Howdy Folks!
So uhh...yeah. Bit of a weird story idea, but I've had it for a while and really wanted to give it a shot. So here we are. my first crossover fic and its as niche as conlanging! well, maybe?
to the newcomers - I don't think I'm a very good writer, so don't expect this to be standing ovation material.
Have a pleasant reading and I hope you enjoy! =)
(I don't own West of Dead; I don't own Re:Zero.)
"I see a tall man in a suit standing in front of a crowded room. I feel a swell of pride as he pins somethin to my chest. A tin star. Somethin about that symbol resonates, and a single word rises from my mind, bright and pure. Justice." - William Mason, West of Dead
Purgatory Shifts Again…
Drip…drip…drip.
The crypt always had stray drops of groundwater echoing throughout the narrow passageways. Mason could hear it just beyond the saloon doors from his seat at the bar. Although, it wasn't always the first sounds that he would hear in this section of Purgatory whenever he got painted in again.
That's what he called it. Getting painted in.
Because it was like being brought in from that ephemeral state where he was neither dead nor alive, and into the physical world with one stroke of a brush. One moment he's not there, and the next he is. Works the same way whenever he dies too. A brush loaded with an ink that erases you. paint strokes movin down on a finished and colorful canvas. It comes down and erases him only for Mason to be painted in again in the same ol run down saloon. Rising from the knee he'd taken in the process and movin to the counter to talk to the Barman.
He ain't too upset about it these days. After banishing the embodiment of injustice and sending that bastard Preacher, Matthias Bauer out west, he's taken solace in discovering his new role in the afterlife. Being the guardian of Purgatory and all that. He ain't too sure on the specifics and he probably never will seein as a lot of his memories, barring the important ones, waved goodbye when he hit the dirt while he was still a human. But it also ain't as exciting as it sounds.
Mostly, he just does what he's always been doin. Helping burdened folks in Purgatory by taking their curses and sendin them out east to be at peace. And, occasionally, stoppin no good witches, wendigos, monsters, mages, and outlaws who think they can stay here when they ain't supposed to.
Funny enough, this ain't too different a job from when he was a U.S. Marshall. But that was a long time ago. He died when it was 1888, he had to have spent at least a hundred years in Purgatory if his sums were right.
Now, he's the embodiment of justice. A Plainwalker.
"Been quiet out there lately…" Mason's extremely deep, gravelly, and ghostly voice emitted from his black flaming skull as he shifted his body to face the darkness behind the saloon doors.
"I'd say that's a good thing Mason, wouldn't you?" The Barman responded neutrally, his thick muttonstache hiding the movement of his mouth, and still cleaning that glass that will always be dirty.
The dead man grunted in response. He was right of course. The Barman always was. One of the few folks in purgatory lookin out for Mason's hide. And one of the few friends he had left after he sent his posse out east, and took on their curses as well. Par for the course.
"Maybe…can't shake the feelin somethin ain't right." Purgatory was shifting more than usual. Usually this was a sign that more souls are passin through on their way to the afterlife. And to anyone else who's only briefly familiar with this dimensional plane, there would be nothing amiss.
Due to Mason's experience however, the transfigurations of this dark reality were not what he usually sees.
"If you feel there is trouble son, I have no doubt you'll solve it in time. But I wouldn't stake too much iron into this paranoia yer feelin." The barkeep gave him a look. Mason ignored it. He has to be cautious. He doesn't want purgatory to get corrupted again. Hell, it's still recovering from what the Preacher did. And that was nearly a century ago.
He's got a job to do, and he'll be damned if he ain't seein justice carried out as it's supposed to.
He rose from his seat at the bar after asking the Barman to refill his flask. The only thing he had, and it ain't even whiskey. Damn shame that.
The luminescent green magical liquid wasn't bad tastin exactly. But it left something to be desired. Despite its helpful effects of closing up Mason's wounds, it's not something he takes pleasure in gourmandizing on. Thankfully these days, times rarely call for it as he doesn't get painted out that often. If he was an experienced shootist before becomin a Plainwalker, he's an even better one now after spending years fighting off all sorts a' undesirables in Purgatory.
