Author's note: I do not own any part of Dead Gentleman Production's Demon Hunter movies or RPG, gosh darn. Any similarities between cities or people represented here is pure coincidence or literary license (which is current and up to date). Any offense the reader may take from the story is purely their own, and they are welcome to keep it. Sharing offense is not necessary. Donated comments, however, are duly appreciated as our writer subsists on a steady diet of baloney and cheeze. Thank you.

Gone to Texas

0.

The bleached sand, white as powdered bone, blew endlessly around Chris's ankle and annoyingly ended up right back in the shoe he'd just emptied. The right shoe, never the left one. Being in Hell really sucked. Even in the constant twilight it was still hot. Hella hot. Resigned, he sat on the side of a dune and emptied his sneakers for the umpteenth time. He figured the heat, the dark, and the maddening sand were all rather logical considering the location, but knowing the nature of the beast didn't make it any more tolerable. It felt like he had been walking for eons. Heck, he probably had been walking for eons. The blisters on the bottom of his feet were the size of pine cones, which is exactly what it felt he had been walking on for the last millennia since they watched the Hellgate vanish behind them. At least there was no sun in Hell. Thanks to Sophia that new complication meant he was alive, but eternally damned. No change there. Sighing, he pulled his shoe back on and stood up, just in time for a sudden gust of hot wind to blow sand down the back of Chris's shirt and straight into his underwear. Revision. Hell really sucked.

"Gabe! Gabriel! Sophia? La Ciphra?..." Damn it, he'd even take Silent Jim shooting him in the chest again just to have someone to talk to…and maybe a snack. Chris ran his tongue over his lately lengthened canines. Humans just didn't realize how tasty they were! Another gust of hot wind smacked him in the back of the neck. Chris winced and ducked, looking around for Gabriel before remembering his former team leader had vanished just as mysteriously as everyone else. Part of Chris's lip pulled back unsheathing a fang; then another gust of hot wind scorched Chris's backside.

"Damn!" He looked around the blasted waste. Nothing besides sand and rock for miles. That didn't mean something wasn't out there though, and in Chris's experience good or evil could both be lethally dangerous. But then, now that he had been "changed" wasn't he dangerous as well? In a sudden surge of energy, Chris launched himself off of the dune and into the air. Leaping again and again he went bounding like a small, white tick from heap top to heap top, only stopping when the sand chaffing in his underwear elastic started making a rash. When he stopped he wasn't even really winded. The landscape even looked a little different. Maybe he could actually get somewhere in Hell. Chris's bloodshot eyes could even make out scrub and withered trees on the horizon. It was almost like it was getting brighter out, but it was also getting hotter. Really a lot hotter.

"Hotter than heck! Ow!" His sand rash was beginning to burn. Chris looked around.

"Anybody out here?" His holler echoed unanswered across the emptiness. "Hello?"

Well, he was definitely all alone, so who would care if he made himself a little more comfortable? He had his shirt off and pants down by the time he realized the landscape really was lighter and not just because of his new eyes. As the first solid rays came over the horizon, Chris found himself frozen in awe and horror at the raw, terrible realization.

"The sun comes up in Hell, too. Huh! I'll be damned!" Then his face burst into flames.

"AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" The burning itch in his sandy loins was no longer his primary concern. Shedding everything, Chris hot-footed it across the dunes, sun rising behind him, smell of burning hair filling his nostrils. He ran hoping, praying that he could find a rock to crawl under or a hole to hide in before he went up like a dried out Christmas tree at a smoker's convention.

"AAAAAaaaggghhh! My ass is on fire!" Along with the rest of him, Chris was quickly becoming the Human Torch. Which is perhaps why he did not see the black SUV parked at the bottom of the hill. The first he knew of it was when a dark figure stood up and smacked him across the face with a two-by-four. As soon as Chris hit the ground, four other figures with a giant, woolly Mexican blanket descended upon him, beating out the flames, then rolling him up inside like a rug. Unfortunately, one of the crew apparently didn't know the flames were out and kept beating on him.

"Ow! OW! Dude! It's out! The flames are out already. I'm not on fire anymore! OW! Quit kicking me!" Whoever is was paused, then gave Chris one more hefty kick before the whole scorched-Chris enchilada was picked up and thrown none too gently in the trunk of the SUV.

"Dis is your amigo, jeffa?" There was a long painful sigh before an answer.

"Si, José. The man running naked and on fire across the desert is my…amigo, Chris."

"Dat being on fire is a very strange thing, jeffa. You sure dat's normal?" another voice asked. Another long-suffering sigh. It really sounded very familiar, but Chris couldn't quite place it.

"He's, uh, Canadian. Very fair skinned. Sun burns easily." At the mention of 'Canadian' there was a group "Ahh! Si, te comprendo." Chris was sure of it now; he definitely knew that exasperated sigh! Inching like a worm Chris wiggled until he could poke his head out the top of the blanket.

"Gabriel!" his team leader's happy smile looked more like a grimace, but Chris just knew the man was glad to see him again.

"Hello, Weener. How are you doing?" Chris was hurt. After all this time he had hoped Gabriel would finally get his last name right.

"It's Weiner. Vy-Ner! It's Austrian, geez. And I feel like a piece of bacon, extra crispy." The SUV went over something large, rocking violently and throwing Chris roughly against the molded plastic interior.

"Ow! Uh, hey Gabriel, do I have to stay in the trunk, or can I have a seatbelt or something?" The other passengers, all very dark and swarthy, looked uncomfortably amongst themselves. He wondered if they were related to La Ciphra. Gabriel put a hand over his eyes and squeezed his temples.

"No Chris, nobody wants to sit next to the naked man. You stay in the trunk until we get to the next town. Then, we'll see."

"Into town? Does Hell have towns?" One of the other men answered him.

"Si, senor, we are heading to El Paso!"

"What?!" Gabriel shook his head and held up a hand trying to get Chris to shut up before he asked anymore questions.

"Gabriel, where the Hell are we?"

"We're not in Hell, Chris. We're in Texas."