“You guys can’t be fucking serious?” Rob shouted. "There’s no way you guys are allowing Bale to talk you all into going and doing this? It has to be a joke.”

  “Rob.” Rob instinctively shuts up as he turns to his best friend. Rob couldn’t believe it; why would he think this was a great idea? Rob moves past the group to Bale; he stares up at him. They stood there for a while. As the group of eight stood, it was obvious that they were all waiting for a confrontation. Not a matter of if but when and how.

  “It’s necessary.” Bale said softly, but that earned a non-derisive scoff from Rob. Bale looks down at him, wondering why it is so funny. Rob clutches his forehead as he laughs his ass off.

  “You’re asking to go into a territory where people have said very seriously — don’t go in there. And they meant it; have any of you guys seen a hanging row of bodies that are so mutilated and twisted? They would look like mannequins that were put through The Twister?” Rob said, raising an eyebrow at them and questioning if they were insane. They all look at each other with a hesitant look. All silently asking the question if this was really worth it, they all know the risks, but sometimes risks are worth it for the rewards even if it brings death and trauma.

  Bale steadies himself, holding Rob's gaze. "We have to take the chance, Rob. You can at least understand it.”

  “Understand? What is there to understand, Bale they aren’t fully human; we will be putting a bullseye target on our back if we go — the best course of action is to not go.”

  Bale shook his head stubbornly. "You've always been the cautious one, Rob. Cautious and weak.”

  “What if I am cautious and weak? I don’t want to die from beings that defy common sense and logic!” Rob shouts he is pissed off at Bale’s stubbornness. Why doesn’t he just listen to Rob’s words? What’s the point of going into the area? Rob clenches his fist to hide the anger at Bale's back.

  Bale steps forward, his jaw set hard. "Then stay here and live your cautious life.”

  “You think I’d willingly put my life on the line for nothing? You’re so arrogant and conceited to think that you will survive in a territory like that. The Indians didn’t, so what makes you think you could do it?” Rob asked, his voice not hiding his anger and disappointment.

  Bale scoff. “Because they thought they were one with the universe, but I’m not. So I am better than them in every perfect way.”

  Rob punched him in the face. Bale stumbled back, a look of shock on his face. He wiped the blood from his lip, eyes narrowing. “You got a death wish, Bale?”

  Bale wiped the blood away and smirked. "Perhaps I do, Rob. Why are you going to kill me with those dainty and small hands of yours?”

  They both pull out their guns, a M1900 Browning handgun for Rob and a Colt 1851 Navy revolver for Bale. They both aim at each other with one hand. The group couldn’t see the draw; it was so fast that their eyes saw it as if it appeared instantly. “Guess we’re doing this.”

  “Guess we are.” Bale said, his eyes smirking with a palpable layer of smugness. Their fingers tighten the triggers; the group doesn’t like this; those guns can kill a motherfucker up close. And in the hands of those two, they’re even more dangerous — Bale was known as the Dualslinger of Shiloh, as he charged into enemy confederate lines with two Colt Army Model 1860 revolvers. He was so powerful with those guns that they also called him the God of Gunslingers since he drew his gun and shot lightning, conducting it with lightning and hurting a Confederate general’s entire organ system.

  That ended the Battle of Shiloh since the confederates thought he could do his signature feat anytime; in fact, Bale received a promotion from Abraham Lincoln himself in reward for his valiant effort. This pissed off McClellan so much that they had a duel that turned into a full-on shootout; a bullet took out McClellan’s kidney, and his bullet tore off Bale’s ring finger — the only reason nobody died was because of Abraham Lincoln. Who threatened to have both of them storm Richmond — the capital of the confederacy — with nothing but Revolutionary War armaments.

