《Where Is New Canaan Anyway? - A Fallout/One Piece Crossover Fanfic》


 Paradise Found

    The day began like any other. The sun slowly but surely peaking over the horizon, ready to usher in yet another long, hot, and harsh Mojave afternoon. But that was for later. For now, in the early hours of dawn, a certain comfortable chill still blanketed the arid landscape and all that dwelt there made sure to savor it before it was truly vanquished by the morning star.


    In these hours, a (relatively) small radscorpion found a small hill overlooking the sleepy town of Boulder Colorado. The hill was perfect. Not too hot, not too irradiated, and its rocky outcroppings gave perfect camouflage and shade to the fledgling insectoid. In this moment, it was more than content to rest in the shade and simply watch the comings and goings of the small frontier town below.


    Though idyllic as it was, the radioactive arachnid couldn''t help but feel in the back of its mutated brain that something about this scene was off. The settlement below may have been small, but there were usually at least a couple humans moseying around by now. In fact, there hadn''t been any human activity to speak of since yesterday.


    Had it the capacity to be confused, there''s no doubt the little radscorpion would have been left scratching its carapace. But it didn''t, so it sat.


    Sat and watched as the world in front of it went to hell.


    First came the humans in green and beige. They rushed into the settlement with a swiftness and panic that the radscorpion couldn''t really understand. What were they running from? It could see no predators in the area. Even less understandable was that most of the humans ignored the perfectly good hiding places that their homes and buildings provided and continued running right into the desert, with only a couple in their rank seeing the obvious and choosing to hunker down within the town itself.


    Then came the pursuers.


    A rolling tide of red and purple washed over the town, the deep rumbling of their lockstep marching mixed and mingled with their warcrys as the scouts led the main army to their cornered prey. Gunfire ensued, as did the sounds of mines and grenades as the small band of green clad humans held off the red tide as the army swept in for a swift kill.


    This commotion had grown so loud and unignorable that it was beginning to agitate the arachnid. Annoyed that its new favorite hiding spot had been ruined so soon by those strange obnoxious humans, the radscorpion soon turned its tail toward the town and set out to look for greener pastures and cooler sands. Sadly, before it could truly depart; a chill unlike even the most fridged desert midnight jolted down the invertebrate''s exoskeleton, the overwhelming chill of imminent death.


    Before it could even think about reacting, however, an earthshattering explosion blasted its way through the town. Laying waste to nearly every building in the area as well as vaporizing every living creature nearby with a heavenly shockwave that left only a small mushroom cloud laying in its wake.


    The explosion could be seen for miles and heard farther still, with some even as far as Primm saying that they remember hearing "Thunder with no clouds in sight.". And yet as the shockwave finally reached the other side of the river, and the personal guard of the Malpais Legate were sent to their knees clutching their ears, the Legate himself stood shocked. Binoculars nearly slipping from his hands as his eyes stayed trained on the mushroom cloud looming on the horizon.


    The first battle of Hoover Dam was over, and Joshua Graham had failed.


    <hr>


    The next few hours were a blur for Joshua, a silent solemn trudge back to The Fort. When they finally arrived, there was an overwhelming sense of sorrow and hopelessness hanging over the heads of nearly everyone present. The Legion had suffered defeats in the past, but they had always made sure that however much they hurt, the enemy was hurt twice as worse. They could lose a battle, but in the end The Legion always won the war. Now? There was no war. Worse, now there was scarcely even a Legion.


    This last campaign against the NCR had been the toughest war in all of Graham''s thirty years as the Malpais Legate, and he had gambled nearly all the legion had. From its most hardened veterans forged over nearly twenty years of constant conquest, to its greenest recruit barely at the age to grow facial hair. He had wagered them all on this climactic battle, this sweeping Hail Mary, this that was to be their own personal crossing of the Rubicon! And in his hubris, he had walked them all right into the gates of hell itself.


    It was no wonder The Fort wept that night.


    As he and his personal retinue walked through the winding alleys and dugout trenches of The Fort''s outer defenses and into the inner heart of the camp, Joshua noticed something.


    Every single person they had passed, no matter what they were doing or what their emotional state prior to seeing him, had been staring at him. In fact, none of them had stopped staring at him until he was finally gone from their field of vison. And even then, there was a small yet growing crowd that was beginning to follow in their wake.


    And the looks in their eyesˇ­


    Some of them were filled with anger, a red-hot rage so fierce it looked to be eating them alive from the inside out. But they were the minority. They, Joshua could understand.


    The rest? The rest were looking at him like they were watching a ghost attend his own funeral. That strange, unsettling mix of pity and disbelief. He tried ignoring them as he trudged towards Caesar''s tent, but in the very bottom of Joshua''s stomach a pit began to form for reasons he couldn''t, noˇ­ maybe it was more accurate to say he didn''t really want to comprehend.


    As they finally approached the tent, he turned and saw that nearly half of all the survivors left in the fort, be they soldiers, traders, even the slaves had joined the crowd. He tried to ignore them, but even as he turned to address his personal guard, he never felt their eyes leave the back of his head for a moment.


    "Wait here." Was all that was said, as his ever-silent escorts responded only with a small nod. Once inside, Joshua heard a grand number of voices all barking and shouting over each other. Some familiar, some not, some he would''ve preferred never to hear again. All went silent as he walked in.


    Caeser''s tent was crammed near to bursting with just about every high ranking official The Legion had left standing, all crowded around their all-powerful emperor. What had been a veritable madhouse of shouting, pleading and meaningless quarreling was gone in an instance. Leaving nothing in its place but a silent crowd that slowly parted as Graham stepped forward.


    As he approached the throne, Graham took note of the two figures flanking its sides. Lucious stood to its left, his brow heavy and his eyes even more tired than they usually were; with circles under them so dark you''d almost mistake them for a bruise earned in battle. Lanius bordered its right, his arms crossed, and his features hidden under the grim visage of his iron battle mask. With his imposing armor, near complete stillness, and standing height of almost seven feet, one would sooner think he was a statue of Mars himself rather than a mere mortal.


    Both Wings of Caeser looked less than pleased to see him, though in Lanius'' case he couldn''t ever recall seeing the man pleased at anything so he couldn''t be sure, but for all their stares of disappointment and barely controlled fury, he couldn''t bear to look away.


    He couldn''t bear to look towards the man in the throne. Every instinct he''d harnessed, every skill he''d honed, every fiber of his being was screaming at him that if he looked, he wouldn''t like what he saw.


    He tore his eyes away as he knelt at the foot of the throne and gave his report to Caeser, a once routine activity that now felt nearly as pivotal as the battle itself.


    "Mighty Caesar, I regret to report that the battle for The Dam is lost, as are most of our veteran forces as well as all our newest recruits as far as our remaining scouts could tell. The enemy has also suffered heavy losses, though we were unable to deal significant casualties to their Rangers. So far only four are confirmed to have been slain."


    Before he could continue his report, however, a new voice cut through the tent''s silence. One Joshua felt equal parts annoyance and dread at hearing.


    "Yes, Yes, we''ve known most of this since well before you''re arrival Legate. Unlike you, my Frumentarii were able to not only fulfill their assignments, but nearly all were able to make their escape without so much as a scratch."


    Vulpes Inculta''s cold, deep,sharpvoice sounded from in front of Graham as the Legion''s foremost intelligence officer almost slithered from the deeper recesses of the large tent.


    "Though I must admit, you provided an adequate distraction. Bravo."


    Vulpes'' eyes were hidden behind those dark tinted goggles Graham swore must''ve been glued to the fox-man''s head, as much like his canine hood he was seldom seen without them, but behind them Joshua just knew Vulpes was relishing his failure. The smugness that was practically dripping from the man''s every syllable serving only to add salt to his freshest wound.


    Shooting the Frumentarii a glare that had made countless tribal chieftains crack like stone, The Malpais Legate shot back.


    "I did not come here solely to summarize, Vulpes. My closing remarks are all pertaining to The Legion''s future actions in the wake of this defeat, as well as how we can use the information we''ve gathered in the next battle for The Dam. You would''ve already known this had I not been interrupted."


    For the smallest of seconds Graham saw a sneer replace the Frumantarii''s usual emotionless fa?ade but he hadn''t the chance to enjoy it.


    For the first time since The Malpais Legate had departed for The Dam, promising victory and conquest, Caesar spoke.


    "Next battle?"


    The voice was softer than Caesar''s usual commanding tone, barely above a whisper. But it was enough for Joshua''s view to snap to the throne, and for the first time since his defeat Graham''s eyes met Caesars.


    In these orbs, Joshua found no malice at his failure nor relief at his return. Instead, all that lay within was a cold, muted mix of disappointment and disinterest. Like a child looking at a toy he''d just smashed flat against the pavement.


    It was nearly the exact opposite reaction Joshua had been dreading to see, and yet somehow it filled him with more dread than anything else that''d raced through his fear addled mind. It was a look Joshua had seen Caesar make many times, and it was nearly always directed at people Joshua would be assigned to erase once their usefulness to the Legion was at its end.


    Before Graham could fully unpack that implication however, Caesar''s voice rang out again. Louder this time, but with no more emotion than the first.


    "Next battle? I don''t think you understand, there isn''t going tobea next battle. I mean, for shits sake there''s hardly still even a Legion! You''ve fucked us, Graham, and I don''t think you really know how hard you''ve done it."


    Joshua''s mouth hung open in disbelief, before he tried to gather his wits and muster out a response.


    "Yes, today''s battle has proven disastrous, but if we consolidate our forces in Arizona and launch a new campaign against the smaller tribes to the east, then we may yet regain our former strength. Perhaps even surpass it."


    For a long moment Caesar looked pensive at the thought, before giving a small nod in agreement.


    "Hmm, yes, I suppose that would be a wise course of action. The Moonsingers have been getting too close to Phoenix as it is lately; they shall make an excellent first target."


    Feeling the barest hint of relief and normalcy, Joshua let out a breath he''d been holding since Caesar had first spoken.


    "Very well, I shall prepare the raiding parties fo-"


    "I don''t think you''ll have any part in this, Legate."


    Joshua was shocked to hear a voice come from behind Lanius'' mask. The giant''s voice was harsh, rumbling , and carried a metallic ring that made it seem as if the mask itself had spoken, instead of the man behind it.


    After shaking off the shock, Joshua went to question what else he would''ve been doing while the Legion marches east for conquest, but Vulpes'' quick tongue beat him to it.


    "You still don''t get it do youˇ­"


    His brow furrowed. Joshua was reaching his limit on Vulpes'' insolence and shot a glare at the man.


    "Get what Vulpes? Enlighten me. What exactly am I missing that you find so crucial!?"


    "Graham."


    Once again, the Legate''s head pivoted, and now it was Lucius who held his attention. His eyes still held a fatigue like no other, but there was a hint of bitterness behind both them and his voice as he continued.


    "You more than anyone should know the price of failure."


    A deep pit formed in his stomach as the words left the Praetorian''s mouth, and in his haste, he looked towards Caesar in hopes of dispelling these foolish notions; but in doing so found only despair.


    "Lucius is correct. In all the Legion''s thirty years of being, I have never tolerated anything less than complete and utter victory."


    The dictator''s stare hardened on Joshua before he finished his statement and sealed the Legate''s fate.


    "One silver lining to this utter disaster: this shall be an excellent example to show those left that no matter what rank you may have, or how long you''ve served, there is no room for defeat. The only results that shall be tolerated are either victory, or death."


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    At this point Joshua was in near shock, going almost completely catatonic. He did not hear Caesar''s order for the Praetorian''s to seize his arms, nor feel their hands on his shoulders as they did so. He didn''t see Vulpes'' smug smirk as he was practically dragged from the tent, nor Lucious'' small glance of pity.


    The only thought racing through his mind, over and over and over again, was a prayer. The first in a long time.


