Fowl chirping, rivers flowing, wind breezing past.
Through the great, green plains they went, with songs of grand feats and adventures spilling from their lips.
Boots thudding against the soft and gentle earth - Mother Nature's gift to Terra.
Clouds, lazily pastured by the shepherd of the sky, seeping by and fading into the pale blue yonder to be reborn yet another day - in another world, in another reality.
Beasts screeching, steel clanking, wind howling in pain - the harbinger of misery.
The deep bogs and lush forests, treacherous by nature, endorsed by the will to consume and digest. Silence in the stuffy air, broken only by an amphibian's ominous croaking.
Boots stuck in the mud, grasped by the will of the land - Mother Nature's honest mistake - a sinister mockery of a land that once sprouted flowers so bright.
Fog, brought upon by forces unknown to mankind, herded from the depths of hell onto the surface to plague the travelers and lead them astray.
Sky tearing, world ending, wind tearing them limb from limb.
Traversing through mountains, navigating catastrophes without a messenger nor a guide. Thick scarves and shawls wrapped around their heads, incentive yells pathing the way forward.
Steep ravines, oceans of sand, mountains of black falling from the heavens - Nature's shameful disgrace - the killing force that reaps by the millions.
Yet, at the end of the day, nothing but salvation awaited the wicked.
Under the twin moons' watchful gaze, a teeny tiny, makeshift town of bedrolls and tents laid amongst the unmoving orange dunes. Pumping with life like an organism of its own, each little sector was a biological structure within itself - The weary food hoarders in the northern wing, keeping the place fed and distributing energy, like a restless liver. The trails of lazy mercs sprawled across the warm sand, consuming their chow, gobbling down like the place's starving bowel. The puppeteers behind the operation, gathered under a silk tepee-like tent, thinking through their next big move - the brain and nerves, accompanied by patrolling lookouts, the eyes and ears.
And in the middle of it all, the very heart of the settlement kept beating out a tune of laughter, music and lively gossip. A large pile of drywood set aflame laid in a dug out ditch, numerous devils gathered around to frolic and spend the night indulging in degeneracy.
The organism's ever flowing blood - hard alcohol.
Andy sat amidst the wicked, swaying from side to side and staring into the flames. What was he expecting to see? Maybe the fire's gaze matching his own.
Words, expressions, streams of unintelligible mumbling flowing all around, like a last, fleeting warm breeze of August, barely grazing his ears - rushing in, sliding past his brain and immediately seeping out.
His gaze flew upward, towards the pale black yonder. How brightly the stars shone here, in the endless desert. As much as he enjoyed the lush forests and wide, open plains surrounded by the mighty Kazdelian mountains, there was something about this never ending patch of sand, stretching out for miles on end. Something that made him feel so childishly insignificant and small - in the best way possible.
He sighed and took a swig of whatever was previously thrown into his cup. Red, metallic, with an aftertaste of pure, cheap spirits. A long haired vampire from before shot him a wink and raised their own glass in a toast. Andy frowned and poured the substance into the flame, making it sizzle with glee and shoot upwards, towards the sky. Never been much for human blood. Or any blood, for that matter.
Then, a familiar sound arose from the side. A sound he hasn't heard in quite a while.
Some talented devil's bloated fingers softly plucked the strings of an acoustic instrument Andy's grown so accustomed to during his military years. Or months, rather.
Sitting on a stool, surrounded by their loyal audience, a large, confident creature started their usual concert, an artsy break in their mindless revels. Its chin spilled down their colossal body, covering their neck and massive chest fully with folds of fat and thick, mole infested skin. A comically small hat sat atop their gigantic, bald head, sliding along the greasy surface with even the tiniest of movements, yet never falling off.
It was a true master at work, no matter what its task was. Killing, eating, balancing a hat - Andy couldn't help but materialize the image of Hedley repeating "There's always more than meets the eye" in his head.
And the bloated creature kept playing. And how beautifully it played…
Oh, how it evoked feelings of unspoken nostalgia within the boy's drunken mind. How it reached into his very soul, tearing apart the prison that held Andy Reiff deep underneath the mask of Mr Ricketts. How it tore the rag from the innocent soul's mouth, letting him breathe and speak his mind, uninterrupted by the blaring sirens of nonsensical fear and guilt. And so, he spoke.
With each word, came a small tear running down his puffy cheeks. Sliding down the dry skin, watering the golden sand down below.
He wanted to clap. To cheer, to yell, to applaud the creature's talent.
Yet, his voice was lost in a sea of clashing ideas. On one side, immense disapproval, a need for change, faced with the overwhelming support of the other side's imperishable vocal cords.
