Much like how Shooter's Draw was buried by the sands, were things uncovered by them as well.
A small time gang passing through the desert found the sands uncovering a fort from some long forgotten and fallen empire. They rebuilt the fort and constructed a small town surrounding it.
They went on and became famous for their evil deeds, robbing and killing as they liked. As they grew in fame and dishonor so did Shooter's Draw itself grow in infamy. The actions of the gang echoed around the world, always ending with them returning to their home hidden in the sands. For years no lawman or bounty hunter could find the town or any trace of it.
On one of the scores, an outlaw was gravely wounded. She had been carrying a child at the time and begged her friends to take care of it. The gang was able to bring her back to Shooter's Draw before she passed and with no one claiming fatherhood, her son was raised by the leader of the gang, Morgan Brooks.
Morgan named the boy Tombstone, a name fitting for a boy born in the most wicked town on the planet. He raised Tombstone as he had been raised, with good morals and values instilled into the young boy. Morgan often told Tombstone to become a lawman, and to rid the world of its evils. The young boy dreamed of being an outlaw like those around him, he could not understand why his heroes despised themselves so much. The young boy often got into much trouble in the town, raiding the saloon and hiding the alcohol, stealing guns, and anything else he could mess up to get attention from the outlaws. He wanted them to think he was bad like them, or how he thought they were bad. It wasn't until Tombstone was seven years old that he learned the true nature of the men and women who called themselves outlaws.
Tombstone had woken up that day in a bad mood, Morgan had left without saying a word. This was the usual, every day began with a game of hide and seek, only Morgan wasn't hiding. He was making sure Tombstone could survive on his own, waking up alone to have to find food and water before anything else built character in the old man's mind. Morgan was at the saloon as usual at this time in the morning, the sun barely a quarter of the way through the sky on its daily journey. The old man had short white hair, with every trim it became whiter. His well trimmed beard was a brilliant silver, glimmering in the sunlight. His eyes sat deep in his socket, almost being held up by the layers of bags beneath them. His soft blue eyes never dwindled, constantly darting back and forth around him not fitting of the cold hearted monster the papers made him out to be. In his hand he spun a half filled glass of whiskey, every so many rotations bringing the glass to his mouth and soaking his mustache as he attempted to swallow every drop as it flowed out of the glass.
He sat at the bar in an empty saloon. The town itself was quiet, it was long past its heyday. In the few years leading up to this day, many of the outlaws who had called Shooter's Draw home had been killed. They were being hunted down. Every time some of them left for a job, fewer returned. Some returned only to say goodbye before leaving to avoid leading the lawmen to Shooter's Draw. Eventually no one was left other than Morgan and Tombstone to leave, they all had just never returned. Morgan often hoped his former friends were just holed up or even in jail somewhere. As the months passed, he would find himself slipping into thoughts of his own death. He knew death awaited him, like it did for each and every one of his friends. They had committed sins upon sins, something the world would never let them live for. If Morgan's corpse was shown publicly in the capital, that would still not be enough. No trial or judicial punishment, even death, could atone them for their sins. Morgan had hoped he and his friends could have died quietly in Shooter's Draw. He drank away these thoughts, grabbing the bottle of whiskey off the bar and filling his glass halfway once again before continuing on his thoughts.
Tombstone meanwhile across the small town, was fixing himself an oatmeal breakfast. He had gone out behind the small hut of a house and into the wellhouse where he pumped himself a small bowl of water. The boy lit a match and with a small log he lit the stove inside where he boiled the water and added his oatmeal. As the boy ate his meal, he noticed Morgan's room was opened. Without hesitation, he darted into the room. He had never once been in the room of the man who was raising him. Morgan was never a father to Tombstone, he made it clear that he wasn't. In the seven years he had been alive, he had never once received a shred of love from the person he spent the most time with. This all raced through the young boy's head as he looked around Morgan's room. His anger fueling his mind.
He looked around in the foreign room. It was very cramped, there was a little ray of light shining in through a small window by the bed. Around the bed was a little nightstand, and a small wardrobe with a vanity mirror on top of it. A small ashtray sat on the window sill filled with the butts of cigarettes.