    <hr>


    Joshua wasn''t quite sure how long the Praetorian''s dragged him along in that zombified state. All he knew was that at some point, his utter bafflement and disbelief had slowly given way to rage and indignation. Caesar may have founded the Legion, but it was Graham who had forged it.


    It was Graham who had led the charge in every campaign. It was Graham who had made sixty-eight tribes bend the knee and kiss Caesar''s ring. And when their offers of surrender and assimilation were refused and spat upon by some pissant tribal chieftain, it was Graham who put them and everything they loved to the sword!


    Caesar was who they obeyed, but it was the Malpais Legate they feared.


    Snapping out of his delirium, Graham reawakened just in time to see the boundless splendor of the Grand Canyon sprawled out before him, with him and his escorts rapidly approaching its edge. More than sick of being dragged at this point, Joshua shook off the Praetorians with his patented swift brutality. First crushing the knee of the right one under his heel, before quickly turning to the left one and headbutting him. His nose letting out a sickening crunch as it collided with the Legate''s forehead.


    A swift knee to the gut later and both elite soldiers were sprawled onto the steep cliff''s edge, one clutching their now misshapen leg while the other desperately tried to retain their lunch. Joshua didn''t get the chance to admire his handywork however, as commotion from behind him alerted the Legate to the presence of a large crowd at his back. Turning, he saw what must''ve been every soldier The Fort had left, from the few recruits that had been left behind as a garrison, to Caesar himself surrounded by the rest of his personal retinue. And every single one of them had their weapons trained square on him.


    From guns, to spears, to even just the humble machete, each and every soldier had their weapons raised toward him. The abject fear in their eyes shook Graham from his rage. It was not unexpected as Joshua''s ruthless reputation as the Malpais Legate preceded him, but the legate had always tried to temper his ferocity with lessons. For each decimation, he had tempered it with wisdom, and instruction to the remaining troops. It was part of what he thought had earned him The Legion''s respect as well as it''s fear.


    But when he went looking for even a shred of that respect that he had so carefully cultivated over nearly three decades, he found none. Only the terror remained.


    Caesar himself was the one to finally break the silence:


    "Legate Graham, for your failure to capture The Dam from the profligates, and the near complete destruction of The Legion''s main forces, I sentence you to death via incineration."


    Despite himself, Graham had the oddest urge to bark out a laugh at the maddening situation playing out before him. Joshua''s feet felt unsteady as what felt like his entire world began to crumble out from under him. He opened his mouth to speak, to plead, to scream, to do something! But could let out only silence.


    His focus only shifted back to our mortal coil as Lanius approached, something held dangling by his right hand. Before Joshua could even move, or even think, the hulking giant thrust what Graham now saw was a bucket toward him. Spewing it''s tar like contents all down the Legate''s torso.


    The Malpais Legate shot the masked man a glare, and was about to admonish him, when the unmistakable smell of pitch reached his nose. Looking down, he discovered the source all over his shoulders and chest.


    ''Oh God.''


    As Lanius stomped away, Vulpes was the next to approach. Though he was far swifter than the previous brute, and so caught the Legate off guard, as more pitch was tossed.


    Unfortunately for Graham not only was Vulpes swifter, he was also evidently a better shot than Lanius; as Joshua soon found pitch raining down on his head, smothering his face while the rest of the foul viscous liquid ran down his back.


    He''d barely smeared it from his lips and wiped it from his eyes before Lucius was upon him, with yet more of the foul substance at hand. Mercifully he was able to bring his arms up towards his head to block the bucket''s load, but it was an insignificant victory as even blocked, the pitch still covered his arms and dripped heavily down onto his legs.


    With that, the guards of Caesar returned to his side, their duties fulfilled.


    Wellˇ­ All but one anyway.


    With a nod from Caesar, two torches were brought forth by one of Vulpes'' Frumantarii; one of each was given to both Lanius and Lucius. As the Wings of Caesar marched forward, a twinge of regret eked its way onto Lucius'' face, a stark contrast to Lanius'' ever stony visage. However, Graham saw neither of them. Since the torches were brought forward, his eyes hadn''t left Caesar''s.


    As the flames edged closer, and the Legate''s time grew short, Joshua finally found his voice. Barely managing something above a whisper. Something that was heard by him and Caesar alone.


    "Edwardˇ­ Pleaseˇ­"


    White hot flames danced across his skin. Every inch of him lit ablaze all at once. Each and every nerve at each and every point across his body was crying out in agony. He felt his clothes begin burning away first, then his skin started to blister and boil. His hair was next, turning to ash at an astonishing rate until there was nothing left. He tried to scream but nothing came out. He tried again, and again and again until it felt like his throat was raw but not even a whisper escaped.


    The flames grew hotter and hotter, until they felt as if they were burning his very bones down to their marrow. Hell was real, and it was roaring across his body and penetrating deep into his very soul.


    Then came the fall.


    At some point in this seemingly never-ending torment, Joshua must''ve lost his footing. As he soon felt himself hurtling down the steep cliff walls of the Grand Canyon, the wind doing little to snuff the flames still eating away at his flesh.


    He didn''t know how long he fell, forever would''ve been his guess. But through the whipping of the wind, and the white-hot delirium seeping through the edges of his vison, he saw his entire life play out before him. Not through flashes of fond memories, key dates, and familiar faces; but in painstaking detail. One day after the other. From his first steps in New Canaan, to his fruitful linguistic and missionary studies, to the meeting of Edward Sallow and Bill Calhoon, to their capture by the Blackfoots and the birth of Caeser.


    As the vison lengthened, and the Graham he shadowed became increasingly violent, Joshua began to notice something terrifying. The flames, which until this point had mercifully begun to dull to a painful throb instead of the raging inferno it had started as, gradually became hotter and hotter the crueler the Malpais Legate became. From the complete and utter destruction of the Ridgers, the first of many ethnic cleansings he would oversee through the years. To the mass crucifixion of the Garlanders, to the burning of the Hangdogs'' spirt animals; a deed he was particularly regretting upon this newest reflection.


    Needless to say, by the time he had been a Legate for ten years, the flames were nearly hotter than before his fall.


    By fifteen years, they were almost double the intensity.


    The latter half of his career became a painful whirlwind of near constant cruelty. A never-ending death march of war and conquest. Not a day went by without him ending several lives, with each of them adding more fuel to his living pyre.


    All building and culminating to that one final crescendo of blood and failure: The Battle for Hoover Dam.


    Joshua tried in vain to steel himself for what was coming, but all the steel in the world couldn''t have prepared him for what happened next.


    For instead of merely viewing it miles away from the safety of the Colorado river, Graham found himself smack dab in the middle of a town he had never set foot in. Was it a vison from the Lord Creator himself? Or simply the last vestige of his dying, roasted brain? Joshua had stopped asking that question long ago.


    As quickly as the flames had caught onto his skin, the tons upon tons of explosives that filled the small town went off. And just for a moment, he wondered if this is what those poor souls experienced that fateful day on October of 2077. All at once hundreds upon hundreds of souls cried out in agony, their bodies nearly vanished in a burning flash, leaving behind only blackened bones in the shape of a man. Joshua screamed with them as the flames burned at their hottest, as if all nine layers of hell itself had burrowed beneath his skin. Theirs screams mingling into a deafening, unholy choir. A grim falsetto punctuated by the looming mushroom cloud that blocked out the sun itself.


    The last image that flashed through Graham''s barely kept together mind before he hit the ground, was the face of his lord and savior Jesus Christ. He had been looking upon Joshua''s memories, his deeds, his very soul, just as Joshua had done himself.


    And Jesus wept.


    <hr>


    Pain was what roused him from his slumber. He was still burning. Red, charred eyelids opened to clear blue orbs that frantically looked down at the flames still coating their skin, and found nothing. Nevertheless, the pain remained. For a moment Graham wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and let the eternal sleep finally take him, but his surroundings pulled his mind away from that train of thought.


    He appeared to be resting on the beach of a small stream, surrounded by more trees and green than he''d ever known. With no hint of desert, or even the very canyon he''d plummeted from in sight. And by God, the trees! They were wider than some buildings Joshua had seen, and stretched almost as high as the clouds themselves.


    ''I remember Edward once told me about a type of tree once found in California that grew to these sizes, could this be where I washed up?''


    Edwardˇ­ The mere thought of that name was enough to call forth agonizing memories, from both before and during his fall. Memories he was quick to completely shunt away.


    ''Think later, all I need to focus on right now is living. Minute by minute.''


    His first attempt at pulling himself up wasˇ­ painful as he''d barely even hoisted his torso up a couple inches before his right forearm buckled and screamed in agony. The short fall back to the ground had, surprisingly, been equally painful as he sputtered out several raspy coughs as his ribcage impacted the forest floor.


    ''Fool!''he chastised himself.''Fell from a canyon, should''ve expected broken bones.''


    After checking over himself as best as he could, Joshua had found two fractured ribs, a cracked forearm, and a dislocated hip. He was doubtless missing some, but so far as he knew those were the most pressing injuries he could find. Aside from the obvious anyway.


    And so, with walking seemingly out of the question for now, Joshua began moving the only way he found feasible: slowly inching forward with his elbows and usable knee. It was slow, it was dirty, it was hell on his burns, but it was progress.


    He kept at it like this for nearly an hour, (he guessed an hour anyway; the canopy here was so thick that he had to squint to see if sunlight was peeking through it.) when for the first time in what felt like years, fortune took pity on him. Said pity took the form of a fallen branch nearly as thick as his arm, and taller than him by a good inch or so.


    No doubt just a twig in this forest of giants, but a potential life saver for Graham.


    However, while finding it had been easy, actually managing to prop himself onto his feet with the damned thing had been another hassle entirely. Finally, after nearly a half hour of pained grunts and blistering fingers, Joshua Graham was on his own two feet once more.


    Limping through the underbrush, the former Legate couldn''t help but marvel at the forest around him. He had never seen a place so full of life, full of energy. He had heard rumors of a place like this in his youth, an oasis virtually untouched by both The Great War and the Wasteland at large. A veritable Zion.


    Was someone like him truly deserving of the splendor around them?


    Before he could untangle that particular thought from his still pain-addled mind, he caught movement in the corner of his eyes, and heard a wet gurgle come from the woods to his right. Going as still as he could, and praying for the second time that day, Joshua slowly reached for what was left of his back pocket and hoped what he was reaching for still even worked.


    With a slight click, the former legate pulled out a small colt commander .45 pistol hand crafted by Joshua himself, a right of passage virtually all New Canaanites took part in before being welcomed to adulthood. It was caked in grime and soot, and the grip looked a tad warped and singed from the heat, but thankfully it appeared to be in working order. A small light shining through the darkness.


    Satisfied he could defend himself, Joshua slowly inched closer and closer to the source of the strange noise, until he found himself face to face with a massive man-sized vulture greedily feasting on unknown prey. Even as it stooped down to feed, the giant raptor still came up to nearly his torso, and when his bad leg snapped an oversized twig with a sickening crack, it stood to it''s full seven feet of height and stared him dead in the eye.


    His knuckles tightened around his pistol, but neither figure dared to make a move; Graham out of fear and the vulture he could only guess. The Lanius sized scavenger let out a shrill caw before unfurling its gargantuan wings and shooting up towards the canopy. Leaving the former legate dumbfounded at what the thing had been feeding on.


    There, laying half decomposed, was a large elk like creature that made the largest of deathclaws look like mere toys. It''s bone white antlers looking more like the trees he knew than the very forest surrounding him.


    After that, Joshua wasn''t quite sure what to do next. The bounds of reality were starting to shift and ebb as he continued to walk aimlessly amidst the trees that only continued to vex him. Was he still dreaming? Were those animals simply irradiated and that was why they looked so strange? But if so, then how was this place still so untouched, so unravaged, so full of life? No matter how he looked at it, things weren''t adding up.


    Shaking his head and shifting his focus, the mantra he''d defaulted to back at the stream ran through his head once more:''Think later, live now.''


