The Road to Ruin.

[Gunslinger]

http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2010/157/e/e/ee96b1c22ca0c02c07c3ed5c3f73bba8.jpg

And yet, once more, I've failed.

I suppose it should hardly be surprising by now. What is this, the fourth, no, fifth realm that I've let down? I've changed my tactics, my methods, each time now, and it still hasn't made a boot-licking much of a difference. I'm always five steps too late. Five seconds too slow. Five bullets too lacking.

And still I can't help but continue. I guess what they call "a lesser man" would have given up a long time ago. Accepted his fate. Maybe lived what was left of his life out with solemn gratitude. Maybe even gotten the damn job done by now.

If I sound bitter it's because I am. It's been three days since I escaped off that damned rock and through Peter's rift; a rift that, notedly, he left for me to use. I don't know why. Just as I don't know why he hasn't outright killed me yet. He's keeping me alive, yet trying to slay me at the same time with all his familiars, summons and assassins. Don't ask me to justify his thinking; I'm just as in the dark as you.

The only thing keeping me going is rage. Rage and...fear. Or something akin to it. The rage part I've come to master; it's been a slow process, but I've had years to do it. The fear? That's something else entirely. It's not fear of dying or something so offhandedly simple as that. It's fear, because I...

I Understand what my brother is trying to do. Before, I was chasing him out of a sense of responsibility. Duty, even. I guess that was before I came into my power. Everything's changed since then. I've seen things that previously I thought didn't exist. I've begun to feel things that make my entire body ache with the sheer thereness of them. It's not natural. It scares me; I'll admit that with ease. But what frightens me more is that I Understand just what Peter is trying to accomplish, with all these billions and trillions and quadrillions of souls and matter he's consuming.

I Understand, capital-U Understand, and I wish to God that I didn't.

Yeah, that's another side-effect of whatever-the-hell is happening to me. I've begun to, for lack of a better word, hear grammar and punctuation. It's like one of those old books my old man used to read to us when we were younger, those things he called "fairy tales"; except I don't think this story has a happy ending. And it's unnerving, to hear someone speak and know just where all their underlines, bolding and italics lay. It's the difference, now, between understanding and Understanding. You can have a faint realization, a conclusion drawn on frames of estimates and guesswork, and say that you understand it; but when you Understand something, there is no room for doubt. The knowledge is there like it has been all along, picking at the bedrock of your brain until it fills your very core with its presence and shakes you down to the soul. When you Understand something, it stays with you. Always.

And I have Understood, now, the true horror that Peter is pulling off.

And I Understand now why I must stop him, at all costs. The hand holding the simple pen stopped here for a moment, pausing on the paper of the worn journal like a three-dimensional exclamation mark. The man whose hand the booklet belonged to took a deep, shuddering breath as he felt the warmth of the nearby, punitive bonfire wash over him; a crimson comfort on this chilly evening. For the first time in about half-an-hour he let his eyes raise from the words on the paper, arising to the black sky and the foreign stars that shone coldly within it. He stared, unblinking, for a time, before dropping his gaze once more. The pen started moving again.


I was ambushed by some of Peter's(?) men after coming out of the rift.

One of them stole one of my guns, and another one broke the other. I can't seem to get the wheel to properly load anymore on Cain; and without that, even if I put bullets in it'd probably blow up in my face or something, considering my luck. My old man must be turning in his grave; were he alive, I'm sure he'd grab my ear and hit me until he was sure that I'd learned my lesson, then probably hit me some more just for insurance. But he's not.

I killed four of them. The fifth managed to run off with Abel. Who knows where he is now; probably trying to pawn it off somewhere, I'd say. I hope that's the case. As it stands, I have a broken gun, my sword, a couple of daggers and four bullets to use in order to save the world. Oh yes, and magic, we can't forget about that can we now.

Speaking of which, I've found I can still use my gun...to a certain extent. I suppose I should be thankful that my power 'awoke' before Cain broke, because I've managed to manifest these faux-bullets that I can aim and shoot with the revolver. I tried it out already and they don't have nearly the destructive power and speed that they should...but they'll do for now, until I can find some way to fix it. It's better than nothing.

Heh. A Gunslinger without his guns. I've really sunk low, haven't I.

I suppose that's a good enough note to end up on as any, for tonight. My hand hurts, and I haven't gotten any sleep since I came to this strange planet, and that was nearly two days ago. I think.

Hopefully something doesn't come up and eat me while I'm sleeping. That would just be the worst of ironies.
And with that, the Gunslinger shut his journal grimly, a faint, disapproving frown upon his visage. The firelight flickered along the lines of his face, casting shadows that danced along his flesh, and as he sat upon the sodden earth with his back leaning up against the tree he folded his arms; dangling fingers laying along the sandalwood grip of his one remaining firearm, crippled as it was. With his other he tugged his duster closer around himself for more warmth, heavy grey eyes staring into the embers, and continued to do until his lids began to drop completely of their own volition.

He only fought it for the briefest moment, half-heartedly, before closing them completely and falling into the darkness of dreams.

[Gunslinger]

He was lost. This was nothing new, of course; he was the Stranger in a Strange Land, Again. It still didn't make the fact any less terrifying or worrisome.

Thankfully he'd awoken with his limbs still intact and his inventory untouched; the only noticeable change being that the fire had burned itself out sometime during the night. He'd also spotted the footprints of what looked to be some large, feline animal passing through; however, whatever the thing had been, it hadn't deigned to stay and make an appetizer out of him. The prints led eastwards. Jonathan decided to go northwest, just to be safe.

The traveling was rough; the Gunslinger knew not the lay of the land and its inhabitants, and he hadn't had any human contact since first arriving and being set upon by his brother's goons (although he still wasn't sure if the attack hadn't just been plain coincidence). He noticed that they mostly wielded and dressed primitively; at least by his standards. However, they'd recognized the guns to be what they were at first glance, so perhaps that merited to what kind of technology was available to this still unknown planet. Another worrisome factor.

The forest he made his way through at least had an abundance of sustenance; something the Gunslinger pondered on as he refilled his silver canteen at a small stream. This strange new world seemed to share common traits with that of Old-Earth, and there were hidden treasures of food everywhere; if you knew where to look. Jonathan did, and to his surprise he found several benign berry patches and even a few mushrooms that he knew to be harmless. Storing them in his pouch for later use, he continued to keep an eye out for other such patches; trying to get a vague idea of the land and where he was now that he'd rested and eaten.

Landmarks were few and far between, but he kept them in mind nonetheless. Fortunately one of the requirements of being a parivir back on his old world had been tracking, knowing the land; a skill he put to good use now, and silently thanked his forefathers for their wisdom as he traveled on. It was sunny on this day; from what Jonathan could tell, the cycle from day to night and back to day again was similar enough to that on Old-Earth that his sense of time and direction had no need to be readjusted, even from the previous cycle. Hells, for all he knew, this was simply an alternate version of his old home. It would not be the first time he'd stepped onto such diverging ground.

Despite the heat bearing down from above, the forest canopy provided adequate coverage for the Gunslinger on his steady journey; he stuck to the great shadows of the trees, moving at a good pace; not rushing, but not procrastinating either. Sweat beaded on his worn flesh, but it was a good sweat, one that helped to cool him off under the heavy presence of his duster and fedora. He made sure that, should anything happen, he would have enough stamina during the journey in order to survive. It's not like he had much other choice.

It was eight hours after he left what remained of that burnt-out campfire that he encountered sentient, intelligent life for the second time.