The quarry was a war zone. I''d been to fields that suffered through the Civil War and grand military skirmishes between frontiersmen and natives. I''d walked the grounds of the Little Bighorn hunting a wendigo. This had that same feel.


    I stood and took a spin. The entire quarry was split open and buried in on itself in most places. It''d take an army to get it ready for mining again.


    When enough bullets hit the dirt, and enough rocks slide, there''s a sort of fog that doesn''t lift for hours. It hangs and seeps into everything. Scratches your throat, makes you cough, even gag if the stink of bodies isn''t enough.


    There could''ve been more of those, sure, but a couple dozen between here and in the square gets the job done.


    They were strewn about, bloody, broken. Some died falling in or shattered their legs and now cried out for death. Others had been gutted by the lady outlaw’s tomahawk, entrails spilled out over the rock. She sure made a show of brutality. A worthy strategy to put fear in foes, I suspect.


    None of those lost lives wounded me like the one only a few paces away. Lying on his back, arms and legs spread out, there was Dale. He didn''t have a face to speak of, but it was him. And funny enough, Ahusaka''s hawk had landed right next to him, wings spread open in a similar fashion. Almost poetic.


    I barely knew the man, but I was pissed. At him. At the damn Mind-drifter who shot him. At myself.


    "You should''ve stayed in Elkhart," I said to him, sighing and shaking my head. Then I looked up to the sky, the falling sun barely visible through the haze. "You''d better look after him."


    At that, Shar''s presence itched across my Black Badge scar in a manner I couldn''t deny. Nor did I want to now that things quieted. I pulled out my cracked shaving mirror and glared straight at that ethereal swirl, wishing I could wring her by the throat.


    Most of all, I was mad at her and that bloody White Throne.


    "You let them escape again," she said first.


    "You can go to Hell," I said.


    "No, I cannot."


    That smug response just pissed me off further. My hands clenched. My grip was so tight I almost crushed the mirror. "Where did you send me? Rosa? Ace? Them? It''s the goddamn Holy Trinity in Revelation!"


    "Watch yourself, Crowley."


    "Oh, I''m watching. Did you know about this? About all of them converging here?"


    "I knew only what I needed to. Same as you."


    "Enough!" I barked. "That ain''t an answer. You set me up to fail."


    I fought every urge to not throw that mirror down into that pit and spit on it on the way.


    “Where were you when the foundation of the earth was laid?” she asked. “Were you the one who determined its measurements? Were you there when the stars were hung in their place?”


    She was quoting Job to me, and I wasn’t interested in her sermons. “No, were you?”


    “You, like I, are where you were always meant to be!” she scorned. Her shade darkened and as it did, I felt something familiar in my arm. I felt, in general. Oh, God, did it hurt, ironic as it is to bring His name into this.


    I lost feeling in my fingers, unable to drop the mirror or turn it away. Her ghastly eyes just fixed on mine as the flesh all up my arm to my elbow shriveled and flaked away. Muscle and sinew were revealed, then bone.


    “What is this?” I asked, hardly able to speak. But I knew. This. This was true pain she was allowing me to feel again. The thing I always talked about craving, reminding me what it was like to be mortal. That was what was happening to my arm. It was becoming mortal again, how it should look, decomposed and underground for decades.


    “Is it too much for you?” Shar questioned. “Do you surrender to damnation?" That tone of hers. Was she toying with me? Pulling my strings like I was in a puppet show for children.


    "I surrender to nothing," I said through clenched teeth. My knees buckled. The pain was overwhelming, traveling up my arm and exploding across my entire body.


    "If I would''ve told you what you wish you knew, would you have come?"


    "To kill the bastard who killed me and left me with you? With fucking bells on."


    "Yet, you are not here for him."


    "Don''t tell me what I am or ain''t here for. I''ll tell you this, Shar.” The pain intensified. “Grafaein,” I added with a deep groan. “Those outlaws, up close, they don''t seem too much like the villains here."


    "That is irrelevant.”


    The pain vanished, as if it were never there, leaving only numbness in its wake except for a slight itch on my chest. I blinked, and my arm returned to normal.


    “Some powers mustn''t be called upon,” Shar said. “You must catch the Yeti and his follower, and unveil the demon behind the possession, or I fear the terror his rage will unleash next upon our Kingdom."


    I stared down at my arms and hands. "Your kingdom," I scoffed, standing. This wasn’t church, and Shar didn’t deserve me on her knees before her after that stunt. "I''ve got no home there."


    "Catch them, Crowley."


    "I plan to. And next time, I don''t want your fucking help!"


    Enough was enough. I finally gave into my fury and flung the mirror against the fallen rocks. I bared my teeth and watched it shatter into a million pieces. I let myself imagine it snuffing her out forever, but it wouldn’t.