"Too sappy, Pete-y! Gimme that, I'll get a groove goin'!"
"Don't you dare touch that thing, you good for nothing dirt gobbler…!"
The creature called Pete-y couldn't help but sigh at the devils' quarrels. He stood down without a word, handing the guitar over. A greasy haired rockstar took the stage.
His song was one of rapid sounds, quick solo numbers and sharp vocals. Gone was the serene peace of the bloated blob's fingerstyle hymn of tranquility, a new order having taken its place. Assaulting everyone around, spouting words of aggression and sickly, obsessive grandeur, the devil kept playing.
That was, until yet another coup arose. Another daredevil proclaiming to be a better musician, followed by a crowd of loyalists wooed by his words.
So, the guitar passed once more. And again. And again, and so on, and so on. And each of the players - worse than the last, passing the stick along up until one had finally stepped up to the task. A few moments filled with peace and tranquility of a skillful guitarist's genuine will to provide the poor devils' with a worthy performance, not feed their own ego and ideals. A few moments of flourish, only to be squashed by a stronger player's mindless might, the guitar brutally torn from their hands, among the cheers and yells of the brute's supporters.
And the cycle went on. A new king had been forcefully appointed. A new reign. Years of torment - repeated over and over again.
Andy left the sick musical royal court, wobbling away to find his bedroll. Passing by the many tents, some devils sprawled across the warm sands, some snuggled together underneath the sheets.
Some, quenching their never ending thirst for utterly aromantic, close bodily connections, hidden behind the linen walls, locked in a rough, primal dance of flesh pressed against flesh. Andy hiccuped and stopped, taking a moment to watch the two shadows wriggling together behind the fabric.
Two people who barely even knew each other, he assumed.
The idea of sharing such an intimate moment with someone so foreign and unknown to one's heart was completely incomprehensible to the boy. While matters such as survival by any means and killing to keep oneself afloat were nothing but trivial everyday occurrences, his mind remained pure and childishly innocent in the way of differentiating and understanding love. Such close, physical contact taken so lightly and casually felt like a taboo matter - Something he simply did not understand. In this silly, drunken state, Andy thought that he, himself, knew what love felt like. It was a potent thought, now that the deepest, most well hidden products of the mind were seeping freely onto the surface.
His tiny head simply couldn't accept the fact that he's never actually been truly loved by anyone in his life.
So he ran, again. Through the empty streets of Laterano, his boots stomping hard against the marble, down by the cinnamon shop waited a door to a burnt down hallway of crimson.
Empty frames, falling off the walls, smoldering and filling the room with smoke, layered beneath his feet as he pushed on through, eager to reach the stuffy room waiting at the end of the corridor. A room so familiar.
So truly, utterly loved.
…
A cold, metallic hand pulled him by the scruff, tearing apart the dream. His eyes shot open, only to be met with the desert sun's bright glare. A masked face hid in its gleam.
"Rise 'n shine, sweetheart! Got some real good news fer ya."
He sat up, rubbing the sleepiness off his eyelids.
"Mmmm…? Shoot, miss Betty."
"Hopefully yer gonna be the one doin' the shootin'! We got the bastard pinned down. Or, er… His location, I mean."
Now that's something nice to wake up to. Andy yawned and did all his morning stretches, seeing the camp being neatly rolled up by the worker ants of this massive merc anthill. Such precise and efficient teamwork (accompanied by the mother of all hangovers rummaging through most of the mercs' heads) would put even the most organized construction contractors to shame.
"He's close, then…?"
"Not really. Our good eyes spotted 'em a good half a day o' walkin' away from here, but what matters is that he's here. Now c'mon, stop lollygagging. Every second we spend playin' in the sand is a step forward for him. COME ON, FOLKS, LIVELY, LIVELY!"
She wandered off, clapping her hands above her head, carried by the steam pumping apparatus biting into her spine.
So this was the day, then. Payout.
Not even a few minutes had passed before the wandering circus was already up and running, moving with the desert like one, giant icebreaker tearing through the ocean of sand. With the warm wind on their backs and the hot sun coloring their skin red, it wasn't a pleasant walk in the slightest.
Andy kept emptying flask after flask, desperately gobbling down every last bit of water hidden within. The dry, barren desert was only comparable to the absolute wasteland of utter drought that had formed in his throat, the alcohol's treacherous aftertaste demanding to be constantly doused in liquid.
Passing by dead vegetation, passed by rolling tumbleweeds, they pushed on forward, through the orange hills, the vast open fields and the abandoned, dried up wells.
