving a small face on the shell along with a cross, he tried to hone in on the memories of his daughter. Staying alone would’ve made him insane already had it not been for that hope. She was waiting for him, or at least that’s what he hoped. The truth, however, nobody knows.

The wild of the west, a lawless land with desert, horses and rattles, a lone girl–how long can she survive on her own. That is if she wasn’t already dead.

’I have to get back...’ He said to himself, his eyes staring at the awkward sketch on the bullet shell.

The killer of saints, a man dipped in sin fiddled with his cross as his mind wandered off into oblivion. What comes next? How could he escape this damned place? Will he ever make it to his world and if so will all of this feel like a nightmare or follow him back like some damned cursed branded onto his skin.

Too many questions to answer, and no escape in sight. Before he had magic granted to him by the gods, but now he was bare, a man and his dwindling faith. Looking at the door, he wanted to try again, but as if the moss had attached him to the surface, he remained seated without moving an inch.

’If you’re out there somewhere, lord almighty. Show me a way.’ For once in his life, he prayed. But before his prayers could be answered, a pack of slimy fleshed horrors came waddling in. The horrid nurses, the man was far too familiar with them. They’d extracted his blood too many times for him to fear them or have any reaction at all, but knowing what his blood was used for now, a sour taste spread throughout his mouth.

"You sick fucks!" And so he tussled with the horrors, one punch at a time until his energy completely depleted. The nurses, however, remained unharmed as their bodies were like a thick jell and nothing could hurt them, at least nothing physical.

Broken once more, the killer sat in the pool of his sweat and allowed the horrors to work. But as they drew his blood, it hit him. A way for him to escape, a way for him to get rid of the mastermind behind this operation without even shooting the last bullet left in the barrel...