He ain't invincible though. Despite havin no flesh he bleeds a black tar. Viscous like oil. Pain is also still present. As well as death. Along with the constant dull burning on his head. Well, dull now. In the start, it was horrible. His skull cookin with a fire that couldn't be put out. But he's grown used to it, this part of his curse is a part of him now. And the way he got it is a good reminder of what he fights for.
He clipped the flask on his belt, hidden behind his crimson poncho. And walked out of the saloon and into the crypts. His heavy footfalls drawin the eyes of the only two other people in the saloon.
The cranky old woman leanin on a sword by the doors who always tells him where to find the most dangerous of outlaws. And the lone card player who will sometimes give Mason advice on the nature of purgatory and what it has to offer. Hasn't needed his advice for a while but they still talk occasionally.
As he passed the old woman, she patted him on the back and wished him well.
"Thanks." Mason muttered as he pushed the saloon doors out and walked into the darkness.
He locked and loaded. Grabbin a revolver, a repeater, and two bowie knives he sheathed on his belt. The unquenched blade…and the infected one. He never had to worry about bullets, for some reason his gun belt never ran dry. Whether that was an effect of his Plainwalker status or the work of the witch woman herself he didn't know.
The weapons were always random. But the witch woman inserted the possibility of greater quality weapons at the behest of Mason…at the cost of sin of course. She doesn't do things without a price. Mason collects the sins of the monstrous and uses it as a currency with her. That doesn't mean she's heartless however, she's helped the dead man retrieve some of his memories for him free of charge. For that he'll always be grateful.
He moved quickly throughout the dark stone corridors, lighting lamps with a touch of his hand along the way. There ain't as many monsters in the crypt these days seein as how when Mason first started he massacred the lot of them with ease. The other sections of Purgatory were a lot more painful for him in contrast.
As he vaulted over the stone coffin, the sight of the dimly lit shop of the trader came into sight. The last of the folks in purgatory on Mason's side. And another who only helps for a price. But when you do pay, he treats ya right. Giving only the finest of baubles, charms, and weapons he can. The currency of choice this time? Iron.
Mason nodded wordlessly at the trader and he did the same. Tipping his tophat in his direction as he did so. He spotted the magic charm he was looking for. Somethin that enhances the effects of his flask.
He haggled with the trader for a few minutes, able to bring the charm down to a good hundred iron nuggets. He accepted the trade. Then he moved out again, wavin goodbye to the trader.
As he walked the crypt trying to find one of the exit portals to bring him to the next plane of Purgatory, his senses went haywire. Somethin was definitely off. As he entered a large stone and dirt room littered with coffins and candles, the wilting of the light in the lanterns above which hang from chains connected to nothing but darkness told him this is where it was coming from.
A hand of darkness lashed out. Mason's supernatural senses kicked in and he dodged its attack, rolling behind the cover of a coffin as it swiped and grabbed at where he stood seconds ago.
This is new. And yet he ain't surprised.
Mason nimbly jumped over the coffin and fanned the hammer on his revolver as he sprinted full speed at the hand. Bullets hit the thing but it sure weren't hurt by the looks of things. As Mason slid under the hand's second attack he pulled out the repeater on his back and turned. The purplish black hand smacked the rifle out of his hands. Mason growled in righteous fury as tried to pull out his blades and stab it.
Another hand came out of the darkness and restrained him. Wrapping around his body.
"ARRGH!" Mason let out a demonic and spectral cry in revolt. When he dies and gets painted in again, he'll have to remember to be sure he has some better weaponry to take this thing down.
It engulfed him as he struggled. Not even the white flame on his head seemed to deter it. Despite him knowin it ain't some harmless thing. And so in a matter of seconds his vision was black.
This didn't feel like gettin painted in. He tried to block the unnatural amount of light coming into his eye sockets with his hands. He didn't exactly have the ability to mitigate it by closing his eyes or squinting. Since well…he doesn't have eyes or eyelids anymore.
The saloon ain't meant to be this bright.
It took him a little longer than he wanted for his vision to get adjusted, spending at least a hundred years in an supernaturally dark place will do that to you. And when he lowered his hands, his black jaw gaped open in disbelief.
