Warnings: Angst, swearing and violence

As always, huge huge thank-yous to kiss316 for pointing out stuff!

Welcome back Randy. You've been missed!

Legend Killer Chapter 12

…and underneath him, Randy went insane.

For a few seconds Randy just laid there, frozen. All he could feel was weight pressing him down to the ground and the hot breath on the back of his neck. His eyes went wide with horror and disbelief.

It was happening again.

Mentally he felt something pulling loose, like the roots of a tree torn away by a flash flood leaving it toppling into the raging torrent, and all his rational thoughts stopped, leaving only animal reflex. With strength born of supernatural desperation and rage, Randy rose to his hands and knees, clawing at the arms around his shoulders. He got a firm hold and flung the person into the air, far away from him. With unimaginable speed he pulled his gun from its holster and fired while the person (demon?) was still in midair. Red blood sprayed from its neck as it cried out. With a sickening thud, it slammed into the thick trunk of a towering pine tree several meters away, dropped to the ground and lay still.

Bullets splashed the ground nearby, but Randy was beyond self-preservation. On one knee he aimed his revolver in the direction from where the bullets were coming from and pulled the trigger twice. There was a shout of pain but no answering shots. Keeping his gun drawn Randy listened, more than ready to kill anything that approached him. The demon he had shot earlier hadn't moved, lying at the base of the tree. He eyed it with suspicion and would shoot it again if it so much as twitched. He tensed as he heard the sound of more gunfire from the trees below. Then someone was shouting, calling his name and the names of others. He didn't answer. There was no way in hell he was going to give away his position.

Silence rang through the trees between gunfire. Heart still pounding with adrenaline, Randy scanned the area and startled when he saw a figure with familiar blond hair lying hidden nearby, facing away from him. Randy crawled over to him on hands and knees, taking no notice of the hot blood pouring down his arm. "Ted?" he asked softly, reaching out tentatively to touch Ted's shoulder but Ted didn't respond. He shook Ted's shoulder, trying to get the boy to wake up. "Teddy?" he asked again.

Still no response.

"It's okay now, Teddy. I killed him. Benoit's dead so you can wake up now." Bracing himself, Randy lifted the back of Ted's shirt, but there were only stitched cuts and deep black bruises. Someone had worked him over pretty good, but Randy breathed a sigh of relief anyway.

He frowned in confusion and put a hand on his head. He remembered Teddy's tortured body tied to the prison wagon hanging next to Cody's, thick blood drying in a pool at their feet. Had that been a dream? Ted didn't wake up, but he was breathing steadily. Randy stroked the blond hair back and said, "Don't worry Teddy, I'll protect you until you wake up."

Several meters away from Randy at the base of the tree, John lay very still, completely dazed. Distantly, he could feel blood pulsing down his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt but miraculously the bullet had only grazed him. He was in shock, unable to comprehend the sheer strength and speed Randy had possessed. One second he had been trying to protect Randy, the next he had felt the brutal impact of the tree. He was trying desperately to control his breathing and pain. Randy hadn't come over to check to see if he was still alive. As he lay there he could hear Randy trying to wake Dean up and wondered who Ted was until he heard Randy say Benoit's name. John remembered Hunter telling him about Randy's deputies Ted and Cody. Did Orton think that Dean was Ted? There was a pleading tone in the outlaw's voice made John almost feel sorry for the psychopath, despite being furious with Orton for shooting him for no apparent reason. He tensed when a hand from behind him pressed a cloth to the stinging wound on his neck. He turned his head and saw Punk pressing a finger to his lips.

"Don't move. He remembers too clearly to see you," Punk cautioned in a whisper. John had no idea what that meant but he did as he was told.

Becoming very still, Randy focused on the two figures climbing the slope of the mountain towards them. He kept his revolver aimed at them until he saw the light gleaming off of a badge. When they got close enough, he recognized Roman and Seth. He shook his head, puzzled. Randy glanced down and swallowed hard when he saw it wasn't Ted after all. He holstered his gun and rubbed his eyes. Damn it. What the hell was happening to him?

"Orton?" Seth shouted as he and Roman jogged up to where the bodies were strewn about, breathing hard in the thin air. "Why didn't you answer?" He saw where Dean was lying hidden behind Randy and went over to check on him. "He's okay," he told Roman. Seth scanned the area, seeing Punk and Cena a little ways away. "Looks like Dean killed Slater."