  McClellan, being like the coward he was, relented, but Bale didn’t; Bale seemed to want that. Demonstrating a reckless and dangerous approach to war, even Lincoln was impressed and considered Bale the position of Commanding General, but his advisors contemplated that Bale’s reckless and almost suicidal approach wasn’t beneficial to the war effort if he was in charge, so Lincoln gave it to Ulysses Grant. Bale didn’t mind that he got it because he hated doing paperwork and administrative duties; all he wanted was to kill the Confederates. Ever since one thing plaguing is that Bale is biracial and has vitiligo, so he was always treated as the odd one out.

  “We need to stop them, guys.” Boreaux whispers gently. The other group nods as one backs away to get a perfect angle, she takes a deep breath and flicks her wrist, letting the gun fall to her hand as she quickly grasps its grip. It’s a Remington Model 95 Double Derringer, and she hipfires it at the lamp suspended by the ceiling. The shot hits the chain, causing the lamp to swing wildly and send shadows dancing around the room. Dark figures lept from the cover as the sudden movement and wild shadows disoriented the guards in the room.

  “Stop it, guys! We don’t need you guys to kill each other!” Dana shouted, and Rob looked at her with an expressionless but amused smile. This isn’t about him, about Rob, no, not in a long shot; all of these words are directed towards Bale, her love interest. She’s older than him by a total of 12 years; Bale is 16. Despite the massive age gap, Dana couldn't help but feel an intense connection to Bale.

  As Rob always said with an ironic tone and smile on his face, “The old always dated the young, from all across the world. It has always been the same every generation is the seniles dating children that don’t know how to wipe their ass. That’s the nature of finding heirs quickly and possibly; it didn’t matter if the female didn’t consent or if there was a possibility for an heir. They’re taking that risk, no matter the costs or repercussions.”

  Rob had always been critical of nonconsensual breeding, but he is okay with dating the young. It’s the time period when people thought it was the norm to breed the young to ensure bloodline survival. Rob had always considered it a fucked philosophy, but he can’t say he was a saint either when he even had thoughts to consensually impregnate the young to ensure his bloodline kept living. Rob lives by a philosophy that he himself created — live inconsistently and survive consistently. Only he knows the true meaning behind it.

  Rob lowers his gun and looks at Bale and Dana with a look of either anger or murderous happiness, again inconsistent. Dana releases a sigh that even she didn’t know was holding. Bale smirked smugly, but there was a hint of genuine relief for Rohbadmer, as he knows Rob doesn’t shy away from killing; Bale even thinks Rob is sadistic and is hiding it perfectly. Bale thinks everyone is evil, and no one is inherently just and utterly good.

  “Fine,” Rob said, finally holstering his M1900 Browning handgun, “I’ll come with you to this territory. But we do it my way if I think we’re not safe and need to leave. We’re leaving.”

  Bale follows suit. “Alright. We will listen to you; all we need is a photo of them.”

  Rob nods slightly. He holds up three fingers — his middle, index finger, and thumb extended — saying to get three photos; if they get more than three, they will find them out. Everyone looks at each other before turning to Rob, and they nod their heads in agreement.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Good. We’ll have to go get the special ammunition just in case.” Rohbadmer says, opening the front door to go to the gunsmith store. They follow him as they stock up on provisions and agree to meet at the saloon — Rob enters the gunsmith shop.

  The shopkeeper lowers his rifle. “Thank God Himself, I almost killed you.”

  Rob raises an eyebrow. “Why did you have your rifle out?”

  “Gang members were here, the... Rockington Gang. Asked if they could borrow guns for a train robbery, naturally, I said no. But they didn’t like that and said they would come back and riddle my store with bullets after I put a bullet in a member’s hand, who was a kid. I didn’t have any hating and killing intent toward the kid; I did it because he disrespected my deceased daughter and father, who died in a tragic accident that was entirely avoidable.” Samus Prodridge said with a solemn smile. Rob tilted his head, contemplating, and then nodded in agreement.

  Samus has an old and thin body with white hair, gray eyes, and sharp features.

  “Shit. Those bastards will be back, and we can't let them cause more trouble," Rob muttered, looking back up at Samus. “Do you know where they went?”