Far, far ahead in the distance, a grand storm of sand and dark clouds covered the horizon, towering high above each sand hill and sun fried bush.
"... Catastrophe?"
Andy murmured to the lady in red, as her mechanized carriage kept stomping on forward.
"I reckon. Spotters' did say sum' about a lil' tempest brewin'."
A frown reigned on his face, having built up quite the disliking for working anywhere near catastrophes throughout the years.
"It won't be a problem, right…?"
"C'mon, Andy-boy. We've been through rains o' ori-rocks, already, what's a lil' flyin' sand?"
She gave a hearty chuckle and nudged him with her mechanically enhanced elbow. Andy almost fell to his side.
"Whew, yer a clumsy one, pard. Ain't got much meat on 'em bones, either."
"Yeah…"
He couldn't really protest. His arms and legs were almost like sticks, since food wasn't all that cheap.
"... But I manage. What I lack in strength, I-..."
"WATER! GOT WATER!"
A few excited yells arose from the scouts ahead. Betty narrowed her eyes and quickened her pace, wanting to see what the commotion was all about.
"WATER, IN THE DISTANCE!"
"GOT A FULL LAKE! No, wait, is it a lake?"
"... More like a pond, to me."
"You sure, Xav? Looks pretty big."
"Everything looks "pretty big" to you, Ollie."
"Hey! HEY! It's not THAT sm-..."
"Yer both morons, ya know that?"
The exoskeleton clad woman stepped in, pointing towards the supposed lake in the far distance.
"... 'S a mirage, ya daft buffoons. Can tell from here, 's just sunrays."
"Oh?"
"Oh."
Both of them squinted.
"... Ooooh. I see it."
"Yeah… I see it, too. Still, I bet that's one hell of a sunray to you, Ollie, isn't it?"
"Oh, shut up, limpdick."
Fists flew. Jaws almost shattered. The two had to be pulled apart.
Betty shook her head in annoyance and turned towards the wall of dust approaching ever so closer. Menacingly, like a gate to another world, eager to consume everything in its path and spit out nothing but an army of bones. Her sharp eyes pierced through the raging sand, peeking into the monstrosity, sizing it up.
She's seen worse.
Andy peeked from behind her shoulder. He'd really rather not step foot into the beast's maw, yet he knew his fate had already been sealed the second he drunkenly stumbled out of the cantina.
So they willingly let themselves be eaten whole by the monster of dust and sand.
An entire army of devils counting on a hefty payday, weapons and arts right at their side, they delved into the monstrosity, traversin its throat. The sky had gone dark, barely visible through all the particles flying around. Andy caught the collar of his shirt on the tip of his nose, using it as a makeshift face mask, as the rest wrapped their cloaks and shawls tightly around their heads, their eyes turning to round, dusty goggles and glasses.
He couldn't see much. Nothing but the assaulting sand in front, twirling and turning, flying right into his sensitive eyes. They were red, bruised and watery, barely holding up. In a stroke of sudden genius, he pulled Vinny from his back and pressed his cheek to the stock, closing one eye and pinning the other to the rifle's scope. It wasn't perfect, but it was certainly an improvement over catching dust.
They moved at a snail-like pace, as the storm only grew in intensity. There was no sight of the bright, warm sky from before, just the endless, overarching darkness mixed with a bright hue of orange, the sand, carried by the wind, continuing its endless onslaught.
It was torture. Worse than torture, even. Something he didn't sign up to in any way. Completely undergeared and unprepared for such a battle against Mother Nature herself, Andy felt that overbearing sense of worthlessness and insignificance once more. She was the one who ruled these lands, not them. Not anyone else.
"..."
Andy didn't even notice as his scoped filled with red. He bumped into Betty's back, clutching onto his rifle. Her pocket watch clicked unnaturally loud.
Tick.
"... What?! Why'd you stop?!"
He could barely outyell the howling sandstorm. The woman didn't answer, as her watch kept clicking.
"...?"
Andy peeked over her shoulder, using the metal plates as a stand for his rifle. Far, far up front, amidst the raging sands, the waves of dust crashing against one another, stood a lone shadow.
And her watch kept clicking.
Tock.
Andy turned towards the rest, watching them stop in confusion, yelling something completely unintelligible and incomprehensible. Some were sitting down on the sand, interpreting their stop as a break. Others kept staring up ahead.
Tick.
His eyes ran back towards the shadow ruling over the raging storm. It was gone. Only the sea of sand remained.
Tock.
Betty reached behind her back, grasping the boy's wrist.
"... That's 'em. Andy-boy, eyes and ears wide open, keep ya head cool and don't-..."