"God, that was a messy one," Roman observed, seeing the blood, bones and organs everywhere. He looked over at Randy, who still blinking with confusion. He shuddered and looked away. Would that be him eventually? A worn-out empty shell?

With Punk's help, John sat up and took the cloth from Punk and pressed it against his neck to staunch the blood. His back and head hurt like a son of a bitch where he had hit the tree. He glared at Orton. "What the fuck was that for? I was just trying to protect you."

Randy didn't seem to hear him. Punk was frowning with concern though. "You didn't get Barrett?" he asked Seth, seeing Roman was still up and walking around.

"Barrett saw us coming and took off. He's the last one?" Seth asked. Roman was still watching Randy.

"I think so. Ambrose killed Gabriel earlier," John reported.

Punk went over to talk quietly to Randy, and then they both turned and started down the slope towards the cabin. Sighing, Roman picked up Dean and Seth helped Cena to his feet. "He shot you? Why?" Seth asked.

John grimaced with pain. "I have no idea," he hissed. "I was trying to protect him when Barrett started shooting at us. Then the fucker just threw me into that tree, but not before shooting me in the neck in midair."

Seth was impressed. He tried to imagine how strong Randy was to throw a grown man that far. He wondered if Roman could do that too, but he didn't say that to John. Nor did he say anything about Randy's irrational behavior at the bank, but it was becoming more and more apparent that Orton was mentally unraveling. He had hoped that Randy could hold it together long enough to help finish Nexus, but now it looked like Randy was too far gone. Seth was starting to think he had made a mistake when he talked Orton out of committing suicide. He sighed to John, "Let's get back to the cabin."

At the cabin Randy didn't apologize or explain why he had shot John. He just bandaged his own arm and set about collecting his things. Punk had retrieved his appaloosa from where it was tethered nearby and led the horse back to the cabin. By this time Dean was awake and Seth and Roman had caught them up to the events in town.

Seth, Roman and Dean readied their horses to ride out after Barrett. The whole time Randy hadn't said a word. He threw his saddlebags over the back of the saddle on his roan and mounted up, gathering the reins. "Where are you going?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I'm going with Punk back to his people." Randy's voice was hollow and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked at Dean like he couldn't figure out who he was.

"You're leaving now?" John asked, looking around for his horse. Ready or not, he was going with Randy. He saw his bay mare standing nearby and awkwardly mounted up as well, his back and head aching enough to make him see stars. His saddlebags were still back in town at the boarding house along with Seth's but that didn't matter to him. He would just have to make do.

"Where do you think you're going?" Punk asked as John walked the mare over to where they were standing. He smirked at John's discomfort.

"With you," Cena said firmly, glaring at Punk. "You said Crowfoot can get rid of the demon taint of my soul. So until he does, I'm your partner." He fully expected Randy to say no, to sneer at him, but Randy ignored him, still caught up in the past.

"We're traveling the high country. We're not slowing down for you," Punk warned.

"You won't have to," John reassured him, relieved that Randy hadn't said no or just shot him again but now John was getting slightly worried that there hadn't been any response to his joining them. He didn't like the dazed look in Randy's eyes.

"What about Barrett?" Dean asked. "He's still out there. And so is the Beast." It surprised Seth to see Dean getting upset that Randy was leaving them. Dean usually didn't care what people did and in Seth's personal opinion, Randy's leaving the group was for the best for all parties involved.

Dean's words must have gotten through on some level. "Brat, I'm pretty sure the three of you can handle them," Randy sighed, backing his horse away from the cabin. Punk and John turned their horses to go.

"So you're just going on vacation now, is that it?" Dean asked, his feelings of betrayal masked under heavy sarcasm but didn't fool Seth or Roman.

"Yep," Randy said, starting to get annoyed with Dean's questions. "I'm taking a vacation. Have fun, you guys."

"Dean, its fine," Seth said, placing a hand on Dean's forearm. "We can handle this."

"Let him go, Dean," Roman said trading glances with Seth. "It's his choice."

Dean rounded on Roman. "Well I thought that we had each other's backs. Was that a lie?" He didn't have many friends and was just starting to consider Randy one, and then the guy pulls this shit.