  “Jarrem!” Rob felt the butt of a gun hit the back of his head. He turned around to see the leader of the gang surrounded by his gang members. A burly man with a black beard and brown medium-length hair. The guy had a smirk on his face as he snapped his fingers.

  “Shit!” Rob shouted, hopping over the counter and pushing Samus down as bullets started spraying. The bullets bore holes into the wood as every gang member empties their weapons from revolvers to Gatling guns. It goes on for a solid six minutes as Rob and Samus desperately wait for it to end, and then eventually, it stops. “Holy shit. You good… Samus?”

  Rob turns his head to Samus and notices the thousands of holes in his body and head. Occurring to the bitter fact that Samus is dead. His body is riddled with bullets, and all of his blood is seeping into the wooden floor. Rob notices a missing eye and half of the side of his jaw. Samus is ultimately and undeniably dead; nothing will bring him back from his death.

  “Shocker,” Jarrem said with a nonchalant but sadistic tone. “Dumbass died because he refused to give me guns. In the end, it was him or my gang; I chose my gang. Nobody would care about him; they won’t even remember him. I did you a favor, kid. It’s an eat-or-be-eaten world out here, as morality holds no place in this forsaken world. I couldn’t care less that his bloodline potentially ended, and even if it didn’t, then my gang and I would have some toys to use and abuse.”

  “You’re fucked, Jarrem. Absolutely fucked up.”

  Jarrem smirks smugly. “What if I am? Why should you care in the first place about morality or the sense of justice? It won’t change anything in our world, so why not manipulate it to your benefit?”

  “That’s Fool’s Logic right there. Trying to change the world with Fool’s actions.” Rob reaches behind him.

  Jarrem laughs. “So? I have the willpower and the free will to change it. Thank you, Lucifer, for deceiving our first ancestor to eat the apple from the tree. I owe you a massive debt; now do you feel that way?”

  “No.” Rob says it coldly and lowly. Flipping a Winchester 1894 on the table and firing it at Jarrem — it hits his spleen, sending him stumbling back across the destroyed building. Rob hops onto the shop’s counter and looks at Samus’ dead body. “Sorry for this.”

  He lights a stick of dynamite and deliberately aims it at the wall next to the door. It creates a storm of smoke and splinters of wood; Samus then grabs another stick and tosses that one out of the destroyed door; he takes a risk. The stick was destroyed by a bullet, and Rob jumped out of the window to his side, unholstering his pistol and shooting a gang member in the face.

  He grabs a guy’s arm and puts a point-blank bullet in his kidney; the bullet penetrates the kidney and hits another gang member in the heart. “6 bullets left.”

  Rohbadmer ducks puts the gun under his triceps and fires the fifth bullet at a gang member’s balls; he howls in pain and dies from the immense shock of having his balls destroyed by a bullet. He kicks a saw blade into a girl’s throat and yanks the blade to the side, destroying her throat in the process as a shower of viscous gore and blood; he slams the saw blade down on her head, where Rohbadmer uses all of his force and pushes it to her jawline. He goes on a rampage and horrifically mutilates all of the gang members as townfolk watch Rob’s gory and almost sadistic display of carnage. After all of the gang members present are dead, he heads to the saloon, and everyone watches him come in with a terrified look on their faces, as it's going to take weeks to get the sight of the gore out of their minds. Rob takes a seat and orders a bottle of whiskey; the order comes and the barkeeper falls backward as Rob takes a sip; he chuckles, which sends everyone to cover.

  “I see you’re enjoying yourself there.” Rob looks up and sees an unknown man, his face covered with a white mask but a red calligraphic D symbol on the center front. He’s tall, unusually tall, like he surpasses the future Robert Wadlow, and is strongly built.