The first and most important thing he noticed was that he was outside. He looked up at the sun. He bore its pain as it burned into the bright holes that used to be where his retinas were. If he could smile, he would. Goddamn! If he could cry, he would.
He was outside!
It's been a mighty long time since Mason had seen sunlight. But he had to rip his sight away from the burning orb in the sky and focus on his surroundings.
Regular folks and other apparently friendly creatures bustlin about. Looked a little…medieval? He thinks it's called. He ain't sure. But a little more…fantastical. He was in a city. It was colorful, a lot more colorful than he was used to. He would hang on every hue, lingering a few seconds.
His head fell from the sky to colorful banners and buildings to the merchant's stall he was standing next to with red apples sittin in a basket. There was a language he didn't understand written next to it. He was sure on it sayin somethin about the apple's price. He ain't never eaten a crumb of food in all his time in Purgatory. What he would do to eat an apple again…
In a moment of overwhelming emotion, Mason turned his gaze from the goods to the stall owner hoping to buy an apple. He paused for a moment at seeing the look on the man's face. He paid more attention to his surroundings briefly and noticed everyone that was around him was staring frozen in shock.
Scratch that, it ain't shock. It's fear. But why? He ain't done a damn thing. It's a bit rude. It got something to do with his face-
"Ahh…right." He said in realization. His voice startled the green haired stall owner, who backed up against a wall and was hyperventilating.
This is a bit of a foreign situation to him. Ain't a soul in purgatory, even the kind and gentle souls who pass through on their way east, who gawked at him in fear. Mighta been because they expected to see shit like him when they died.
There have been a few of the Preacher's outlaws who cowered in his presence though. Hearin tales of the former Marshall takin on swaths of mages and monsters with only a gun, a knife, and his wits.
Well…all he can really think to do is act natural.
He cleared his nonexistent throat, which to his dismay sounded more like a phantom's growl. The man whimpered and held up his hands as he sank to his ass with his back to the wall behind the stall.
"P-P-Please I d-dont want to die!" Mason flinched back a little at the sight, and at the sound of a few folks off to the side hollerin out for guards or knights, most even running to fetch the law. That ain't good.
He took a deep breath to steady himself. Another old habit he can't seem to drop from his lawmen days. He used to tell his deputies that if they feel overwhelmed in the moment, take a deep breath and everythin will run like clockwork. Of course, he ain't got no need to breathe no more. But it makes him feel better.
"Sorry, how much for an apple mister?" Mason said this as he grew closer to the stall and eyed which apple he wanted. The man didn't rise from his place but he did blink a few times at the query.
He wrapped his gloved hand around an apple, picked it up, and pointed to it in his hands as he presented it to the man. He stared at Mason lookin like he was about to be airin' the paunch.
"How much for an apple?" It was like playin fuckin charades. Mason sighed, which to his dismay again, came out sounding like a ghost was about to suck this poor feller's soul out.
"Just t-take it, t-take whatever you want!" He screamed out.
Mason let his jaw gape open once again and tried to find the words. But he just couldn't. Instead he took some iron nuggets out of his pouch and set it on the counter of the stall by the apples. Then he picked up his apple and walked away briskly.
As he walked he brought the apple to his gaping maw…
The whole thing burned and turned into black molten mush a few moments after he took a bite. He didn't even taste anything but detritus. He stood there for a moment staring at the sludge on the ground. Before shaking his head and makin his way into an alley away from the eyes of the public. They don't seem awfully fond of him after all. Mason can't hold it against them, who wouldn't be a little guarded around something like him?
As much as he'd like to stay here in this wonderful place, he needs to get back to Purgatory. He took an oath. Two oaths really. One when he was sworn in as Marshall. And one when he took on the role of becoming the keeper of Purgatory. A ferryman a' sorts.
And so now, Mason resolves to move alley to alley. Trying to find a way out of the city or find the reason he was sent here. He ain't never seen a city this big before.
As he prowled the alleys, the bright flame wreathing his skull acting as a light source in some of the darker areas shielded from the afternoon sun. his sixth sense shot up.