On the nightstand next to the bed was a lone newspaper clipping. Tombstone held it up, he could not read what the words said but he could see the picture in it was of Morgan. Morgan was younger, his dark hair peaked out beneath the hat he wore. He sat with a group of men around a corpse of a man. They held the corpse like a trophy, holding the man by his long hair. The dead man had black hair and dark. Tombstone had never seen a person with those features. He stared at the man in the picture for some time before he took in the rest of the picture. The group of men with Morgan consisted of the outlaws that had lived in Shooter's Draw. Tombstone could barely recognize some of them they were so young. Out of all the men pictured, only one stood out to Tombstone. The youngest looking man, who had an eyepatch over his left eye. On the young man's body were six holsters, each holding a pistol. He was covered in bandoliers, which many of the holsters hung from. Tombstone was enamored by the man, more so than the dark haired man. He knew he would have to ask Morgan about the man with the eyepatch.
As Tombstone left the room with the newspaper clipping, he noticed Morgan's revolver lying on his bed. The young boy froze as he stared at the gun. He had managed to steal guns before, but they were always unloaded or old. Tombstone knew Morgan always had his revolver loaded, he had taught Tombstone to do the very thing. He approached the bed, with every step he moved slower. As he grew close, his left hand began to reach out to the gun. Tombstone could not stop himself, and as he picked up the gun, the weight answered the only question in his mind. Still the young boy had been taught to check the cylinder for ammo. All six chambers contained a large bullet about the width of the young boys thumb. He quickly raced to his room and hid the gun underneath the cot he slept on making sure to bundle his pillow and blanket on top of it. He stood back and stared at the lump of wool on his cot. He slowly exited his room and closed his door behind him.
The young boy walked across the desolate town. He could remember days when the town was filled with life though as his memories really began to form, the town slowly emptied itself of anyone besides Tombstone and Morgan. Tombstone knew what Morgan thought happened to the rest of the outlaws, but he believed they were free somewhere in a place much like Shooter's Draw. He often asked Morgan to leave Shooter's Draw, but the old man always declined telling Tombstone he was ready to leave whenever he felt he wanted to do so. As much as Tombstone acted like he hated Morgan, he could never leave Shooter's Draw without him. He could not bear to leave Morgan and if Morgan would not leave Shooter's Draw, Tombstone would not either.
He made his way to the makeshift saloon at the end of town, staring at the picture on the newspaper clipping as he did. He entered the saloon yelling for Morgan,
"MOORGANN!" he excitedly yelled as he swung the doors to the saloon open.
"What is it now boy?" the old man hoarsely replied as he finished his glass of whiskey.
"This picture of you and everyone else, what was it for?" the young boy asked as he sat on the barstool next to Morgan. He held out the newspaper clipping to Morgan. Morgan turned and stared at the picture.
"Don't know it's not me" he said as he turned back to the bar and began filling his glass once more.
"Yes it is,!" Tombstone said adamantly.
"How do you figure?" Morgan replied quickly.
"I took it from your nightstand!" Tombstone yelled back at the old man. Morgan turned to look at the boy and smiled.
"Don't go in my room again boy," Morgan said as he turned back to the bar and took a swig from his glass.
"Come on just tell me, please, please, please" the young boy pleaded as he pulled on Morgan's arm. Morgan took a swig of his whiskey and cleared his throat.
"The men in that picture were a group of famous lawmen, that picture was taken when they killed the Calamity that plagued Estria," Morgan said, he took a swig of his whiskey before continuing,
"I don't even know who I was back then, before Calamity everything was so black and white. After that day, the lines to everything blurred. Outlaw, Lawman, Good, Bad, Free, Slave, it's all just placeholders until you die, only then are you really something." he finished and took another drink this time from his newly poured glass.
"Well, what are you then?" Tombstone asked anxiously. He sat at the edge of the stool as he waited for Morgan to finish pouring himself another glass. After doing so the old man leaned back in his seat.
"You're dead! Ah aha ha-ha," he laughed as he leaned back to the bar before he turned to the young boy.
"Tombstone this world is filled with tons of people who want the world to be seen in black and white, you have to look beyond those lines if you ever want to cleanse this world," he turned back to bar and raised his glass to his mouth before going on.
"Maybe if we had been able to see past them it wouldn't rely on you." He said softly as he took a swig from his glass.