"No it wasn't," Randy said suddenly as he reined his roan and giving Dean a hard stare. His freshly resurfaced memories of Teddy and Cody were getting tangled with the new ones of Ambrose and Reigns and he knew he had to remove himself from the situation before things really went pear-shaped. The thing was, he wanted to stay and protect them but the damned Saint had cut him off, making him the most useless of the three in this fight. Rollins had already proved he could deal with demons just as effectively as Randy.

And then there was Crowfoot's request to see him. He knew that the old shaman wouldn't ask for Randy on a whim. He hesitated, and glanced at Punk's impassive face. "But something's happening up in the Nations, and they need me. You have Rollins to help deal with Nexus so you have no fucking excuse for not finishing them off. And when you're done here, you and Reigns better head up to the Nations and join us."

The look on Randy's face was dead serious and Dean leaned back on his heels, considering Randy's words. He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Randy's.

"Yeah, you just need to listen to me," Seth grinned at Dean trying to lighten the mood. "We need to pick up Barrett's trail," he said, thinking it was time to get back on track. He would explain to Dean later about Randy's behavior. "Dean, Roman, mount up. We need to get moving." Dean's lips twisted but he nodded.

Randy told Punk and John he was going to stop in town for supplies before hitting the trail. John quietly sighed in relief; he could get his things from the boarding house as well. He hadn't been looking forward to traveling with no extra clothes or ammunition. He also made sure to get his badge back from Randy. Punk merely nodded and said he would meet them later. He turned the appaloosa and loped off into the trees.

Barrett's trail headed generally in the direction of town. Roman led the group, his black horse trotting easily up and down the ravines. As the group reached the halfway point to Helena where the trees started to thin out, Randy pulled up, uneasy. His instincts were ticking over that something was off. Behind him John also pulled up. "What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know," Randy said, but years of running from the authority had honed his instincts to a razor's edge.

"Do you sense anything?" John asked. Ahead, the trio drew further away.

Randy frowned. He didn't sense anything in the way of demons, but his instincts were screaming at him. Before he could say anything he saw Roman, who was a bit ahead of Seth and Dean, jerk backward, falling off his horse, blood spraying from his chest. He hit the rock-strewn ground, gasping for breath. Two heartbeats later they could hear the whip-crack report of a rifle echoing off of the surrounding mountains.

"ROMAN!" Seth screamed, his voice raw with horror. He jumped off his horse and ran to Roman's body, crashing to his knees beside his, pressing his bare hands over the wound in a vain attempt to stem the gushing blood. Roman was staring up at him, gray eyes filled with shock and pain.

Eyes wide, Dean looked frantically for the telltale smoke of the shooter's gun. Finally he saw it, unbelievably far away, halfway up the adjoining mountain. "Fucker has a buffalo rifle," he snarled in white-hot rage. He dug his spurs deep into his horse's sides. The horse leapt into a full gallop, Dean leaning over its neck with a single-minded determination to run down and kill whoever had shot his best friend.

"Hang on, Roman, just hang on!" Seth said frantically. "Randy!" Where the fuck was Orton? Roman was dying under his hands and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't know what he would do if Roman died. For the first time since he was young, Seth Rollins was at a complete loss. He hadn't planned for this! And then Randy was there, removing Seth's blood-covered hand from Roman's chest. He had a knife and was cutting away Roman's shirt. "Get something to put on this," he ordered to John who was on Roman's other side.

Seth regretted his earlier misgivings about Randy. By now he was emphatically glad that Randy was still with them.

John ran to Randy's horse which was the only one with saddlebags and grabbed a spare shirt. He was already ripping it into strips even as he hurried back to Randy who took the makeshift bandages and pressed them onto the wound. Randy reached out and grabbed Seth's hand, confident and calm. "Put pressure here," he instructed. "Don't let up." John crouched on Roman's other side, helping to hold him steady. "We have to see if the bullet went through," Randy stopped, thinking. A horrible suspicion crept over him. Buffalo rifles were not Barrett's style but he knew whose it was. Seth was looking pleadingly at Roman to be okay, not thinking about anything else. Tears streamed unnoticed from his eyes. He grabbed Seth by his shoulder to get his focus back on the current situation. "Go after Ambrose!" he ordered

"But…" Seth protested, startled.

"We'll take care of Reigns, but Ambrose needs you!" Randy snarled right in Seth's face. The adrenaline had helped him to focus on the present. He knew what he needed to do. Getting Ambrose some back-up was paramount.