    And so he did, pressing forth while doing his best to squash these thoughts down till he could breathe, until he could rest.


    A sudden violent stirring from the underbrush caused Graham''s head to snap to his right. Next came a low rumbling that shook the earth he stood upon so heavily, that his first thought was to wonder if this was some sort of earthquake. Those notions were quickly dispelled however, as he realized the rumblings followed a rhythmic pattern, akin to the beating of a heart.


    ''Orˇ­''Graham thought as what little body hair he had left on the back of his neck shot straight up.''ˇ­very heavy footfalls!''


    Not heeding any of his still charred body''s protests, Graham suddenly dove to the side as gracefully as he could, landing harder than he''d like, but still mercifully out of the way of the giant stampeding beast.


    Propping himself up on his good leg, his cooked skin paling as he got an eyeful of the creature: Standing at nearly two stories tall, with golden fur and ivory horns longer than he was, stood the largest most menacing bull Joshua had ever seen.


    Despite himself, the older man let out a strained chuckle. In his youth, Joshua had always thought the phrase "God has a sick sense of humor" to be borderline blasphemous. However, the sight before him had the holy man reevaluating that assumption.


    Before he could come to a conclusion however, the beast readied to charge him once more.


    Doubting he had it in him to dodge like that again; Joshua raised his .45 with practiced precision. Carefully aiming for one of the beast''s massive eyes as he doubted the bullet would penetrate the veritable wall of bone that made up its skull. Taking a deep breath, Graham pulled the trigger just as the house sized bovine broke into a frantic sprint, only to hear a devastating clack. The sound of a jam.


    Only through a mix of luck and divine providence was Joshua able to avoid being gored, as the beast''s mighty footfalls caused the man to lose his footing amidst the rumbling earth below him. Sending him tumbling painfully onto his back, and below the reach of the bull''s ivory spears. Frantically racking the slide, Graham fired the remaining five shots all into the beast''s underbelly as it stampeded over him, narrowly avoiding it''s tire sized hooves as they attempted to pound him into paste.


    Thankfully, despite the beast''s size bullets actually did seam to at least hurt it as it let out a loud cry of pain before clambering off and away from the very injured man. Graham almost let out a sigh of relief, before a parting shot from the beast''s back-left hoof slammed into his shoulder blade and sent the former missionary hurtling a couple dozen feet through the air.


    And so, Joshua found himself right back where he started: face down on the forest floor, now sporting a brand-new shattered shoulder.


    In that moment all Joshua wanted to do, was close his eyes and rest. To let the long sleep take him and hope beyond hope for forgiveness in the next world.


    However, before he could let himself drift off for good, the distant sound of waves found their way into his ear. Graham''s world-weary eyes snapped open. Waves meant a coast, and a coast was his best shot at finding other people, if there even were any in this God forsaken forest.


    And so, working on nothing but adrenaline, hope, and sheer willpower; he crawled. The only thing pushing him forward, the only thing stopping his broken and battered body from giving out on him for good was the slowly rising volume of waves lapping at a distant shore.


    He didn''t know how long he spent mindlessly crawling like a moth drawn to flame. Every part of both his mind and soul was solely focused on inching his way forward. Left elbow, right knee. Left elbow, right knee. Over and over, until he felt a blessed coolness run over his fingers. Unfortunately for Graham, however, he wasn''t able to enjoy the fruits of his painfilled labor for long. For as Joshua looked upon the coast he''d crawled so far for, something else dominated the view before him.


    On the horizon, countless miles away, rose a crimson cliff that made the very canyon he''d fallen from look utterly insignificant by comparison. It stretched beyond his view, going on for God only knows how long in either direction as if it were wrapped around the world itself. Even from here, practically an ocean away, he could just barely spy the top of the seemingly uniform stone structure just shy of breaching the clouds hovering overhead. The great red wall dwarfing them made even these towering trees look utterly insignificant by comparison.


    It had left him utterly speechless, his previous excitement completely purged from his mind as if it were never there. One sole thought rattled around his skull before exhaustion and fatigue finally claimed him, and he fell unconscious once more:


    Just where in God''s name had he landed?

 Paradise Found: Part 2

    The warmth of the rising Arizona sun tickled Joshua awake. He rubbed away the last remnants of sleep from his tired eyes, before worming his way out of his sleeping pack, and wordlessly falling into his morning routine. After he said grace over his humble breakfast of black coffee and gecko jerky, Joshua let out a sigh.


    Life as a missionary was so far proving much less exiting than he had hoped.


    He had set out from New Canaan nearly a month ago, the longest he had ever been away from home. So far, he had only come across a couple of raiders, a small caravan bound for a place called Enseeare, and a lone figure suited up in a trench coat and fedora that seemingly vanished as he drew near. Not quite the perfect candidates for conversion.


    He knew, or at least hoped, that there would be dozens of new faces waiting for him in The Grand Canyon, but for now it seems like he''d just have to get used to the inherent loneliness of the open road.


    After finishing his morning meal, packing up his sleeping bag and other supplies, and putting on his brand new (to him anyway) flak jacket; he was ready to hit the road.


    For a while, it looked to be more of the same. Miles of desert, some collapsed pre-war billboards, and little else aside from the odd centuries old car that''d been stripped of its valuables long before him and everyone he knew came to be.


    He nearly leapt from his skin at the sound of two arguing voices shouting at each other from behind a scorched gas-station. He couldn''t quite make out what they were saying, but as he slowly crept near the reason for their spat soon became apparent.


    "-d dammit Edward! This is exactly what I''m talking about! You have got to learn how to control your temper, now we have no map and no translator! We''ll be lucky if we manage to make it back to the Boneyard let alone the Grand-Fucking-Canyon!"


    The other voice, Edward if Joshua had to guess, fired back with just as much venom.


    "Oh, so this is somehow my fault, is it? Please. Maybe if you had hired a translator worth a damn, he wouldn''t have stolen our map and left us with our dicks in our hands! I mean seriously, where did you even find that idiot? Jackass couldn''t even tell a Blackfoot from a Garlander, if we''d kept him there isn''t a chance we''d have walked out of there alive!"


    Joshua, who at this point was within spitting distance of their camp, finally got a decent look at the two men shouting their heads off at one another. The first was a taller, older man in his mid-thirties who sported a messy head of prematurely greying hair, with an overgrown 5''oclock shadow to match. He had a weariness to his eyes that betrayed his age, hidden behind cracked circular spectacles.


    The other, Edward he''d supposed, was much younger; only a year or two older than himself if Joshua had to guess. He sported a clean crew cut, with green eyes that hid a piercing, calculating gaze that held none of the naivet¨¦ of youth.


    Deciding to make himself known, Joshua cleared his throat before speaking plainly.


    "I believe I could be of some assistance."


    Immediately both men''s eyes widened, and they snapped to face their new arrival. The taller, older looking one had a hand in his jacket, no doubt reaching for a gun, while the young man eyed him curiously; brass knuckles slipping from his pockets into his palms.


    "Who the hell are you and what''re you doing at this camp."


    Joshua put his hands up before he even saw the gun, a sign he hoped signaled he meant no harm.


    "Peace friends, I was just passing by when I happened to catch the last part of your argument. By some small providence, I am also a pilgrim to the Canyon. I would be more than happy to help lead the both of you there, if you would have me of course."


    The taller figure gave him a raised eyebrow, clearly still suspicious of the strange man that had just admitted to eavesdropping on them. While Edward was still giving him that strange quizzical look, like he was a puzzle on the verge of being cracked.


    "Really now? How very convenient. Don''t tell me, you''re a tribal translator too, aren''t you?"


    The taller man''s snide remark fell on deaf ears as Joshua simply gave him a beaming smile.


    "Why, yes actually. Fluent in every known dialect in both Arizona and Utah, even a couple from Colorado. Though, admittedly I haven''t spoken much Hangdog in years."


    The older man gave him a look of disbelief, the tenseness instantly deflating from his body as he tried to tell if the boy in front of him was pulling his leg. As the tall man''s confusion grew, Edward felt his disappear as he finally put the pieces together.


    "Well, I''ll be damned; you''re a New Canaanite, aren''t you?" He asked already knowing the answer, enjoying the small look of surprise that flashed briefly onto the young man''s face.


    "How on earth did you know?"


    Ever eager to flex his intellectual muscles, Edward explained:


    "Your vest was my first hint," He pointed to Joshua''s shoulder. The blocky white letters spelling SLCPD contrasting against the black Kevlar.


    "Only one SLC I know of, so that helped narrow it down. Now, you could''ve just been a scavenger, another wastrel picking at the bones of the old world, but that piece on your hipˇ­"


    His finger shifted over to the simple leather holster strapped to his thigh, or more accurately the small, recently assembled .45 auto pistol it housed.


    "Only one tribe I know that carries those bad boys, and in mint condition too!"


    Edward let out a small whistle at the fine firearm, while his companion continued to eye Joshua with suspicion, though he at least put his gun away. The 10mm pistol disappearing back into his jacket.


    "New Canaanite huhˇ­ Long way from home, aren''t you?"


    "Indeed, the farthest I''ve ever been. I am a missionary by trade, but admittedly this will be my first time spreading the good news to more than just bored caravan guards."


    Joshua let out a small chuckle that the glasses wearing man didn''t share.


    "A preacher, eh? Haven''t seen one of those for a while. Though, I am curious, these people we''re meeting in the canyon, they already have a religion. Gods all their own. What if they hear your "Good News" and give only a simple: "No thank you." In return?"


    Joshua raised an eyebrow at the odd question before a reassuring smile grew upon his youthful face.


    "Then they may keep them. I''ve come to these lands bearing gifts and words, not a sword. You have my word on that, I promise you."


    The older man tried to keep up his scrutinizing visage, but between Edward''s smug grin and his own failure to actually find anything worth the scrutiny; the older man relented.


    With a small sigh, the older man held out his hand to the young missionary.


    "I suppose if you''re going to accompany us, then introductions are in order. Bill Calhoon."


    Joshua broke into a wide grin, before he composed himself and let it dwindle down to a small content smile. He grabbed hold of the outstretched hand before him and gave it his best shake.


    "Joshua Graham."


    As the two finished their greeting, a third hand joined the fray.


    "Edward Sallow. Gotta say, I already like you much better than our last translator. Though, admittedly that isn''t a high bar to clear."


    Taking the young man''s hand in his, Joshua let a small smirk creep into the corners of his mouth.


    "I suspected as much when you called him aˇ­ What was it, a "Jackass who couldn''t tell a Blackfoot from a Garlander."?"


    The preacher''s bone-dry quip was met by guttural laughter from Edward, and an embarrassed facepalm from Bill. He''d held out hope that their new recruit hadn''t heard much of their frankly childish spat over the campfire, but clearly his hopes had been for naught.


    As the group began to pack up their supplies and get a move on, and Joshua and Edward continued their back-and-forth banter, Bill felt a small smile creep up on his face almost against his will.


    Up until now this operation had been nothing short of a trainwreck. A nonstop conga line of disaster after disaster, with the loss of their map putting what Bill thought was the final nail in their coffin.


    Now? Now the sight before him dared the man to hope, and for the first time in nearly a month he thought that maybe, just maybe, things were starting to go their way.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    What a fool he was. But then again, they had all been fools, hadn''t they?


    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">


    Pain was what roused him from his slumber. He was still burning.


    A familiar sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu overtook him as upon looking down, he found no flames. And yet the burning remained.


    What he did find, however, was row after row of white as snow bandages running all the way from the tip of his toes to the crown of his skull. Only the blackened and blistered skin bordering his bold blue eyes was visible through the wall of gauze.


    "You''re awake, how about thatˇ­"


    Joshua turned his head to look at the voice that had spoken and spent the next several seconds regretting it as pain flared through his burns and still shattered shoulder at the sudden movement.