    I couldn''t escape her. I knew I couldn''t.


    She was anywhere and everywhere, and I was nothing and no one.


    But it brought me momentary joy in the midst of shit.


    An all-seeing angel—she had to know the sort of reunion I''d been walking into. Just more tests and games when the truth might''ve helped.


    I knew how Ace operated, for instance. I could''ve stopped him. Saved lives.


    And if Shar didn''t know? Someone did. Someone up there in the clouds, taking a piss on humanity… They knew. If not? That''s pretty damn weak.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "Crowley, who you talking to down there!" I heard Cecil shout. He coughed on the rampant dust.


    "Just cursing myself!" I grunted.


    "Anyone make it?"


    "Just me," I said, barely loud enough for him to have heard.


    I searched for the best way to climb out and found a rockslide at an incline I could handle. A part of me considered hauling Dale with me, but I decided against it. I didn''t want to risk Divining him and experiencing his last moments, brief as they were.


    I''ve found that when I know the victim—when it''s personal—I feel their agony all the worse. And as unexpected and unwelcome as it was, I''d come to care for Dale these past days. I''d make sure he was laid to rest right when the time came.


    As it was, Cecil gripped my hand and helped me up onto the ridge. The very hand I’d just watched be reduced to bone and ash. It gave me a moment’s pause before I shook the vision.


    We were by the poor section of town. A hundred or so natives gathered, looking down at their homes at the bottom of the pit, at the destruction, each more confused than the next. Why wouldn''t they be? Power like what''d just been witnessed wasn''t supposed to exist.


    Cecil? He had the fear of God put in him. Eyes wide, exhausted, his following words matched his expression. "Crowley… What was that down there?"


    "Damned if I know," I said.


    "You were there. What''d you see!" He had me by the shoulders by then, shaking.


    I brushed him away. "I saw people so filled with hate for a man, they broke the world. Hate like you and I have never known. So where is he?"


    "Who?"


    "Who do you think?" I asked. "The one they hate. Reginald Dufaux."


    "He''s safe, back at the mansion… What''s left of it."


    I started heading that way. It was a longer walk there than it had been down. When I finally made it back up the hill, people were all over—workers, deputies, bounty hunters, opulent moneybaggers who’d been guests at the world’s worst soiree. They were all covered in dirt and some with blood. A lady even had her dress half-burned from the fire, and her husband was working to cover her with his coat like modesty mattered one bit right now.


    A native woman sat with her head cradled in her arms. She looked up, wiped tears. When she spotted me, she rose and ran, pushing anyone aside who stood in her way. I worried for a moment she was gonna strike me, or at least try to. Then I recognized her.Last I''d seen her, I was dropping her into the garden pool after having freed her from the burning estate.


    "You," she said. "My son, did you see him inside? I haven''t seen him. Please."


    "Get back!" Cecil ordered, catching up fast. He shoved her so hard she tripped and fell onto her behind. A few other locals rushed to help her. "I said back, all of you!" Cecil flaunted his firearm, then pulled me along.


    I grabbed his wrist and jerked the weapon down. Then I turned to help the woman to her feet. "I''m sorry, ma''am. I''ll keep an eye open for your son."


    "Thank you," she said before being pulled away by her fellows.


    "The hell''s wrong with you?" I asked Cecil. "Can''t you see these people have been through enough? And for what? Money? Nah. That''s too simple. There''s something more that piece of shit boss of yours isn''t saying."


    "Why are you worried about Dufaux right now? We gotta go after them," Cecil said.


    "Did you see where they went?"


    He shook his head.


    "Exactly."


    Cecil took a few steps ahead of me. "Well, let''s go talk to that bank robber. He knows something to hit at a time like this. I''m sure of it. I''ll beat it out of him if I''ve gotta. That little stunt of his got Billy killed."


    I assumed that was one of his Pinkerton crew.


    "His stunts always get people killed," I said.


    "You know him?"


    "Knew."


    "Who is he? Let''s go—"


    "Later," I said. "Your boss. Now."


    As much as I wanted to dole out justice to my murderer, I had to know the answer to what happened here. The ''why'' behind the wreckage that stole so many lives and homes.


    One thing I abhorred more than anything was being lied to, and Dufaux wasn''t sharing something. That look on Otaktay''s face, Ahusaka''s Piasa markings, and a seemingly worthless totem. Everything about what happened seemed targeted. In the West, if you aren''t after money or riches, it''s revenge that''s left. And the Frozen Trio burned all the money they''d taken already.