Eyes wide, Seth stared at Randy. Of course Orton was right. He couldn't do anything for Roman that Randy and John couldn't do and Dean needed him. Quickly looking at John and back at Randy, he nodded and ran to his horse. He jumped on the paint and spurred it, the animal galloping away with Seth bent over its neck.

Not sparing a glance after Seth, Randy turned to John. "Help me sit him up." Despite being as gentle as possible, Roman was panting with agony by the time they finished, his face was white with pain and blood loss. Randy kept pressure on Roman's chest, "Check his back" he ordered. "Did the bullet go through?"

John, leaning back, saw blood streaming down Roman's broad back, matting his long black hair. "It did," he reported, not sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Passing a thick wad of cloth to John, Randy said, "Here. Keep pressure on it."

John did as he was told. "Will he die?" he asked and he hated himself for asking it. He couldn't believe that anyone could survive being shot like that. There was so much blood…

But Randy was no stranger to this situation and answered calmly. "The bullet didn't kill him instantly, so the Saint's strength should sustain him until we can get him some proper care." He was listening to Roman's breathing, trying to figure out if a lung was pierced. He didn't think so, which was another point in Reign's favor. Randy was frowning in concentration as he wiped the blood away from the entry wound on Roman's chest. "Get me some alcohol. I keep some in my saddle bag," he told John who rose to his feet smoothly. He found it easily and brought it back.

Hesitating, Randy looked into Roman's gray eyes. There was pain there, but no fear. "This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch, but I need to clean this. Just hang in there." He said to John, "Hold him steady."

Roman closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He couldn't help the scream of agony as he felt the burn of the alcohol, but John's arm was comforting around his shoulder and soon it was over. Blackness swam over his eyes but he didn't pass out. Then Randy was instructing John to hold another wad of cloth on the wound and he started wrapping the torn shirt around Roman's broad chest to hold the bandages in place.

John thought back to the story of how Randy had survived being gutshot, which was pretty much unheard of. For the first time it truly hit home that these guys had an almost superhuman ability to survive what would normally be mortal injuries, thanks to the Saint of Killers. But that didn't mean they were unkillable, Edge being the most recent example. And despite Randy's unstable mental state and his own misgivings, John realized he was seeing a glimpse of the US Marshal that Randy Orton had once been.

"We can't stay here," Randy was saying. "We need to get him to a doctor." And he needed Ambrose to get back, quickly. If any demons found them now…

"Agreed," John said. He looked around, noting their surroundings. Silence continued to weigh on the area. "But Barrett could be in town," he said. "If he finds us…If he tracks me down again..."

"We'll just have to take the chance," Randy replied grimly. He gently picked up Roman in his arms, carrying the man as steadily as possible to his roan. With John holding the horse, Randy lifted Roman up into the saddle and then mounted up behind him. With a nudge of his heels, he turned the horse in the direction of town, holding Roman steady with an arm around his ribs. John followed, leading Roman's black.

It was obvious that Roman was in agony and every step the horse took jarred his wound. As much as he wanted to go faster, Randy forced himself to be patient. All that mattered was getting Roman to help and safety. There was brief burst of gunfire from up on the adjoining mountain in the direction where Dean and Seth had gone but Randy ignored it and held the roan to a smooth walk. Dean wouldn't need the Colts for that enemy.

John kept trying to look in every direction at once, his gun in his hand. All that needed to happen right now was for Barrett to find them. Both Randy and Roman were in an incredibly vulnerable position. With Roman was too weak to take on Barrett, Dean gone and Randy was cut off, John was their only real offense. He saw how Randy was essentially shielding Roman with his own body and even though he agreed with the unspoken gesture, Randy considering himself expendable was troubling.

Luckily the doctor's office was near the edge of town. They opted to go around to the back to avoid being seen and remembered. Roman was deathly pale but still conscious. His breathing was labored and he slumped in Randy's arms. Randy began to feel uneasy. He closed his eyes in mental and physical exhaustion. Shit. He opened his eyes and pulled the roan to a halt. He dismounted and motioned for John to take the reins while he eased Roman out of the saddle.

As he watched Randy help Roman dismount, John saw how white Randy's face was. The man was injured too, even though he hadn't once complained.