    "Easy there, you''ve been out cold a coupla'' days now. Best to take it nice and slow. Honestly surprised you even woke up at all, with those wounds I mean."


    Moving his eyes this time instead of his neck, Joshua finally got a decent look at the man speaking to him, as well as his surroundings.


    He appeared to be on a soft bed, inside a rustic wooden cabin. Its lamp-lit walls and roaring fireplace gave the small house a cozy warm glow. Paintings of various landscapes and ocean scenery lined the walls, but Joshua didn''t pay them any mind. His eyes were locked tight on the man before him.


    Sitting just a few feet from his bedside, was a man in a plaid winter jacket, stitched up blue jeans, and a white baseball cap. The cap looked like it once had the word MARINE stitched onto it, but the letters had been torn off. Only their faded shadows remained.


    He looked to be about Graham''s age, late 40s-early 50s, with tanned leathery skin and dark brown locks drooping down to his shoulders. A belt of hair more resembling a caterpillar than a mustache covered his upper lip, and his amber eyes held a quiet sorrow that lay just beneath their mirth-laden exterior.


    Graham opened his mouth to ask him a question, but all that left his throat was a dry, ashy cough that wracked his frame. The man immediately got up from his chair, and gently lifted a glass of water to Joshua''s mouth, pushing aside the bandages and exposing his lips to the open air.


    After letting the man drink, his mysterious rescuer set the glass back on the nightstand flanking Graham''s bed and returned to his seat. A guilty look fell upon his face as his eyes met Joshua''s once more.


    "I did the best I could butˇ­ Well, I ain''t a doctor. The only medical experience I got was basic first aid trainin'' from way back when. I managed to set any broken bones you mighta had, but those burnsˇ­ They''re here to stay. I''m sorry I couldn''t do more."


    Shaking off his previous somber expression, the man in front of Joshua quickly attempted a small smile once more.


    "Oh, but where''re my manners; Kurt Ross at ''yer service."


    Normally this was where Kurt offered his hand, but considering his guest''s condition, he decided against it this time.


    Joshua attempted speech once more, and his dry hoarse voice asked the most important question the former Legate could think of.


    "Where am I?"


    The man across from him raised an eyebrow at the odd question but figured that whatever had happened to the poor fella must''ve broken parts of his mind as well as his body.


    "None other than Lost Ark Island, friend. Place used to be one of the most efficient logging sites in the world. With just a single tree giving you enough wood to build an entire fleet of warships! Place ran like clockwork untilˇ­ Well, you''ve seen the wildlife; ''least if that hoofprint I found on your back was anything to go by. Turns out destroying their homes and food sources on mass was a good way to piss off every living thing on the island, and when they started getting violentˇ­ Suffice to say, there weren''t much left after a few weeks of attacks, and instead of rebuilding and reinforcing the World Government must''a decided it wasn''t worth the trouble. ''Specially when they could just build somewhere that didn''t have monsters knocking down your door every other dayˇ­"


    The mustached man saw the growing look of confusion and bewilderment growing in his guest''s eyes, and let out a small, embarrassed cough into his fist.


    "Sorry, friend I''m startin'' to ramble again. Ain''t had visitors in a hot minute so my social skills might need a bit of a warmup. Anyhow, after the Government gave up on ''er, nobody really had a reason to stop by Lost Ark Island anymore. The only people you''ll find aside from yours truly are all down at that abandoned logging camp by the coast. Wouldn''t get too friendly with them if I were you though, friend. Most of them''s either poachers or pirates, sooner to stab yea in the back than to shake your hand. Still, they''ve got the only harbor around so unless you plan to swim, you''ve gotta deal with ''em sometime. If ya do, just sleep with one eye open till you''re done, and you''ll probably come out fine."


    A comfortable pause overcame the cabin, as Joshua simply took it all in and attempted to process what exactly had been said. It took everything in him not to panic, not to shut down, not to simply scream. Instead, all that left his mouth was another quiet question.


    "Do you have a map I could look at?"


    Once again Kurt felt his eyebrow raise, but he decided to humor the injured man.


    "Well yeah, I keep one at my desk."


    He pointed over his shoulder to a small wooden table over in the far corner of the cabin, its surface coated with dust and parchment.


    "Truth be told I ain''t used it much in a wh-"


    He was interrupted by Joshua unexpectedly bolting from his bed and striding straight to where Kurt had pointed, leaving the man sputtering in disbelief.


    "Hey! Hold a minute! How on Akainu''s Flaming Asshole are you walkin'' so fast? Scratch that, how are you walkin'' at all!?"


    Joshua responded with the only explanation he knew:


    "I heal quickly."


    Truth be told, Joshua had never truly known just how he had gotten so resilient; but between countless wars, ambushes, and assassination attempts seemingly nothing could keep him down. Graham had even personally heard five separate profligate reports of his own "death", supposedly caused by NCR Rangers and sharpshooters, only for their hopes to be dashed when he was inevitably spotted a couple days later seemingly no worse for wear.


    Seemingly being the correct word, for when he did reach the desk Joshua felt his legs wobble before giving out completely. Leaving the legate holding onto the desk for dear life as he propped himself up and over the map.


    Looking at the parchment only cemented the tribal man''s worst fears. Fears that had wracked his mind just as his burns had wracked his body ever since he''d spotted that great red wall an ocean away.


    Joshua poured over the map, trying desperately to find anything he could recognize, anything that could explain what he was looking at, anything that made sense! And found less than nothing.


    Instead, all that met him was four large oceans, each named after the cardinal directions and dotted with more islands than Joshua could care to count. The only large landmass seemingly on the entire planet was a large belt of rocky land that seemingly split the world in two from heel to crown.


    Graham felt a shiver run down his spine as he realized this "Red Line" as the map called it and the gargantuan cliff he''d seen were most likely one in the same.


    By the grace of God, or perhaps his antithesis, he was no longer in his world.


    After nearly five minutes of staring holes into the parchment, and nearly leaving grip indents in the wood, Kurt awkwardly cleared his throat.


    "So, uh, find what you were looking for?"


    Joshua didn''t look back at him, continuing to stare deep into the faded beige of the old map. His hollow voice the only indication that he had heard anything at all.


    "In a way."


    Hearing the despair in his words, Kurt stepped closer to the former warlord. He nearly put a comforting hand on the other man''s shoulder, only to stop himself halfway through when he remembered the burns.


    "Look, I ain''t gonna pretend like I understand what you''re going through right now, ''cause being honest I ain''t got a clue. But whatever it is, it looks like it''s hittin'' ya pretty hard. Just know that if you need someone to talk to, someone to give you food and shelter, someone that''ll help however they can, ya only gotta ask."


    Joshua felt his eyes widen at the man''s naked kindness. Being with the legion for so long, he had almost forgotten that this level of compassion was even possible. But it also made him realize that despite how horrendously, hopelessly lost he may be both physically and spiritually, he didn''t have to stay that way.


    "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you."


    After the former legate blinked away the beginning of tears from the corners of his now misty eyes, his attention turned back to the map.


    "So, where are we exactly? On the map I mean."


    Kurt felt a small grin grow upon his mustached face.


    "Grand Line, friend. Most dangerous place in the whole world."


    A bitter chuckle wormed its way out of Joshua''s throat, bringing a dry cough up with it.


    "For some reason I find that hard to believe."


    It was Kurt''s turn to laugh now, as a much fuller chortle was belted out into the cozy cabin air.


    "Well, you ain''t entirely wrong! This here Island''s still in the first half of the Grand Line. Now I''ve met folk that''ve been to the second half, the "New World" as they call it. You know what they call this place?"


    Kurt didn''t wait for his guest''s response before his grin spread across the entire length of his face, like he was about to tell you the punchline of the funniest joke ever made.


    "Paradise."


    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">


    After being corralled back into bed by Kurt ("I don''t care how damn quickly you heal, you need your bedrest!") Joshua found little else to do other than watch the sun slowly disappear behind the Red Line or watch as Kurt tried to not make a fool of himself in the cabin''s cramped kitchen.


    "Alright..." The mustached man began as he wiped the remaining flour from his cheek.


    "Stew just needs to simmer, should be done in around an hour, I''m about to head out to check the traps and gather up some supplies. Feel free to help yourself if I ain''t back when its ready but don''t strain yourself, you hear meˇ­"


    A gob smacked look passed across Kurt''s face as he came to an important realization:


    "I haven''t even asked your name, have I?"


    A guilty look soon found its way on both men''s faces, and before Kurt could launch into a string of apologies for being an impolite host, Joshua spoke up.


    "It''s Graham, Joshua Graham."


    A small smile wormed its way onto Kurt''s face, and as he opened the cabin door to the towering woods above, he turned back towards his guest.


    "Well, Mr. Graham, I shall return."


    And with that, The Malpais Legate was alone once more.


    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">


    Kurt Ross was having one hell of a week. First, his homemade distillery had finally born fruit, and this batch managed to taste almost palatable!


    Then there was his new "guest".


    Honestly Kurt hadn''t really known what to do with him at first, other than just desperately trying to keep him alive anyway. But now that he was awake, he''d managed to have the longest conversation he''d had in years! It almost made him want to talk aboutˇ­


    ''Nah. Not yet at least. Feel like I just made a decent impression on the guy, no need to go and ruin it already.''


    After checking the sea traps for anything, (nothing but barnacles and trash) Kurt set off into the gargantuan forest on his usual rounds. Gathering various multicolored flowers, roots, and numerous other plants as he went for his homemade paints. He''d managed to gather an impressive array of pigments and dyes, and maybe it was from making it himself, but he honestly preferred his to the ones on the market.


    ''Who knows, maybe one day I''ll trade some of these with the pirates down at the loggin'' camp.''


    Kurt took pride in how self-sufficient he''d become over the years, but he''d be lying if he didn''t miss some of the creature comforts of life on the grid.


    He was suddenly ripped from his musings about candy and cigarettes as he crashed into a veritable wall of something firm andˇ­ soft?


    Now firmly back down to earth, Kurt got an eyeful of just what he''d faceplanted into and stopped dead in his tracks.


    There, laying before him, was the corpse of a giant golden-furred bull. It''s eyes staring headlong into nothing, while rivers of blood oozed and pooled from five small pinpricks on the beast''s stomach.


    Kurt wasn''t sure how long he stared at the beast''s cadaver. He must''ve spent minutes staring with disbelief into the animal''s dead eyes. But for all that time, there was only a single solitary thought bouncing around his skull, one he finally processed after another minute of disbelief: He knew who killed this bull.


    "Shit."

 Paradise Found: Part 3

    Paradise Found: Part 3


    The light pitter-patter of rain drummed a steady, comforting beat in the back of Graham''s mind as he sat at the table. With rustic bowl of surprisingly tasty stew was at his right, and a peculiar text recounting the history of a place called "South Blue" open to his left. As the storm intensified, Joshua spared a glance at the slowly building downpour.


    Having been born and raised in the harsh Utah badlands, seeing so much rain just fall and fall for what seemed like hours was spellbinding to the tribal man. Were it not for his burns, Joshua gladly would''ve stepped out into the storm and simply let it all run down him.


    Drawing his attention back to the pages of his novel, Graham spent the next hour or so taking in the rise of the Briss Kingdom and it''s noble yet bloody lineage. Curiously, Graham found that the book suddenly stopped after the titular St. Briss and his family relocated to this "Holy Land" of Marijoa, only to continue onwards exactly a century later as if nothing had changed.


    It gave him pause, but considering his world had its own "Dark Age" of history brought about via lack of reliable sources, he supposed it was far from the strangest thing he''d seen thus far. Still, the lack of a mention, or even mere speculation from historians on the goings on during this seemingly lost century puzzled the former Legate more than it probably should have.


    His musings were interrupted by the cabin door flying open, briefly letting in the cold whipping winds of the storm before a sopping wet Kurt slammed it shut once more.