A wild, screeching noise pierced the wailing wind, somewhere to the side. Before anyone even noticed, the source had already been dead, lying motionless on the ground, their clothes fluttering wildly in the storm.
Tick.
On the opposite side of their formation, another round of yells erupted, followed by screams of agony and panic. The break-takers stood from the ground, reaching for their weapons, preparing their arts, assuming shaky defensive positions. Andy felt his heart pumping, filling his veins with nothing but pure dread.
Tock.
A shadow blinked through the raging sands, pouncing onto a mercenary by the boy's side like a wild animal. Steel clanked, flesh tore open and the assaulter was gone with the wind, leaving the merc bleeding out on the moving sands.
Tick.
"FORMATION! KEEP THE FORMATION! DON'T YA DARE BREAK FORMATION!"
Andy fell to his knees by the fallen's side. Not in an attempt to help tear him away from death's cold embrace, but simply to check what sort of monster can strike so precisely and effortlessly, before disappearing into seemingly nowhere. There was just one, thin wound, one small slit tore in the devil's cloak. A perfect jab to the heart.
Tock.
Sparks flew. Metal clashed against metal, as more and more devils kept yelling out obscenities, prayers and words of encouragement.
More and more devils kept falling to the ground, dropping like flies at the invisible reaper's merciless hand.
Tick.
Andy couldn't think straight. Couldn't form a single coherent thought. There was sand in his eyes, a jumbled mess in his head, sweat running all over him, hair fluttering in the wind, getting into his eyes…
There was steel in his stomach.
And it was there for only a mere fraction of a second.
He did not even feel the cold metal's aloof nudge. Only after the warm blood started flowing.
Tock.
He fell to the ground, face first into the ground. A perfect strike, clean through. Tainting the sand, spilling crimson all over the orange ocean.
Pain, overbearing and overarching, only now crawling up his spine, each one of his nerves exploding with a profuse surge of pure agony, dimming his vision, turning it red. His eyes shot upwards, wildly scanning the area like a wild, wounded animal wriggling desperately on the ground.
Tick.
And they were no more. Grounded down to nothing but meat - fodder for the earth's rejuvenation.
Tock.
"F-Fuuh… Andy?! Andy-boy?! Git up! Git the hell up, this ain't over!"
The force of a thousand raging bulls slammed right into his stomach, nearly squeezing him dry like a leaky blood pack. She tried kicking him up to his feet.
"Git the hell up…"
Andy rolled onto his back, breathing heavily. Far beyond reason. Far heavier than the dead creature Pete-y, lying dead, right next to him, ever did. His vision had already started to blur, drawing shapeless contours of everything around - just rough sketches for the brain.
Steel clanked once more. It was Betty, putting up a fight.
Iron-Gut Betty. The creme of the crop. Undefeated, animated by heaps of life giving smoke seeping from that box of wonders on her chest.
Tick.
The shadow striked gracefully, like a ballet dancer executing a well planned move. Betty blocked with her fist of iron, sending a wild haymaker into the perp's face. Or at least that's what Andy had assumed, considering how he could barely even see his fingers outstretched.
Before her steel could connect with the fugitive's flesh…
Tock.
… Their outline shifted. Someone simply erased them from existence and decided that was not where they should be standing.
The shaky contour reappeared behind Betty's back. Steel clanked. Steam hissed and sizzled.
Their blade pierced the machine, twisting and turning around its endless steel plates and hydraulics, poking out the other side, penetrating Betty's iron gut.
The mask fell from her face. The broken machine kept sending heaps of steam from within for the wind to feast upon - to tear and snatch away, only to dissipate a second later.
She fell to her knees, then to her side. Andy could barely grasp the concept of life and death at that very moment. Blood gathered in his mouth.
Tick.
And before him stood the swordsman. The one who bent reality to his very will. The last sight he was ever going to bear witness to.
Long, messy hair cascaded down his face. His body was all covered by a bunch of shapeless rags - a tattered poncho, messily stitched together. His head, adorned by a conical hat made of straws as dry as the desert around, turned to face the boy. He was quivering. His entire body, shaking and convulsing hard, grasping somewhere around his heart, panting heavily like a feral hound after a wild hunt.
Their gazes locked.
Those black, detached eyes bore into his. So young, yet so empty.
Like staring down a bottomless well.
Andy felt the reaper's skeletal hands crawling up his back and pulling him down into the sand. The very last thing he felt were his own lips moving and whispering in accord with his dying, fever ridden mind.
"... K-Kill me."
Everything turned black. His mind has had enough living.
Tock.