With Roman once again in his arms, Randy climbed the low steps to the back door the doctor's office. John opened the door and quickly closed and locked it after they had entered the building. They found themselves in the examination room so Randy laid Roman down on the table. The front of Randy's shirt was coated in blood. Roman groaned low in his throat. "Get him some water," Randy told John as he checked the makeshift bandages. They were completely soaked with blood.

A large man, one of the largest John had ever seen entered from the front of the office. "Hello, Marshal," he said.

"Holy shit," John gasped, stunned. Then he remembered his manners. "Are you the doctor? We need help."

"We?" The big man looked at the dried blood on John's hands.

"It's a friend," John said. "He's been shot. It's bad." He gestured to Randy and Roman.

The big man walked into the room, "Orton," he acknowledged completely not surprised. As if they had only just seen each other the day before, not years ago.

"Mark," Randy replied, too tired and worried to be surprised at Mark's appearance. "Reign's has been shot in the chest with a buffalo rifle. I cleaned the wound and bandaged it," he reported. "I don't think his lung was pierced." He rubbed his forehead in exhaustion. Then he frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Hunter is on his way to Helena," Mark said. "I told Rollins that I would keep an eye on him, so here I am."

Randy seemed to accept that without question. John however had a million of them but he bit his tongue as Mark leaned over Reigns and started removing the blood-soaked bandages. He was completely unperturbed by all the blood as he studied the wound. "Get me some fresh bandages, water and tweezers," he ordered. "I need to remove any material that the bullet might have driven into the wound on its way through," he told John, who nodded and left the room. They could hear him rummaging through the cabinets.

While John was in the other room, Mark said to Randy, "You are taking a huge chance being here. Hunter is close."

Randy shrugged. "I'm on my way out, actually. But the kid here got shot right in front of me." Roman's eyes were closed, but Randy didn't think he was unconscious. Sweat was running off his forehead, soaking Roman's long hair.

"You know who the shooter was," Mark said, looking up to lock gazes with Randy. The man's pale eyes were unnerving but never condemning.

Lips pressed tightly, Randy nodded. "It was US Marshal Dave Batista."

"Are you serious?" John asked from the doorway, his arms full of medical supplies. He hadn't met Batista but he remembered Randy talking about him that morning. The pieces of the puzzle clicked into the big picture. "So the Beast is here too?" He saw Mark glance up at Randy again but refocused on Roman again before Randy noticed.

"If not yet, then soon," Randy sighed. Seeing that Mark had everything well in hand and there was nothing more he could do for Roman, Randy was just about to leave when a large hand caught his injured arm, eliciting a gasp of pain from him.

"You're not going anywhere until I look at that," Mark told him sternly. "Sit." He pointed to a wooden chair. It was like being given an order by a thunderstorm.

Eyes wide, Randy sat. John resisted the urge to do the same.

Satisfied that Randy was obeying, Mark started cleaning out Roman's wound, using tweezers to pick out pieces of the shirt that had been driven into his chest by the bullet. Blood flowed freely but that only helped to cleanse the wound as well. Finally Mark looked satisfied and bandaged the wound again. John helped him as he tended to the exit wound. In the chair, Randy closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the wall. He listened to the breathing in the room and tried to focus on the uneasiness he had felt since entering town. It was still there, but far in the background, thank god.

"Your turn, Orton," Mark said and Randy opened his eyes. Roman was unconscious on the table, his torso wrapped in bandaging. John was now wearing a bandage on his neck as well.

"Its fine," Randy started to argue, but one look from Mark shut him up. Reluctantly he pulled his jacket and shirt off so Mark could look at his arm. The bullet had caught him high in the bicep. He ignored John staring at the marking on his shoulders. Mark was just starting to remove the makeshift bandage when Randy stiffened in alarm. On the table, Roman started getting agitated too, his breath coming faster and he opened his eyes which were bright with the onset of fever.

"What's going on?" John asked.

Roman turned his eyes to lock with Randy's, his breath came faster and he tried to speak. Randy understood Roman's agitation and he nodded to the wounded man. "I know," he said.

"What is it?" John asked again, looking between the two.

Roman gasped between breaths, his voice raspy, "It's coming."

"What's he talking about?" John demanded.

"The Beast. Its near," Randy said simply. He couldn't feel the Saint's though.

On the table, Roman tried to sit up, but Mark held him down easily. "Lay still," Mark ordered sternly, holding the younger man down with a firm hand.