    "Kizaru''s balls that storm hit fastˇ­" Kurt started after he caught his breath. Turning his attention towards his guest, he let out a chuckle. "Well, guess that''s Grand Line weather for ya, changes on a dime around here."


    Looking out the window once more, Joshua saw that the raging storm was already beginning to clear. With only a few scant clouds still pouring down a light drizzle that, combined with the newly free sun, formed a breathtaking rainbow.


    Seeing something Joshua previously had only seen in grimy pre-war pictures or described to him by better traveled caravanners, a phenomenon so rare as to be virtually extinct in the arid deserts of the American southwestˇ­


    He could only describe it as a miracle.


    Kurt continued as he made his way over to the cellar, hauling a sack of mysterious meat that Joshua assumed had come from the traps.


    "Got a decent haul today! Hope you like beef though, ''cause that''s probably all we''ll be eatin'' for the next week or so."


    "Why?"


    Kurt gave him a confused look.


    "Wellˇ­ I usually use the fresh stuff as fast as I can, and save the preserv-"


    The mustached man was cut off from his ramblings by the Legate''s hoarse voice.


    "Why did you help me? Why do you keep helping me? I could be dangerous; I could be a monster. What could I have done to deserve this kindness?"


    The food, the bandages, the rainbow, the fact that he was even alive and not just a smoldering smear at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, none of the small miracles that had kept him afloat thus far had felt deserved to the older man.


    Not a second went by that he didn''t ask why he''d landed in these strange alien lands, and why he wasn''t currently burning in hell for his uncountable sins.


    Hearing the immense regret and anguish in his guest''s voice gave Kurt a moment''s pause, before a sympathetic smile spread across his face. Pulling up a chair, he took a seat directly across from the burned man and started his story.


    "I always wanted to see the world. Unfortunately, dreams like that always need more money than they give. Money that my struggling parents didn''t have, and that my poor grades weren''t gonna earn."


    Kurt''s eyes fell slightly at the mention of his parents, but he managed to continue without missing a beat.


    "So, I did the only thing I reasonably could do without just givin'' up whole-cloth and settlin'' for the hand life''d delt me: Join the military, become a marine."


    Taking a deep breath, Kurt looked around at the various intricately painted landscapes that lined the walls of his small cozy cabin. Some were pleasant; a small coastal village dwarfed by the snow-topped mountains in the background, a quaint seafaring restaurant with a fish shaped figurehead.


    Some were breathtaking; giant mangroves dwarfing even the ruins of pre-war skyscrapers in their majesty, surrounded by dazzling bubbles that gleamed like liquid diamond. A ginormous fin breaching the ocean surface like a misplaced mountain peak, dwarfing even the mighty galleon that bobbed helplessly to its left.


    Some were horrifying.


    An incomplete, ocean-spanning bridge of unfathomable size built upon a foundation of human bones. A group of strange fish/human hybrids that amusingly reminded Joshua of Lakelurks. Far less amusing was the open-air slave market they clearly inhabited, with an entire crowd of people bidding and buying like kids in a candy store while the Fishfolk dejectedly sat; seemingly resigned to their chains.


    By far the most haunting painting was also the largest. Placed, in some sense of irony Joshua supposed, right above the fireplace was undoubtedly Kurt''s masterwork: An entire island ablaze. The smoldering ruins of a once vibrant community, and a large hollowed out tree collapsing in on itself leaving little more than a heap of ash-soaked bark were the only landmarks Joshua could make out through the inky blaze. All else seemed to already have been devoured by the insatiable inferno''s never-ending hunt for kindling. When he squinted, the Legate found that he could make out small silhouettes in the blaze, their writhing, blackened forms chilling Joshua to his very core.


    Inwardly he wondered if this was the fate God had placed upon Sodom and Gomorrah, or if the Good Lord had been more merciful than man that day.


    Kurt''s hollow voice snapped the holy man from his musings.


    "I always wanted to see the world, and I guess I saw it."


    His eyes stayed trained on that burning island longer than all the rest, but eventually he could no longer meet its gaze.


    "I want to say that''s all I did, sit back with my brush and watch as the world showed me it''s seedy underbelly, but being a soldier means that you have to get your hands dirty sometimesˇ­"


    Determined to stop beating around the bush, Kurt steeled himself for this next part and looked Graham dead in the eye.


    "My career could be best summed up as a two-decade long cruise around the seas, paid for in full by blood that wasn''t mine. I''ve done terrible things to good people, and not a day goes by that I don''t wish that I''d have just shut my damn mouth and stayed put at home with my family. But no matter how much I wish it didn''t happen, ignoring it won''t just make it all go away. The only thing to do now is to try and make it right, whenever and however I can."


    Despite the subject matter, the former Marine felt a smile creep up onto his face.


    "Sorry if I got long winded there, ain''t talked about this stuff inˇ­ A long time now. But hopefully that clears up any confusion."


    Outwardly, the only response the former marine received was a slow but unmistakable nod. While internally, the Legate had hung to the man''s every syllable. To hear that the man who had bandaged, fed, and housed him; the man who had shown him such kindness he hadn''t known since he was a boy shared a burden not too dissimilar to his own?


    It gave him hope.


    After fixing himself a bowl of the now thoroughly simmered soup, Kurt once more sat down at the table and, eager to chase away the wet chill the storm left him with, dug in with gusto while Joshua merely continued to pick at his own bowl.


    After a minute of comfortable silence, Joshua spoke up.


    "There is still one question I''ve yet to find an answer forˇ­"


    Kurt, mouth still filled with soup, only eyed him curiously before motioning for the bandaged man to continue.


    "I still could''ve been dangerous. You''ve seen my gun and my wounds, why take that sort of risk for a simple stranger?"


    Swallowing the savory liquid, Kurt stifled a chuckle.


    "No offense to you friend, but I am a veteran; I still know a thing or two about defending myself."


    Slightly embarrassed he''d overlooked that obvious detail; Kurt gave him a cheeky smirk before continuing.


    "Besides, even if you were this "dangerous, monstrous stranger" who could kill me in my sleep without even batting an eye, fact remains that you still needed help."


    The Marine''s mischievous visage shifted with his next thought, the humor in his eyes giving way to a more somber expression as he spoke his next words.


    "I try to give most folk the benefit of the doubt these days, no matter how shady or duplicitous they may appear. Figure if I try and look to the goodness, the inner humanity underneath the rough exterior, then maybe they''ll find it in them to do the same for me."


    Glancing at his guest, Kurt found him shooting the veteran an almost bewildered stare as if what he''d said had been utterly alien to the man''s ears. Stranger still was what came after, something Kurt''d never expected to see from his mysterious, ever-stoic patient:


    He laughed.


    It was a small laugh, barely more than a chuckle that was near immediately punctuated by a dry wheeze, but it nonetheless got the former marine to raise his eyebrows in surprise before joining in with a chortle of his own.


    "Yeah, I suppose it was a bit sillyˇ­"


    Joshua shook his head, his newly shining eyes conveying a smile hidden beneath layers of cloth and gauze.


    "No, it was wonderful."


    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">


    The forest stirred. Leaves and bushels rustling as a frantic set of limbs burst through them, the rest of the sweat soaked man swiftly following suit, sprinting forward as fast as they could. He didn''t need to look back, he could still hear its mighty footfalls rapidly gaining on him, feel the Beast''s hot breath on his back, but it didn''t matter.


    Just a little closerˇ­ Just a couple more seconds of this mad dash and he would-


    "Duck!"


    The panicked man barely had enough time to hear the word before what sounded like a door being slammed rang out, followed immediately by wet squelches and a loud thud from behind.


    Curiously, the man noticed above all else, he could no longer feel his once racing heart.


    Reaching to frantically pat the left side of his chest, it wasn''t until he felt nothing but open air before he chanced a look down.


    Where the left half of his ribcage should''ve been, was an impressively clean circle punching straight through his chest cavity. Were it not for the blood and viscera dripping from it one would''ve been able to see straight through him like a living window.


    "Huh, wonder where it wˇ­" was all the man got out before he collapsed in a heap, revealing the lifeless, schooner-sized lion behind him. A crossbow bolt the size of a javelin resting snugly between the beast''s newly empty eyes.


    From the small clearing just shy of the tree line, two figures observed their handy work. The smaller one, a man in a stained and disheveled tuxedo and an ill-fitting powdered wig, wrinkled his nose as the larger man went to inspect his kills.


    "Excellent shot my liege, but was it necessary for you to shoot the help as well? If I recall, that makes this our fifth self-inflicted casualty this week."


    The larger figure, a veritable giant of a man standing almost fifteen feet tall with limbs the size of tree trunks and clutching a crossbow taller than most men, simply shrugged.


    "Told ''em to duck, didn''t I? Not my fault the idiot had cotton in his ears."


    Clad in a specially made plaid button-up, with sturdy blue jeans and high leather boots one would almost think the outfit normal aside from its size. However, the long flowing cloak made from the furs and hides of God knows how many animals quickly dispelled all notions of normalcy, with the intricately carved wooden crown resting atop the giant''s dark, matted mop of hair only adding to its strangeness.


    The giant man didn''t even spare a glance for the smaller corpse, unceremoniously stepping over it; his eyes never leaving the true prize of the day.


    After yanking the bolt from the beast''s skull and inspecting it for damage, the crowned man wiped it of blood and bone fragments before dumping it back into the quiver.


    "Besidesˇ­"


    The giant started as his calloused hands tightly gripped the Lion''s stark-white mane. Then slowly, yet forcefully the panther''s head started turning, and turning, and turning until a sickening crack echoed all throughout the forest. But the giant didn''t stop. Not until several more cracks later when the beast''s head had done a complete three-sixty rotation right back to where it started.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Then with one last mighty yank the lions head was ripped clean from its shoulders, staining both the forest and the man with a small river of blood and viscera. If the giant cared he didn''t show it, as his main focus seemed to be marveling at his newest trophy before turning towards his servant; the beast''s newly severed skull held up right next to his own.


    "ˇ­When you''re stuck between beasts like these? Your fate was sealed as soon as you started running!"


    The cloaked man''s full-belly laughter rumbled throughout the forest, as the tux-wearing manservant simply covered his ears and grit his teeth.


    Yep, just another day in the Timber King''s paradise. Only, something wasn''t quite right.


    In all of Marcel''s eight years as an unwitting steward he''d never seen Jean-Paul lash out like this. Oh sure, he''d killed men for petty reasons often enough, he ran the place after all; who was gonna stop him? The World Government that had left the island to rot? The Four Emperors half a world away? They didn''t even have to worry about rival pirate crews, as they were so distracted by the allure of the One Piece that some nowhere log pose rest stop like Lost Ark wouldn''t even register to most.


    Suffice it to say the Timber Kings rein was absolute, but he''d always attempted at least a veneer of fairness no matter how thin. Now it seemed that all who came within eyeshot were fair game for his wrath. Were it not for Jean-Paul''s insistence that a proper king required a steward then Marcel would''ve jumped ship a week ago when his homicidal temper-tantrum began.


    Coincidentally, he noted, it had been a little over a week since Jean-Paul''s prized golden bull Babe (who so far had been the only animal The Timber King did not prey upon, people included) had seemingly vanished without a trace after a typical afternoon grazing.


    He had sent people into the Great Wood looking for the beast, but after a week of distracting himself through hunts and stewing in his directionless rage, The Timber King had become more than a little restless. Still, the giant found solace in the methodical skinning of his newest kill, a fine new addition to his Cloak of Conquests.


    As the monarch breathed in the satisfying metallic smell of a successful hunt, something else managed to worm its way through his nostrils; something that caused the giant to stop in his tracks.


    The smell of rotting, decaying flesh was in the air, and it was close.


    Marcel, seeing the king''s pause, cautiously waddled up to his side.


    "Sire? Is something-"


    "Hold this."


