A Judge and His Revolver

Chapter 1

Drex's golden revolver fell into his palm. He spun it thrice for good measure, his calloused finger barely twitching as the smooth metal sides of the trigger circled around it.

His wife wouldn't approve of what he was about to do. But fortunately, for the both of them, she thought he was at work.

I mean technically he was, though not the type that she expected.

The Freyol snarled at him through human flesh, the imprint of the Demon's face visible beneath the poor soul's face that he had inhabited.

"You didn't think this one through, did you?"

Another growl as the Freyol backed away slowly, moving in that unnatural way, a hand within a glove that it didn't fit.

"I told your master to stay away from here. You know he was a friend of mine?" Drex motioned at the possessed body with his free hand, shaking a disappointed head.

The Freyol kept eyeing Drex's golden revolver, its face twisting and moving beneath the folds of Tevan Douglas's middle-aged skin. Poor man.

Was a good man. A lawful man.

"Recognize her? Who wouldn't." Drex took a step forward and raised her just above his waist with his right hand. He didn't need to look down her golden sight to aim true.

The dirt blew around him as the afternoon winds picked up, making their way through the valley as they did every day. Sageweed bent and twisted, broken pieces rolling around as if being pushed by children. Drex's dark grey cloak flew up behind him, the red lining barely visible in his peripheral vision. He ignored the dirt in his slightly graying beard. Someone in his line of work didn't get to wash as often as they wanted.

"Sorry but I can't go forgivin' every one of you just because me and your boss have made peace." Drex spat into the dusty ground. "Little good that has done."

The Freyol turned to run.

Drex fired.

The shot rang out across the plain, the only sound for miles besides the ever-growing winds. Drex had chased this Demon for a good two days now and was finally glad to be done with it.

Without looking to make sure the Freyol was dead, it was, he holstered his gun and reached into a small scaled pouch at his waist pulling out a cigar, the pouch obtained from the Edge-dwellers, the cigar rolled by himself.

With a snap of his gloved left fingers, the lint on his fingertips ignited the cigar. He turned it around, taking puffs and letting the spark grow until it wasn't going anywhere.

He inhaled deeply and blew out a cloud of relief.

"Sorry Tevan, I'd love to share one with ya."

He took off his hat and sat down on one of the few flat spots he could find where the Sageweed hadn't taken over yet. It had damn well taken over everywhere else.

His dark hair was matted and greasy, his beard rough and filled with dirt and this morning's breakfast. He had been interrupted before finishing and the rest of his biscuit was sitting alone somewhere, being eaten by the Raptorwings more than likely.

He sighed.

Mal'll be expectin' me back soon.

Mala, his wife, would have much more than a biscuit waiting for him at home. Seven Gods, he missed her, and knew she missed him. This was the third consecutive hunt he'd been on and he hadn't seen her in weeks, far longer than any time so far. What was going on?