Randy made his decision. He walked into the other room for a bit of privacy.

"Old man?" he asked quietly. Long seconds dragged by but finally he could feel the presence of the Saint of Killers.

'I'm here son,' was the reluctant reply.

"I have to do this," he said.

The Saint's face hardened. 'You know what the consequences are. I won't let you throw away your soul.'

"You lost any say in my life the minute you left for Mexico," Randy told him, his voice devoid of emotion. For the first time since Benoit, he regarded the Saint of Killers without hatred or contempt, just a bone-deep weariness.

'I never intended for you to get involved in this,' the Saint of Killers said, his voice was full of gravel and cobwebs. And regret for so many things.

"But I am involved," Randy said. He looked up at the spirit, his eyes flat. "When you came to me after Ted and Cody were tortured to death, you made it impossible for me to walk away."

But the Saint wasn't one to be swayed by guilt. 'The answer is no. I will not condemn you for eternity.'

They regarded each other, both determined to get their way. Somewhere outside, the Beast moved closer.

"Will you condemn me to die at the hands of the Beast?" Randy asked, his voice soft.

'If I must,' was the merciless reply of a man who had undergone the tortures of hell itself because he could not let go of his vengeance for his family. 'You could run.'

But Randy had been bred from the same unyielding stock. "And if I do, what about the kid in there? He can't kill the Beast the way he is now. Would you have me save myself and leave him as a sacrifice?"

'If it saves your soul, then yes.' The Saint was as movable as bedrock. But he hadn't anticipated how far Randy was willing to go either.

"You're forgetting something," Randy said quietly.

'What?'

Eyes flat, Randy played his trump card. "Ambrose. If Reigns dies because I ran away, he will hunt me down. And when he does, it won't be hard to convince him to use one of those Walkers on me." Being killed by a Colt Walker would utterly destroy his soul. It would be a victory of sorts over the stubborn Saint. Not the one he wanted, but he would take what he could get.

'You wouldn't!' the Saint snarled with rage, but there was fear in his voice as well. Ambrose was a wild card and the Saint knew he could not control what Dean did, especially if Roman died a horrific needless death. If he denied Dean the Colts, he would lose all his soldiers and the demons would take over. He now saw the trap Randy had set.

"Try me," Randy challenged.

For long seconds they glared at each other, and then, incredibly, the Saint flinched. Seeing the spirit drop his gaze, Randy knew he won. But there was no feeling of triumph, only the vague sense of horror. From the other room, he heard Roman gasp and Mark tell him to hold still. Then Randy turned around and came back into the room. He stood next to Roman and spoke to gravely injured man, reaching out a hand to smooth back the long sweaty hair from Roman's forehead in an uncharacteristic show of affection and reassurance. "Shh, it's okay, Reigns. I got this."

"What's going on?" John asked, concerned.

"I'm going to deal with the Beast," Randy told them. "Reigns, just get some rest. Mark knows what he's doing."

"Wait, you're not cut off anymore?" John asked, trying to keep up with events. "What about your soul?"

But Roman was shaking his head. "Don't let him do this," he pleaded to John, his voice slurring with weakness and the onset of delirium.

"Killing those demons is more important than saving my soul," Randy said ignoring Roman as he handed his guns to Mark. His wounded arm was throbbing and he doubted he could fast draw with it. But he only needed one to deal with the Beast. He pulled his shirt back on.

Mark was frowning but he didn't argue. "There is no going back from this," he warned. As distracted as they were, neither Randy nor John thought to question how Mark knew what they were talking about.

"I know," Randy replied. He could feel the Beast's presence coming nearer, like a hot wind. The price meant nothing. Then Randy turned to go back into the front office, and to John's amazement he saw the Colt Walkers coalesce in Randy's gun belt. "Wait!" he protested, reaching out to grab Randy's arm, but it was the Saint of Killers who was standing in front of him now. John said before he could think, "Don't let him do this!"

"It's his choice," the Saint replied and in the pale green eyes there was no hate or malice, only a terrible, terrible grief.

John swallowed hard and stepped back from the Outlaw Angel of Death, who once again set out to do battle against a demon.

TBC

Buffalo rifles can shoot with incredible accuracy over ¾ of a mile. I saw one demonstrated and it was very scary how you can see the target move well before you hear the report.