    Suddenly the sword-sized bowie knife the caped man had been butchering with descended upon Marcel like a guillotine as his liege stormed off deeper into the great wood. The smaller man would''ve been decapitated had he not lunged backwards; the pocket claymore instead bisecting the unfortunate corpse of their lion-bait; the poor man''s heart problems now the least of his worries.


    Sighing at his close shave, he pulled a cigarette from its crumpled package and took a drag before marching off to wherever the monarch had wandered.


    During Marcel''s 8-year tenure as a steward to the brute he had grown accustomed to the "occupational hazards" Jean-Paul seemed to draw towards him like flies to the largest pile of shit ever stacked.


    ''A bit too accustomed now that I think on itˇ­''


    The wigged man thought with resigned bitterness as he took another hit of his vice of choice. Briefly, he contemplated if his liege was in a homicidal enough mood that he''d kill the little man on the spot if he dared ask for a raise.


    Marcel was squarely shunted from that line of thought as he collided with a solid wall of denim, that on second look revealed itself to be nonother than the king himself. His gargantuan body stiff as the wood surrounding them, yet seemingly frozen in place as he looked upon the ground before him in abject shock. His king''s massive frame hiding whatever had disturbed him so from the steward''s prying eyes.


    "Sire? Is everythin-"


    "That son of a bitchˇ­"


    It was soft; so soft it barely carried down to the wig-wearing man''s ears, yet the devastation it held rang through clear as the afternoon sky. Marcel felt both his curiosity and dread reach their respective peaks as he carefully tip-toed around his master; moving slowly as to not draw attention to himself, lest his liege decided to vent these intense emotions on the closest body unfortunate enough to face his wrath.


    However, once he''d made his way past Jean-Paul''s tree trunk of a leg, the servant felt a chill run down his spine that left him just as stiff and frozen as his king.


    Splayed before the both of them, left to rot on the forest floor was the desecrated corpse of a massive golden bull, the splitting image of the Timber King''s prized Babe. His lustrous sun-kissed fur still shimmering in the rays of the setting sun despite the crimson that''d seeped down to the root.


    The cadaver looked to be a little over a week old and had already begun to show signs of advanced decomposition, but even still the signs of butchering and cleaning had not yet vanished. Coupled with the small yet clear gunshot wounds dotting the aurochs'' stomach and the picture suddenly became clear.


    This hadn''t been some accident or territorial dispute; this was a hunt, and in this neck of the woods there was only one suspect who''d fit the bill.


    "THAT SON OF A BITCH!"


    With a final roar of rage and sorrow, Jean-Paul turned his back on the body of his only friend and stormed off deeper into the Great Wood; not caring who or what he trampled underfoot in his maddened march towards revenge.


    Marcel took one last look at the cow''s corpse, crushed the butt of his cigarette under his heel, and started following the path of destruction left in his liege''s wake toward Kurt Ross'' cabin.


    Yep, just another day in the Timber King''s paradiseˇ­


    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">


    He was still getting used to wearing clothes. What had once been a mindless task, effortless even, was now proving to be a minor hurdle as the cloth and fabrics agitated his bandages and tugged at his wounded flesh in a myriad of uncomfortable ways. Still, as Joshua finished tying the knots on his leather boots and tugged at the collar of his white button up shirt, he found he could tune out the discomfort; send it to the back of his mind while focusing on the task at hand.


    Speaking of which, he turned his attention back to the almost overstuffed backpack before him; triple checking all its nooks and crannies to make sure he was properly prepared to depart.


    It had been a little under a week since Kurt had nursed the former preacher back to some semblance of health. He was still far from healed; his body creaked and ached from one end to the other, his right arm still unable to move with the swiftness it once had, and of course there was the feeling of burning that even still never quite went awayˇ­


    But still, it was time to move on. Kurt''s hospitality had been truly wonderful, which was all the more reason for him not to take advantage of it. Kurt was a self-sufficient man no doubt, but he also lived within his means; means that had doubtless been strained by the stresses and needs of a whole other person living alongside him.


    He suspected Kurt knew this as well, as upon informing the man of his planned departure he seemed saddened but didn''t attempt to sway his mind. In fact, he had seemed oddly eager and supportive of the bandaged man''s desire to get going. It puzzled Graham, as Kurt seemed like a fairly lonely man and had outwardly enjoyed the time that they''d spent together. His only worry had come from asking the former Legate what he planned to do next.


    Joshua had answered truthfully: He didn''t know.


    He was stuck in a world that wasn''t the one he had known, where everything from the continents, the civilizations, his entire faith and the very God he worshiped was a distant flame kept alive through his memories alone. Kurt''s limited library had given him glimpses, windows to the wider world beyond Lost Ark, but even still it was going to take a long time to learn the inner workings of this strange new reality. The only thing he did know was that whatever he ended up doing with his life after this, he''d make sure it made the world a better place. Kurt''s words that first night had been a lighthouse for his soul, as where hopelessness and self-loathing had previously reined, he now found in their place a strength and determination to make up for his many past misdeeds or die trying.


    "So, you''re about ready then?"


    Graham looked up from his preparations and saw his host standing beside him, his hands behind his back and his face decorated with a pained yet genuine smile.


    Graham nodded. "I can move well enough, and my wounds are no longer a life-threatening concern. All thanks to you of course."


    The marine let out a bashful chortle. "Please, all I did was remember what my drill sergeantˇ­ well drilled into me during basic. But ''fore you go, I got something for ya. Little parting gift I''ve been fixin'' up since you washed ashore here."


    Bringing his hands in front of him, Kurt revealed a battered Kevlar vest lined with pockets and sporting a familiar ''SLCPD'' spelled out on its shoulder in blocky white letters. Joshua took it in his hands and stared down at the vest in wonder.


    He was sure that Kurt''d thrown it out after peeling it off his charred, blackened body with the rest of his ruined uniform.


    "Was hell to clean, but it was in better condition than I expected. All it took was a little sewing and elbow grease on the straps and it was back in business."


    Joshua continued to stare for a moment, before bringing it to his chest like you would embrace a forgotten friend. The joy of not having to part with one of his only links back to his homeland momentarily overwhelming him. Eventually he spoke.


    "Thank you, you''ve given me back apart of myself I thought lost forever. I''ll never be able to repay that debt."


    He truly meant that, in more ways than the marine knew. But Kurt just waved it off as usual.


    "You can repay me by living your best life, and making sure others can do the same."


    Graham gave the man a nod before offering his arm for a farewell shake, which Kurt reluctantly took. Even though the contact caused a flare of pain for Graham, he still made it as firm as he could, as well as giving the veteran a small half hug with his other arm; burns be damned Joshua was determined to show as much gratitude as he could give to the man who''d practically saved his soul.


    Their brief goodbye was interrupted by a booming knock on the cabin''s sturdy door.


    Joshua glanced at it curiously. For all his weeklong stay in Kurt''s Cabin, he''d never once seen or even heard hide nor hair of anyone other than its two residents. His only evidence that Lost Ark even had other inhabitants was stories of a harbor on the island''s eastern coast.


    He looked to Kurt to try and clear up his confusion but found the man''s face contorted into an expression of shock, bordering on horror. His body tense and frozen like a hare in the sights of a predator, his eyes never leaving the door''s crude brass handle.


    Feeling his eyes narrow, Joshua untangled himself from the still scared stiff man''s embrace before methodically walking towards the door''s primitive peephole; his left hand unholstering his pistol as he drew ever closer. The knocks steadily getting louder and more impatient as he did so.


    Right as he was about to bring his eye toward the hole, Kurt snapped out of his shock. A desperate cry to halt coming out half a second too late as the loudest knock so far kicked the door off its hinges and slammed it into Joshua, sending the both of them careening back deeper into the cabin. Their flight was slowed by the dining room table, but only stopped by the halting force of the cabin''s sturdy brick wall.


    "KURTIS ROSS YOU BACKSTABBING SACK OF SHIT! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE BEFORE I TEAR THIS DOLLHOUSE DOWN BRICK BY FUCKING BRICK YOU HEAR ME! BRICK BY BRICK!"


    Said sack of shit gave Joshua a panicked glance, but seeing the former legate still breathing brought some form of relief. Shooting Graham an apologetic look; the former marine put a finger up to his lips and signaled for him to be quiet, to stay down and let him do the talking.


    With that done, Kurt steeled himself with a deep breath in and out before marching to meet the monarch outside his home.


    "Jean-Paul, to what do I owe the pleasure?"


    Kurt said with fake hospitality, sporting an even faker smile. One the king did not return, instead looking only like he wanted to rip out his spine and shove it so far down his throat his calves grew a backbone. Beside him was the steward, Marcel; looking at him with a mix of pity and annoyance at making him hoof it all the way to his shack in the middle of nowhere.


    "Don''t play stupid with me you rock-brained hick! You and I both know exactly what you did, we found the bodyˇ­ Or what was left of it."


    A guttural growl escaped the Timber King''s throat as he thrust a meaty finger into Kurt''s face.


    "ONE RULE! I let you live here, on MY land rent free and all I asked of you were whatever pelts you got from hunting, and a singular goddamned rule: DON''T! TOUCH! MY! FUCKING! BULL!"


    He punctuated each word on that last shouting spree with a jab of his mighty index finger into Kurt''s ribcage, each one carrying enough force to bruise but failing to get a reaction from the veteran. Kurt instead stood puzzled, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he seemingly searched his memory for whatever Jean-Paul had bothered him with this evening, his brow unfurrowing and his fingers snapping as he found what he''d mentally searched for.


    "Oh right, that. Well, not sure what to tell ya; times are tough, fish ain''t biting, sometimes ya gotta do whatever it takes to survive. You understand, I''m sure."


    He casually gestured to his cabin behind him.


    "I think there''s still some beef in the cellar, I could fetch it for ya. Y''know, if you''re lookin'' for a memento, or a meal I guess."


    Jean-Paul, for his part, was left sputtering with rage at the audacity of this imbecile to not only admit his guilt but in the same breath taunt him with the flesh of his only friend! He was simply stupefied by the brazenness of it, the gall! Even Marcel felt his cigarette fall from his lips at the death wish the man displayed.


    Chuckling at the two''s dumbfounded expression, Kurt reached for something in his back pocket as he spat out his next words.


    "Oh yeah, and just for the record; I always hated waking up everyday knowing you and I shared an island you opportunistic piece of cow shit."


    The gun was out before the giant had a chance to react. The small, almost derringer looking weapon staring Jean-Paul directly in the face. He barely had time to blink before the weapon went off, and for a brief moment the world went still.


    He didn''t get a chance to fire the second one.


    Just before Kurt could pull the trigger and double tap the giant with both of the gun''s barrels, a massive hand wrapped around his own and swiftly snapped his hand at the wrist; the gun dropping from his now limp fingers. A second hand gripped tightly around his windpipe, lifting him off his feet and bringing him eye level with the giant. His one saving grace being the front row seat he got to the king''s newly oozing puncture wound, the entrance hole burrowing through the bottom of his chin and the exit hole resting square on his cheek.


    ''Figuresˇ­'' Kurt thought to himself with a grim, choked chuckle. ''Always was a terrible shot.''


    <hr noshade="noshade" size="1">


    Joshua heard the gunshot outside and redoubled his efforts to unpin himself from the floor; the well-made door and ruined dining table doing an impressive job of holding the burned man down. Helped even less by his freshly reopened wounds that sent blood seeping through his bandages, further hindering his already hobbled movement.


    As he frantically limped his way to the door frame, he prayed he wasn''t too late. While he hadn''t heard everything, it wasn''t hard to piece together what had happened from what little he''d been able to catch beneath the rubble. Hearing whoever had been outside screaming their lungs out over a bull had been the one and only piece he''d needed to know that whatever was going on out there was his fault, and the gunshot had told him that Kurt wasn''t going to let him take the blame.


    As he got to the doorway and propped himself up on what was left of its frame, he saw what he''d feared most: The only friend he knew in this world, the one who saved both his body and soul, limply hanging from the arms of a beast. His neck twisted and crooked in a way necks were not supposed to bend.