It was hard to explain to someone who wasn't a Plainwalker. But if Mason had to try it would be like that feelin you get when you feel stray eyes on you. Those hairs on the back of your neck stand up. To his understanding, every living creature has this sense. Bein able to instinctively perceive threats without the signs from your other five senses.
Mason's is supernaturally stronger than average. Mostly he just uses it as a radar to track down sumbitches among the willows. Thinkin they can avoid justice. Them outlaws in purgatory? They give off a special kind of signal to his sixth sense. In this peculiar instance however, it's a little different. Definitely not an outlaw though which was strange.
He follows the sense and as he is about to curl round the bend of an alley, a scream for assistance reaches him.
"GUARDS HELP ME!" Mason dashed around the corner, intent on helpin. And spotting a young man being cornered by three others.
"You bastard!'' one of the three odd lookin men howled at the one they cornered. At a glance? Mason's keen eyes could tell they were thieves. Hmmm.
Mason was behind the man they cornered. His back to the approaching form of the former lawman.
"Someone! Please I need a man! No don't touch me stop!" The boy was screamin out sounding like a woman in danger. Mason stopped behind him a couple paces and stared at him. His black maw hanging open a little flabbergasted.
"Someone please help me! Please!" The young man said in his intentionally feminine voice as he stopped to look at the group of thieves. Mason shook his head. Then he did the same, turning his skull to the three thieves. Finding them to be staring directly at the Plainwalker in fear.
They started trembling and sweating profusely.
"Haha yeah that's right! Now maybe you can run off and learn from-" The young man was cut off by the biggest of the three men.
"IT'S SOME KIND OF MONSTER, RUN!" All three took off down the alley.
Well…that was easy. As Mason watched the yellowbellies scamper out of the alley. The young man turned around a little confused.
"Monster, huh?" As soon as he turned, he froze. His wide eyes moving up and locking on to Mason's white inferno coated black skull.
The frozen boy started sweating profusely and his face started twitching in fear. Mason tilted his head unconsciously while trying to think of a way to defuse whatever potentially hostile thoughts were bubblin up in the mind of the young man in front of him.
The action instead causes the young man to stumble back a little and trip on his own feet in fear. He cries out and Mason reacts quickly, and grabs hold of the boy's arm before he falls on his back.
"Easy there, partner." Mason says as calmly as he can.
"You-you…you weren't here last-" The boy's eyes flick down to his holster. His expression changes a little into something indiscernible. Well, indiscernible to Mason. But he seemed to calm down a little.
"Don't get so riled up just because I look scary." He said as he pulled the boy up to his feet. He took quickly and scrambled back a few steps with a wide stance. As if he was ready for an onslaught from Mason. If Mason could frown in disappointment, he would.
"You have a gun! And a poncho! What the hell are you!? They don't have cowboys in fantasy worlds!" He said quickly and a little exasperated. Mason tilted his head again in curiosity. Before he directed his gaze back down to his holster.
Sure enough, his revolver was still snug in there. So were his knives on his belt, his rifle was gone though. So, he didn't die then. If that was the case, he would have lost all his weapons.
That hand brought him here then. Why? What is this place? He settled his gaze back on the young man in front of him.
"Name's William Mason, most folk just call me Mason though. You alright?" The young man in front of him seemed to raise a brow at his words.
"Uhh, yeah yeah. Mason? Wait…where are you from?" The lawdog hooked his hands on his gun belt. Waiting a moment while keepin an eye on the youngster in front of him. His fear had mostly dissipated, but why? He ain't complainin. Just seems mighty strange he's starting to warm up to someone of his appearance right quick.
"United States, Wyoming. You?"
"...Japan." The boy's face went slack. A far-off look in his eyes.
"Japan…" Mason stroked his bony chin, his gloved hand unaffected by the flames. He tried searching what little memories he had left of his old life as a Marshall.
"Knew a fella from Japan named Masato. Interestin feller. Think he learned how to ride from Shoshone tribesman and then headed south to join some wild west show…" That was…nine years before he died? Thereabouts. It's too hard to pinpoint some memories. It's fucking frustrating sometimes, but he has to remember that them days is over now. And to focus more on who he is in the here and now.