  “Who... who are you?” Rob asks and feels a chill deep in his instinctive existence, like he shouldn’t be meeting this person, that he should run for the hills. The Stranger sits down, and Rob can feel an otherworldly gaze behind that mask, one that seems eldritch and illogical, but he can also feel an instinctive urge like a child to their father or grandpa.

  “I go by many names, Rohbadmer, but I call myself D. If you knew who I truly was, you would be screaming like a little pussy right now; however, I can give you a clue I was born in the Antediluvian Era.” D said, and his words seem to affect the Delliurion, a tapestry of space, time, gravity, reality, and infinitely everything conceivable and inconceivable. Rob examines him closely and sees occupied reality around him subtly and almost invisibly cracking like glass; he realizes something very important and strange.

  His presence is straining the Delliurion, although albeit, but Rob’s not stupid enough to know that if he doesn’t, all of the Delliurion will collapse in on itself. His thoughts are refocused back on D, for whom he can sense a knowing smirk behind that mask. It’s so weird because it feels familial like he should know this person, this D. Shadows of instinctive repressed bubbles emerge, but Rob can’t bring them to the corner of his mind, as all the while, D is staring at him with that smug smirk; it seems mocking, but Rob doesn’t sense that emotion in him. He thinks he’s possibly hiding it, but D’s face is covered, he can’t use facial expressions, and his body posture is stiff and gentle. D stares at the box of specially made bullets on the table and looks back up with a curious posture, Rob followed his gaze to the box and shrugs his shoulders.

  “Yeah?” Rob asked, his tone soft and curious about D’s question. D picks up the box and examines it with a scrutinizing look; he looks back at Rob.

  “What do you need silver bullets for?” D said, his voice becoming more pronounced and firm. “Well?”

  “You’re not getting me a chance to breathe here.” Rob had an exasperated look on his face as he looked up at D; he could sense a look of firmness and demand. “We’re going to the Tiburarg territory up north.”

  D abruptly stands up and paces around Rob with a movement of disapproval; he stops behind him and puts his hands on his shoulders, his grip featherlight but so firm. Rob looks at his bottle of whiskey and can see that D is meeting his gaze with the bottle acting as a medium. D’s hidden eyes feel so intense that the glass bottle is cracking from the stare. D chuckles, and the bottle shatters as pieces go shooting out in an omnidirectional manner.

  “You guys are so stupid, insane, but mostly insane. But I can’t deny that I respect you guys traveling to Alayi-controlled territory, as I am pretty confident that you guys won’t come back safely. Going to the Tiburarg territory is not a wise idea; you should trust my judgment where I been to it once for a summit, and let’s just say, they’re not known for their hospitality. The only thing they know is unbridled violence; do you guys even have an Orsakasilfur user?” D asked. Rob looks at D with a curious look at what Orsakasilfur is.

  “Orsakasilfur is a supernatural force that is steeped into a group of people known as the Med?iotojai, which allows them to instantaneously and permanently kill the supernatural. Even the divine and godlike, since their power is coming from a silver weak point in God himself. And everyone that was created from God also has the weakness.” D clarified. Moving his hand down to take out an Orsakasilfur bullet and present it to Rob, the bullet trembles under his presence. But it’s not strong enough to lift itself up, earning a confused look from Rob.

  He looks up at D and asks why the bullet did that. D responds in a manner that seems different than his previous words. “You have Med?iotojai blood in you, but it’s not enough to become a Med?iotojai. Meaning you’re not going to become one since you have one eighth of it in you. But you do have the blood in your genetic code, so if you pass it down, your descendant will likely inherit the ability. These bullets react strongly to Med?iotojai, so if you’re near one, the bullet will react violently.”

  After his words, D whistles and puts the bullet in Rob’s pocket. Giving him a firm saying to not throw it away if he wants to survive in Tiburarg Land, and after Rob nodded, D left but not before saying that they will meet again with Fuseli. Earning a confused look on Rob’s face, he didn’t decide to pursue the answer to that statement, as Fuseli seems like a person who’ll come to him.