    He didn''t know how long he stood there, staring at the swaying corpse of his companion, but he was jarred back to reality by that same corpse being thrown into the doorway, impacting him in the torso and sending him right back into the ruined living room.


    His own body thankfully shielded Kurt''s mangled body from the impact of landing. As Joshua slowly sat up from the heap he''d collapsed into, he cradled Kurt''s still warm body in his arms. He couldn''t tear his eyes from the visage of peace and contentment that rested on the dead man''s face. Throughout his short stay with the man, this was the only time he''d seen the man truly at peace; the only time his humor and optimistic nature hadn''t been twinged with guilt and sorrow.


    He wished more than anything he could''ve seen it while the man lived, just once.


    While the former legate mourned his fallen comrade, the timber king was nursing his wound while mourning a good time lost.


    "You know, after we found Babe''s body, I was almost looking forward to ripping the shmuck limb from limb while he watched; taking my time and really enjoying myselfˇ­ But now I just want to get the hell outta here and never think about today ever again.


    For once, Marcel found himself agreeing with his boss. Letting out a hum of approval as Jean-Paul gestured toward his overstuffed pack.


    "Booze, the flammable stuff."


    Marcel gave a small nod before handing the monarch an oversized bottle, which he quickly downed half of before spewing forth a veritable rainstorm down onto the cabin''s wooden roof. Not even a second later he was sent down onto one knee cradling his shot-to-hell jaw as searing pain coursed through both his entrance and exit wounds.


    "FUCK ME THAT BURNS!"


    The disheveled steward rolled his eyes at his liege''s idiocy, before he took out his box of matches and struck one; staring into the open flame before tossing it and setting the cabin ablaze. The pair sat there for a minute, watching the blaze, before Marcel awkwardly scratched at his chin.


    "Mayhaps we should go now sire? The sun is starting to set after allˇ­"


    The Timber King kept his gaze on the flames as they made their way down and began consuming the rest of the home, before giving a reluctant nod.


    After the two had left the cabin far behind, Jean-Paul turned to look one last time and his eyes widened as he caught someone staring back at him.


    There, silhouetted against the now roaring inferno at his back, was a near mummified man in a bulletproof vest. The limp body of the latest thorn in the king''s side cradled in his arms. Even from this far he could make out the sharp piercing blue of the figure''s eyes staring deep into his very soul.


    They stared, and they hated what they saw; Jean-Paul could feel it down to his marrow that whatever he was locking eyes with wouldn''t rest until he joined the body in his arms.


    Even after Marcel had tugged at his sleeve and torn his view from the blaze to the path ahead, the piercing blue eyes never left his mind''s eye.

 Paradise Found: Part 4

    The Timber King sat dejectedly upon his carved throne. The tree-shaped chair''s intricate murals and majestic heaven-piercing branches going unappreciated by it''s occupant.


    "Just a few minutes more sire, then we can put this whole business behind us for good."


    Jean-Paul let out an muffled grunt of annoyance as his steward continued wrapping his liege''s jaw in a veritable spiderweb of bandages and gauze. After suffering a few more minutes of this painful embarrassment, Marcel finally relented.


    "There, that should suffice for tonight. I''ve already adjusted tomorrows schedule to include a trip to the healer''s, they''ll see to your wounds better than I ever could."


    The steward delivered the news to his master in an unusually chipper tone, no doubt caused by the little man finally living out his dream of sewing the boorish king''s mouth shut, while said boor could only glare and mumble out his orders.


    "If you''re done over there, then leave. I need rest, and your useless gum-flapping is getting in the way."


    Was what Jean-Paul meant to say. What actually came out was a slurred assortment of muffled ramblings, but enough of the message slipped through the thick layers of cloth for the steward to get the hint. With a stiff, mandatory bow the servant took his leave, and the Timber King was left in apparent lonesome.


    Finally feeling the bliss of rest overtake him, the monarch relaxed back into his throne and allowed his eyes to seal themselves shut. He stayed like this for a few minutes, letting the trials and tribulations of the day slip away as he focused on the hums and buzzes of the distant forest nightlife.


    His mind was stirred by the curious noise of one of his plum colored curtains ruffling in the wind, and the soft yet rapid clicking and clacking of a pair of boots meeting stone.


    His eyes bolted awake in realization, but it was already too late. By the time they had shunted themselves open, he could already feel the heel of a boot digging deep into his throat; extinguishing his already muffled cry before it even made it to his lips. There, standing atop his slumped body like a giant-slayer from an old fairy tale: was the Burned Man from the cabin. Kurt Ross'' discarded Derringer staring him right in the face, more than ready to finish the job.


    Time moved agonizingly slowly as he saw the man''s blackened fingertip slowly squeeze the trigger; his clear blue eyes held a passionless fury to them, the same look a shepherd would give a wolf before it was put down for the safety of the herd. The king attempted to scream, if not for help than to at least alert his guards so that they may avenge their sovereign, but the sound of gunfire drowned out his guttural cry.


    For the second time Jean-Paul''s eyes shot open, his bellows of shock and fear finally escaping his newly freed throat. Within a minute his steward and a small handful of Kingsguard burst through the door, the wig-less steward still rubbing the sleep from his overworked eyes.


    "You called for us, sire? Is something the matter?" The servant droned out with poorly disguised disinterest.


    The King either didn''t notice or didn''t care, as he was still stiff in his chair clutching his still racing heart; his mind''s eye still locked onto the Burned Man''s passionless gaze. The whole encounter had been a dream, no, a nightmare! And yet he knew it held the potential to be so much more.


    He attempted to speak, and found his mouth still buried beneath layers of bandages. What had previously been a mere annoyance now served only to remind him of the avenging angel who''d invaded his place of rest.


    Ripping the infernal wrappings and clearing his throat, the King gave his decree:


    "I want you to break down the door of every printer on this Island and tell them to fire up the presses immediately. I don''t care if they''re sleeping, drinking, fucking, doesn''t matter. Tell them they have twelve, no... FOUR hours to print as many wanted posters as humanly possible or their asses are getting thrown into the Lion''s Den."


    As the Kingsguard gave an unflinching chorus of "Yessirs!" and marched out of the room to their strange new assignment, Marcel could only give a baffled look as his tiredness was near-instantly replaced with confusion.


    ""Wanted Posters?" I''m sorry sire, but who exactly are we hunting this time? All your enemies are dead and buried as far as I''m aware."


    The manservant gave a wary look at his liege, hoping for his own sake that he hadn''t gone mad with paranoia and begun to purge those closest to him.


    Jean-Paul glared at the smaller man his mouth slightly agape at his servant''s question.


    "You mean you didn''t see him? Are you blind?"


    This only raised Marcel''s confusion and annoyance.


    "See who, sire? You''re going to have to be specific, we''re very busy men. I can''t be expected to remember every meeting an-"


    As Marcel continued on in his monotonous droning, Jean-Paul felt a rumbling growl build in his core, before it burst out of his mouth cutting the manservant off mid-sentence.


    "At the cabin you numskull! Don''t tell me you didn''t see him! He was wrapped in bandages like a damn mummy! His skin was so charred I could still almost catch the scent of cooking, sizzling meat; and his eyes... Gods, so piercing I could nearly feel their indents'' pressing down on my skull, and held within was a killing intent I''d only ever seen looking back in a mirror... even now I can-"


    The King cut himself off as he saw Marcel''s eyes widen in revelation. In that moment, the Steward realized that for the first time in his eight years of unwilling service that Jean-Paul was genuinely, deathly afraid.


    ''Either he''s finally lost it all, or this Burned Man might actually exist...''


    Thinking it over, the steward found he couldn''t quite figure out which one he''d prefer to be wrong about.


    After a moment, the Timber King regained his composure and did his best to fall back onto his Royal duties.


    "That enough description for ya? Then get outta my sight... and make sure the printers hear it as well before the posters are finalized, I want everyone to know what they''re looking for before sunrise. Got it?"


    Marcel gave a swift nod before turning on his heels and hurrying out of the chamber, not wanting to displease the already unstable monarch.


    As the steward closed the door behind him, Jean-Paul felt himself deflate slightly as he turned towards the nearest window, his tired brain racing with questions and worries while he waited for the sun to poke it''s head above the watery horizon. Who exactly was this man? Where did he come from? Was he hallucinating? Was he even flesh and blood? Or could this be the ghost of Kurtis Ross leaping from the grave to drag the giant down with him?


    He let a yawn escape as he pondered the dilemma, his mind still not quite ready to attempt sleep. For fear of the Burned Man invading his respite once more.


    <hr>


    Digging was hard work.


    Joshua was no stranger to manual labor, both before and after he began his time in the Legion. But as the years passed and his armies grew, his status rose with them and the labor was mostly given over to a mix of recruits and slaves. He shuddered as he remembered the mass graves the overworked and underfed slaves would dig, and were then subsequently thrown into once their bodies became too broken to be of any more use.


    Shaking off the regretful memories, he focused back onto the task at hand as the soot-covered shovel pierced the hard ground once more before throwing the lump of dirt over his shoulder. He repeated this action over, and over, and over again until he stopped to catch his breath.


    His body creaked and groaned from the strain as he leaned against a massive oak, yet he couldn''t pinpoint if it was due to his injuries, or if this was simply a consequence of living to middle age. No doubt a feat most wastelanders could only dream of. Finding a small rip in his self-applied stitches and a loud pop once he rolled his shoulder; he could only assume a mixture of both.


    Still, the end was in sight; only a couple feet left to go and he wasn''t entertaining giving up now even if the strain left him blistered and arthritic from head to toe.


    ''I at least owe him that much...''


    Half an hour later Joshua lowered the tarp-swaddled corpse of Kurtis Ross, grabbed the charred spade, and began the process once more. It was sunset by the time he''d pounded the makeshift cross into the fresh grave that now lay before him.


    Heaving from the effort, Joshua dropped to his knees. Catching his breath before bringing his twitching blistered palms together and saying a silent prayer for his friend''s soul.


    ''For all the good that''ll do...''


    The old man thought bitterly, for all he knew this world didn''t even have a heaven. Though he knew for certain that it had to have a hell, after all, where else was the Giant-King''s soul supposed to slumber once Joshua was through with him? But that was for tomorrow, for today Joshua was content with staying right here until the setting sun had once more been swallowed by the western sea.


    Uncorking an ash-covered bottle, Graham brought it''s lip to his own and took a swift swig of the foul liquid inside. It tasted horrible, as all moonshine did, but it didn''t feel right to just throw it out. Kurt''d offered him some on the last night before his departure, a sort of "Going away present" as the veteran had put it. When Joshua clarified to him that neither chems nor alcohol had ever affected him, the Marine mistook it for bluffing and bluster and declared he''d drink the missionary under the table before midnight.


    Joshua had to admit, it had been very amusing watching the soldier''s confidence slowly slip into drunken disbelief as the hours went by and the Burned Man remained stone-cold sober. He chuckled to nobody at the memory of Kurtis Ross taking off like a space rocket and denting his ceiling as Graham downed his 49th consecutive shot.


    But as that night had passed, so too did this one, and soon Graham was trudging back to the ruins of that once dented cabin under the light of the waning moon, the now empty bottle sitting comfortably on fresh dirt, next to a somber cross.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Kicking aside any loose rubble Joshua wretched open the creaky, soot-stained cellar doors. Having been the only piece of the cabin not consumed by the inferno, he''d spent part of last night turning it into his own personal war-room, as well as taking stock of the various pickled vegetables, dried meats, and homemade jams Kurt must''ve stocked up over the years. If he wanted he could live down here comfortably (well, wasteland comfortable anyway) for weeks, maybe even months.