The boy snapped out of his little daydream the moment Mason finished.
"Y-you're from my world!" The boy pointed at him in shock.
"So it would seem." It's pretty self-evident this ain't Earth. Since it didn't have no creatures like the ones he saw walkin around today. Ehh, Mason has learned enough about alternate dimensions and magic to take it in stride.
"...so…you're not going to rip out my soul or banish me to the underworld or something?" the boy asked a little incredulously.
"No! For Christ's sake, no. Just heard you calling for help and thought I'd lend a hand." Mason shook his head vigorously. He felt a little offended, but let it slide. He had to keep tellin hisself that it's just because of how he looked.
"Oh man, that's a relief!" The young man clutched at his chest and let out a hearty breath of ease.
He breathed in through his nose slowly before strikin a weird pose.
"My name is Subaru Natsuki, not only am I totally clueless but I'm also broke beyond compare!"
…
"Ok then."
"Hey c'mon don't react like that you'll make me self-conscious!"
"I weren't the one to pose like a calico queen lurin in a drunk!"
"I don't even know what that means but I know I should be offended!"
Mason sighed. Subaru flinched back at the sound.
"Sorry, sometimes I make some sounds that give some folks a right start apparently." Mason said, running a hand down his skull.
"Yeah, I can imagine so. That sounded like the ghost of a demon." Subaru started a little nervously, putting his hands on his hips. His eyes widened for a moment as if he remembered something.
"Have you seen a girl with silver hair and white clothes around?"
"Ain't had much of a chance to see anything since I been forced to use alleys. The folks here go right manic at the sight a' me."
"Well duh, I mean, what even happened to you? What are you?"
"I'm…it's a long story." And not one he can entirely tell with dependable accuracy. Mason snapped his fingers as if the action would somehow reawaken long lost memories and emotions. But none of those things came.
"What year is it?" Mason continued not even a millisecond later.
"Uhh, it was 2016 when I was transported here…which was technically not even a few hours ago."
Mason's jaw gaped open in disbelief. He's been dead for about 128 years. He quickly shook it off, he knew it had to at least have been a century. This ain't anything he weren't expecting.
Still…128 years…
"Wait, you said you were from America? How come we can understand each other? I don't speak English." Thats a good question.
"Apparently, you do. If I had to guess, I'd say it's a side effect of the nature a' Plainwalkin." Which, now that Mason thinks about it, is probably the only answer that makes any sort of sense.
In Purgatory, he met all sorts of folks from all different parts of the world. And got a taste of the places they called home with them. Purgatory is a shifting land shaped by the souls of the dead. He's walked through canyons, mines, farms, snowy mountains, jungles, swamps, churches, graveyards, and in his later years after the defeat of the Preacher, places rich with foreign culture. And language's he had the ability to comprehend. Couldn't read them, but he could understand souls who didn't speak English, some mighty interestin souls he met. His current hypothesis is that it has to do with his innate ability to travel between the different echelons of Purgatory.
Contrary to how it sounds, it weren't exactly a vacation. The land may shift to souls, but it's still Purgatory. And as such, it'll do its damndest to be dark, cramped, and hard to navigate. Especially these days since it's riddled with curse makers and sick bastards who want to torture folks who are passin through. Another consequence of the man in black, Bauer, and still a fight Mason is raring to finish completely even after all these years, somehow. But Mason digresses.
The properties of it may sound paradoxical to some who ask questions like, how can a mountainous and canyon landscape feel incommodious and gloomy? But it's just one of them things where you have to be there to understand. Purgatory isn't meant to be a stopping point exactly. Folks are tested there. He ain't meant to understand what the test means. He's just supposed to help guide them and lift their curses so they can move forward and be at peace.
Although, when he died the first time and was brought back, he was a little pissed as to why death was gettin lazy with him. He just wanted the pain to stop. For his curse to be lifted. But soon enough, he learned death had other plans for him.
"What is that exactly?" Mason was pulled out of his musings. He leaned his back against the alley wall and crossed his arms.