    Ace, on the other hand. He was many things, but a liar ain''t really one of them. Sure, he fibs and jests and likes to spin you around with his words, but he’s too arrogant to lie outright. The truth''s a weapon to men like him. A way to instill fear. I saw it in his eyes. His pride was wounded. He''d been duped by the Frozen Trio when he thought they were a team after a score that would secure his legacy.


    Dufaux''s front gates had been snapped open. Parts of it were still frozen, but judging by the mud and worn surfaces around it, the panicked crowd had eventually broken through.


    Snowflakes mixed with ash drifted in the murky skies around it—reminded me of the day this chase started in Lonely Hill. The yard was a catastrophe. Horses from the stables roamed free, picking at toppled food. Things were burnt, frozen, covered in blood—a pigsty of the highest order. Wounded men and women cried out. Half had probably been stampeded by their own. A few lost their lives in the chaos. Probably more that would be discovered later on.


    Embers smoldered all over what was left of the manor itself, the flames dying out slow in the warming air. You could barely tell the mansion had ever even had a second floor, and most of the first was just a maze of stubborn, singed walls that refused to fall. The stairs had crumbled, allowing a straight-shot view to the courtyard to the empty podium where the Piasa totem once resided.


    "Crowley, I''ve never seen anything like this in my life," Cecil said. He knelt by one of the shallow pools. One of Dufaux''s guards hung face-first over the ledge, the water completely frozen up to his waist.


    "Where’s Dufaux?" I asked plainly.


    "I…" He stood and sucked through his teeth. "This way."


    He led me around the side of the mansion to a storm door. A beam had snapped and fell over it, and it took both of us to lift it off—though that was mainly for show on my part. Cecil was left huffing for air, so I gasped a bit too.


    We went down by some lamplight. Interesting thing about basements, rich as a man might be, they always remind me of crypts. Low ceilings, stone walls, and a musty smell that nothing can chase off.


    Most everything looked like storage. Foodstuffs, furniture, and all sorts of other things a property this size requires to maintain. The other rooms were bedrooms, small, without much more than lumpy-looking beds too narrow for proper adults. Quarters for the live-in help, I gathered. The ceiling sagged in places from damage to the first floor. Didn''t look safe.


    We had to step around a spot where a post had given out, and the damage caused a bedroom door to have broken off one hinge and hang sideways. I spotted a bare foot through the opening as I passed.


    "He''s down this way in the wine cellar," Cecil said.


    He kept going, but I turned. One tug and the door broke all the way off, falling with a clack that made even the hardened Pinkerton jump.


    The room was a mess, but not because of the attack. Clothes and trinkets were everywhere. Worst of all, the young native man I''d watched serve wine to Dufaux sat slumped against the wall. He looked like a bundle of kindling wrapped in dirty cloth, head sagging down against his chest. A nasty-looking gash on the back of his skull had smeared blood along the stone walls.


    Dead as a doornail.


    "Chariots of fire," Cecil groaned, arriving at my back. "He was a good kid. Helpful. Something must have fallen on him."


    I couldn''t be sure, but I had to wonder if this wasn''t that lady''s son she''d been worried about.


    I glanced up. A portion of the ceiling had ruptured, but only on the opposite side of the room. There was no debris anywhere near the body. Not even a stone unturned. Something could''ve knocked him on the noggin and sent him stumbling away, but I''d have answers soon enough.


    Kneeling by his side, I whispered, "A tenebris ad lucem." Then, I took his bare hand to Divine him...


    * * *


    I staggered back, a blow to the side of his head making me all sorts of dizzy. But two pairs of arms held me up. Some of Dufaux''s goons I didn''t recognize.


    "I will not ask you again, boy," Dufaux said, not even bothering to use a name. "That dish was a gift from General Lee, himself. Where''d you hide it?"


    Dufaux kicked over a meager chest at the end of the bed. Clothes and other belongings spilled out. Probably everything the kid owned. Dufaux swiped his foot through it, finding no dish.


    "I took nothing," my host sniveled. "I swear it. I would never.”


    “First, you dare open your filthy mouth in my dining room—while I''m trying to eat nonetheless—then you steal from me? Have I not given you a life?”


    “I didn’t—”


    "Who else then, huh? Your mama?" one of the goons said, then guffawed.


    "We saw you sniffing around," the other added.


    "Only because it was missing!" the young man protested with my lips.


    "Lies!" Dufaux wound up and backhanded me across the face. It hurt. A lot. Big as he was, the strike sent everyone off balance, and my young host''s head whipped back against the stone. I''m not sure which one did it, really. I think I felt my neck snap from the force of the blow just before I heard my skull crunch against the wall, and my legs become suddenly useless.


    Vision faded. There was some unclear arguing between Dufaux and the others. By the time the body dropped, all I saw was black…