    But he wouldn''t do that, couldn''t really. He hadn''t even allowed himself the pleasure of sleep, there was work to be done after all. And so that same night, after stashing both Kurt''s body and his singed travel-pack down in the cellar away from both the flames and the wildlife, Joshua had taken off into the shadowy grove in the direction he''d last seen the Goliath wandering. As the flames grew dimmer and dimmer, and his eyes slowly adjusted to the newly darkened forest, Joshua felt a twinge of fear that the Monarch''s trail had grown cold before the flames had even been snuffed. A fear that was quickly assuaged when he practically stumbled into the man''s ankle-deep boot-print.


    Despite himself the former Legate felt a small, hidden smile press itself against his bandages, and he soon fell back onto one of the oldest tactics in the legion''s depraved yet varied arsenal: He would let his prey lead him straight to their nest, whereupon he would metaphorically (and literally on some nights) slit their throats as they slept.


    As he walked, a small part of him felt pangs of guilt at his readiness to fall back to his old ways. While a larger part of him knew that he was simply the utilizing the right tool for the job, the tactic no more guilty of his past sins than the pistol he still kept holstered at his side, and by far the largest part was simply too full of rage and sorrow to care.


    After following the obvious trail for what must''ve been an hour, Joshua finally came upon a break in the nonstop growth of the mighty wood, and found himself looking out the edge of the treeline overlooking the ramshackle harbor below. Said harbor was surrounded on nearly all sides by a great clearing of trees, providing the most open space he''d seen since his arrival to these strange and terribly wondrous lands. In fact, the only plant life besides the shrubbery were the gargantuan stumps that went on for miles in all directions; almost giving the eerie appearance of an arboreal graveyard.


    Shifting back to the task at hand: Joshua began to make a mental map of the harbor''s buildings, it''s streets, ships in the bay, gates and other various entryways. Even watching for patrols and other common foot-traffic just to gauge likely escape routes and low profile areas in case he was caught on his nightly errands; and of course he couldn''t forget that towering mockery of a castle. He watched for hours, shifting up and down the treeline as need be, and even using the stumps as cover to get a closer look, but always being careful never to expose himself for long. He knew he''d locked eyes with the King as he sauntered away from his crimes, but he wasn''t sure if he''d be seen as a threat just yet, and his cautious side wasn''t eager to find out.


    ''Tomorrow.''


    He decided after the sun had well and truly risen. Committing all he could to memory, Joshua began trudging his way back to the now smoldering embers of Kurt''s Cabin.


    He still had a grave to dig, after all.


    <hr>


    And so tomorrow came and went, and as night descended upon the raggedy Stolen Log Harbor once more, two of it''s humble gate guards got ready to face off their mortal foe once more: Boredom.


    The younger one, a man with sandy blond hair and a crossbow, began to take potshots at the birds, bats, or anything else that didn''t walk on two legs that came into view. Hell, even the bugs were fair game depending on how monstrously huge they were.


    ''Especially the bugs...''


    The thug shivered at the memory of the shit he''d seen buzzing in the night on some of his other graveyard shifts; so he kept his weapon drawn, and his eyes scanning.


    He really wished guards were still issued guns, noise complaints be damned! They hadn''t seen the monsters that crawled out from the Deepwood once nightfall came...


    While the older one, a bald man with leathery skin and the ghost of a mustache eyed the two wanted posters in front of him. Squinting as he brought the left one closer to his face, before repeating with the right.


    "Hey, I think Marc fucked up the one on the right. See! Don''t this eye look a little droopier than the other one? Useless bastard..."


    Blondie grunted, but didn''t respond until he fired the taut crossbow''s wooden bolt into the darkness as a bat the size of a small child swooped for some invisible prey; clicking his tongue as his shot went wide.


    "Eh, Marc always fucks up the eyes a little, it''s his signature or whatever. Besides, cut the dude some slack. I doubt you''d have done half as good a job if you were ripped from your warm, soft bed and had to print a couple hundred posters in your boxers just because your boss started seeing ghosts."


    Baldy let out a snort as he looked back at the beige and black headache in his hands. Giving it another read, he found it odd that the rather generous reward was so prominent, while what this guy actually did was nowhere to be seen.


    Not like he really cared mind you, he just found it odd that their notoriously stingy ruler would be so generous while also keeping his cards this close to his chest.


    "So, you don''t think he''s real?"


    The older man responded after a pregnant pause. While Blondie continued squinting into the darkness. Catching a glimpse of swooping feathers and yellow eyes.


    "No idea, but honestly I''m kinda hopin'' this dude turns up. Would be a nice break from playing exterminator for another shitty shift, wouldn''t mind pocketing that reward either..."


    Another glimpse passed, and Blondie let his weapon loose once more. A distant screech told him he''d hit his mark this time as the man-sized owl cratered towards the ground, and he whooped as he ran out into the Stumps to confirm his kill.


    Baldy clicked his tongue at the younger man, tired of reminding him that they were to stay at their posts at all times before sighing and rehearsing a reprimand that would undoubtedly be ignored.


    After a long minute, the older man''s eyebrow began to furrow. After two, he was in the beginnings of a scowl.


    ''Strange, kid''s usually back bragging up a storm by now...''


    His thoughts meandered as his feet edged him closer and closer to the darkness of the stump-line.


    "Hey kid! You get lost out there? Don''t tell me you got your ass kicked by a-"


    Was all he got out before a wooden bolt shot from the darkness and lodged itself deep into his throat. As he clawed and pulled at the stake lodged in his jugular, he barely noticed the mummified man stroll causally past him as he began choking on his own blood.


    Pulling out his hand-drawn map as if it were a shopping list, Joshua hummed to himself as he got his bearings; easily tuning out the gurgling guard as he collapsed into a pool of his own life essence.


    ''Where to next...'' He pondered. ''If this is Guard Post Gamma, then the weapons depot should be...''


    While his mind mapped out a mental route, his eyes trailed down to the discharged crossbow still gripped in his right hand. He thought about bringing it with him, but the pros of a silent weapon were literally outweighed by the already heavy pack on his back. Letting the weapon fall from his hands, the Burned Man saw something at his feet that gave him pause.


    Picking it up he found it was a wanted poster for him, a sight he was more than used to, under the name of "The Burned Man".


    ''So, he already knows I''m coming?'' Joshua mused as he cast his eyes to the looming Timber Castle on the horizon.


    ''Good.''


    <hr>


    His first stop was the main weapons warehouse, easy enough to spot as it was one of the largest buildings still standing in the harbor. In fact, many of the wooden buildings looked dilapidated or run down to Joshua; literally speaking for many of them, as he could still make out the hoof, claw, and bite marks that still lined many of the settlement''s walls. Some were even quite recent! It was as if the forest had never stopped it''s siege.


    Infiltrating had been even easier than spotting it, as was dispatching the lone guard. No, the hardest part came after. Gathering every scrap of explosives and gunpowder he could scrounge up, he was left with a comically large pile of black dust staring at him expectantly as his fingers wrapped themselves around the handle of a lit oil lamp.


    All he had to do was let go, to throw it upon the pile and walk away. His distraction would be complete and his hazy, cobbled together scheme would continue unabated.


    But that would mean a fire.


    Despite himself, memories of The Fall played in front of his eyes; intermingled with images of Kurt''s crooked spine, and the blaze that had consumed his home.


    The sound of glass shattering and metal crashing was what snapped Joshua awake from his waking nightmare, but what got him moving was the heat radiating from the roaring, sputtering pillar of flame that appeared before him. Fear gripped Graham''s heart as he turned on his heels and bolted for the door as fast as his injured body would allow; desperate to escape the demonic flame and the pain it promised. As he gripped his knees, puffing and heaving from a mixture of fatigue and internal panic, Joshua managed a sigh.


    It wasn''t quite as clean as he''d hoped, but the job was done. As he watched his handiwork rise and spread beyond the warehouse, and heard calls for buckets of water and sand, he quickly disappeared deeper into the settlement.


    The night was still young, after all.


    <hr>


    "A fire? What the hell are you yappin'' about?"


    The mustachioed manager of The Lion''s Den questioned.


    "The fuck do you think it means Egghead!? Now are you gonna send some of your boys to help fight it, or do you feel like sleeping on an ash pile tonight?" The sooty, ticked off teenager in front of him fired back.


    Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the manager got the memo as he poked his head outside the bar/zoo hybrid and saw that even though night had fallen hours ago, it wasn''t quite as dark as it should''ve been.


    Sighing at the long night ahead, the manager turned to the small crowd behind him and laid out the plan:


    "Alright boys, looks like some idiot threw a cigarette butt somewhere he shouldn''t have and the rest of us are paying for it. Now all of you, come with me and don''t forget to grab a bucket on your way out."


    As the staff moaned, groaned, and shuffled their way out into the flames the manager pointed towards a face in the crowd.


    "Lenny! You stay here, somebody needs to watch the animals and make sure nobody raids the bar while we''re dealin'' with this shit."


    Lenny gave his boss a mock salute as he tried to ignore his coworkers jealous eyes burning holes into the back of his head.


    "Aye aye skipper, don''t gotta tell me twice!"


    As the rest the crowd continued to grumble and trudge their way to towards the flames, the young man took a second to sit behind the bar and relax; thankful that he''d been lucky enough to stay behind.


    But after a few minutes of silence, relaxing got boring. And with nobody around to play cards with, Lenny defaulted to his second favorite way to pass the time:


    Fucking around with the animals.


    Every night shift he worked, he and a couple other of the boys would find some new, creative ways to mess with the admittedly impressive menagerie of beasts. Be it spiking their food with laxatives, dumping ice cold water onto them while they slept, or even just dangling some food in front of their cage just outside the limits of their sturdy steel cells


    It was technically against the rules, but who really cared? They weren''t even the only ones, most of the customers pulled stunts like this all the time; hell, it was one of the main reasons people even bothered coming to this dump!


    So, after helping himself to a bottle of beer from the cooler, and making his way over to the newly installed ocelot enclosure, he quickly chugged it before lazily hawking it at the napping feline.


    However despite both it''s size and resting state, the horse-sized cat quickly snapped awake and swiftly dodged the projectile as it whiffed and shattered against the hard dirt floor.


    "Hey! Nice reflexes there kitty, guess they ain''t called "cat like" for nothin''. Now all you have to do is avoid the broken glass."


    The ocelot gave it''s captor a glare and a snarl, before a wrong step caused it to cry out in pain.


    "Oops! Too late! Man, glass splinters are a pain in the ass even with thumbs and tweezers, wonder how those oven mitts of yours are gonna fare..."


    The thug continued to chuckle to himself as he watched the cat squirm, but the sound of a gunshot from the building''s skylight made him turn on his heels and forget the entertainment in front of him.


    Up there, he could see a figure cloaked in bandages, but the spiderweb of cracks from the visible bullet hole piercing the roof''s window made it hard to discern details. For a moment the two stared at one another, before another gunshot went off and Lenny dove for the cover of a barstool. Then another, then another...


    Six in total rang out before the fire stopped, and to Lenny''s surprise and relief, they didn''t seem to be aimed at him.


    No, strangely enough they seemed to be hitting the animal cages instead... But even that wasn''t quite right.


    ''Weird, it''s almost like he''s aiming for-''


    The creaking of steel hinges interrupted his thoughts, but the low guttural growling behind him was all he needed to confirm his bone chilling suspicion.


    "The locks..." was all he could mumble out before the panther behind him pounced, swallowing his head in one bite and mercilessly clawing his corpse to shreds.


    The rest of the animals soon followed the cat''s example, as they all began trashing their previous prison. Some began to fight amongst one another, but most began streaming out into the city from the massive bison-shaped hole one of their comrades had created, eager to continue their rampage and earn the freedom they had been deprived of for so long.


    Joshua could only look on in muted satisfaction. His second distraction had gone off without a hitch, and with so much chaos in the port, the Timber King''s forces would no doubt have their hands tied; leaving their liege open and vulnerable.


    All that was left was to finish what he''d started, and put Kurt''s soul to rest.