"It's what I call the ability to travel between…I guess in this specific instance, worlds."
"Woah…so you've been to even more worlds?" Suddenly, it was like all the fear in the boy was gone and it was replaced by a friendly curiosity. Mason's mood was raised a little at the sight.
"In a way, not as much as I would have were it not for certain events and…well you could probably glean that much friend." Mason waved a hand at his skull, emphasizing what he meant.
Subaru looked like he had another question on his mind, but his expression changed.
"Oh, crap I got distracted! I gotta go! Take care flaming cowboy dude!" Mason was taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor.
The boy was about to move but Mason gripped his shoulder, not exactly firmly, but enough to tell him to wait for a second. Subaru blinked and turned to face him with his brows raised.
"Ease up there friend, lemme come with. You're about the only thing here I'm somewhat familiar with." And that ain't a coincidence. If there was one thing he learned from livin and dyin over and over again in the land of the dead, it's that there are no coincidences.
"You…want to help me?" Subarus' expression conveyed one of shock.
"If you have a problem you need help with, it's in my job description to help you along." A portion of his duties in Purgatory that both humbled and mortified him in some scary ways. And something he ain't had much luck doin when he was still alive. Yet somehow became better at when death came a' knockin. And turned him into some sort of semi-immortal champion of the afterlife. and he uses the word 'champion' loosely.
"This is dangerous, I'm not sure if-" Mason waved him off amused.
"I reckon I don't know any other way to live. And if anyone we have to talk to gets uneasy seein me, you could just vouch. Sound fair?" He stuck out his hand. Subaru eyed it, a little nervousness leaking through once again. To the slight distress of Mason.
"You sure you aren't trying to scam me for my soul or something? Like, if I shake your hand a portal to hell isn't going to open and suck me into it?" He asked a little wobbly with a nervous smile.
"You have my word, I won't suck your soul or whatever in god's name you're talkin about." Mason said this with the most resoluteness he could put into his wraith-like voice.
Subaru stilled for a moment, staring at the hand in front of him. Before Mason could see him steel himself.
Then he shook his hand firmly.
"Okay then, thank you."
"Don't thank me yet, whaddya need help with?"
"We're going to a loot house in the slums, and then we gotta buy some sort of...insignia off a girl named Felt and bring it back to its owner." he said determinedly. Mason paused in thought.
"And who is the owner?"
"That girl I mentioned earlier." The one with silver hair and white clothes then. Should be easy enough to look out for.
There was a reason he was sent here. Maybe this was death's way of testing him to see if he was finally ready to head east. Mason felt hopeful at the possible implications of him passing such a test. He ain't sayin that he doesn't like his job, he didn't at first, but he grew to appreciate the value of his work. And he felt…good. Especially when he helped lost souls in Purgatory and helped clean out the filth that infested it.
But he wouldn't be opposed to some peace…some rest.
But he's getting ahead of himself. First, he's gotta help the kid. Then maybe he'll get some answers.
"Alright then, lead on. Oh, we should probably take these here alleys on our way. Don't want the public to get fired up at the sight of me." Subaru smacked his forehead.
"Right! Scary ghost looking cowboys aren't native to the fantasy genre." Mason didn't ask, and honestly, he doesn't want to know.
Subaru took off in a jog. Mason jumped a little at the unexpected speed but shook his head and tried to keep pace. He's in a hurry. Hopefully it's just an eagerness to return an item to its owner.
And not the worry of something more sinister waiting to strike out at them, but nonetheless Mason reloaded his revolver. And took another breath of air his nonexistent lungs didn't need. Fallin in line with Subaru.
oh, gee golly gosh darn that's it!?
uh huh, for now. this is really more of a prologue to get you introduced to the additional protagonist of this story. and how he might have some trouble integrating into this strange new world he's found himself in.
one thing to note for the future and for this chapter: a lot of West of Dead lore (not all of it though) is ambiguous and up for interpretation.
updates with me aren't consistent because I'm an idiot and also life keeps me busy. but I will post more chapters, so keep yo eyes peeled!
and tell me what you think! I wanna know!