"Who said I want to clean anything!?" the young boy spat back before jumping off the stool and running towards the doors. Tears began to form in his eyes, whenever he wanted to get closer to Morgan the old man always pushed him away and told him about some duty Tombstone had to fulfill. Tombstone wanted nothing more than to live how he wanted to, where he wanted to, and do what he wanted to. He wanted to be an outlaw and there was nothing the old man could say that would sway him. As he swung open the doors, the doors swung back and smacked the young boy in the face, knocking him to the ground on his rump.
Tombstone crawled backwards away from the door as a young man entered. The young man had wild blonde hair that covered his ears, with streaks of black in it. He wore a black leather jacket over a white vest with a bandolier slung around him over the vest. His blue jeans were worn and littered with grime and mud. His spurs jingled with each step like a set of keys as he walked into the bar. Judas O'Day, a man hated by Fate but loved by Luck.
Judas became an outlaw after killing his father. His father was a drunk, a violent one too. Judas' mother left when he was young, she couldn't deal with his father anymore. That made the drinking worse. One night after he began beating Judas in a drunken rage, the young boy managed to get ahold of his father's six shooter. He shot every bullet in the house into his father that night. He's been on the run since that night, eventually falling in love with the lifestyle he found himself in. He jumped from gang to gang as he attempted to make a name for himself. Every gang he joined was soon dismantled or broke up not long after he joined, but Judas always made off with the king's share of the wealth the gangs had acquired.
A few days before he arrived in Shooter's Draw he had an unlucky encounter with a lawman, an encounter that would eventually land Judas' name in the history books. But at this moment, the events of that encounter did not matter to Judas or anyone else in the world. In this moment Judas saw himself achieving fame like no other, the most wanted man in the world was sitting in front of him alone at an empty saloon.
"Morgan Brooks, you know the whole world is looking for you don't you?" he asked as he sidestepped past Tombstone and continued towards Morgan. He looked around at the small saloon.
"So this is the famous Shooter's Draw saloon," he said as he walked closer to Morgan.
"There's gotta be at least a hundred famous outlaw stories that start in this exact saloon," he continued.
"Kickin Willy, The Van Auger Twins, Brand Jacobs," he began.
"There's only one that's unfinished though, Morgan Brooks. The Predator of the West Sands," he finished.
"Or have you drank yourself so far gone here, that you've forgotten who you are?" Judas continued as he reached for his revolver on his hip. Tombstone's heart dropped as his eyes darted from Judas' to Morgan and to Morgan's empty holster on his side.
"I have to get Morgan's gun," the young boy thought to himself. Tombstone quickly raced past Judas and out of the saloon towards his home.
"This can't be happening, this isn't real. Morgan can't die." He thought as he ran to his home.
At the saloon Judas laughed as Tombstone ran from the saloon.
"Little guy couldn't stand to see his daddy get killed," he laughed, he dropped his hands to his knees as he did.
"I ain't his dad." Morgan sternly replied. Judas froze for a second upon hearing the old man's voice. He slowly stood up and put his right hand at his side just above the grip of his pistol, readying himself to draw it if needed.
"So at least you know that do you know how long you've been gone? Pe- "
"Seven years, three months, fourteen days." Morgan cuts in still sternly.
Judas pauses, he begins to grip his pistol in its holster. Morgan slowly stands up from his stool and turns around to face Judas.
"You think you're gonna be the one who kills me? Aha ha-ha you're just the man who led him to me." He laughed deeply as he spoke.
Tombstone raced out of his house with Morgan's revolver, his legs screaming as he ran. He looked down the street to see another man entering the saloon at the end of town.
"Another one! I gotta go fast" the young boy thought to himself as he put his head down and ran harder.
"Morgan. It's been quite some time, but I finally found you old friend."
Judas froze upon hearing a familiar voice behind him, he turns around to see the lawman he had ran into days before. A man with an eyepatch over his left eye and six pistols strapped around his body. Two days before Judas had stumbled into Shooter's Draw, he had his unlucky encounter with Deadeye Wyatt. Wyatt was wearing a grey jacket that was covered by an array of bandoliers over a grey vest. He carried six pistols in six holsters strung up around his body on the bandoliers of bullets or on his black belt. His black pants looked brand new, and beneath them was a shiny set of black boots with bright gold spurs. On the left side of his chest, over his heart, was a large bronze star pin. The word LAW was all that was on the bronze star.
"Wyatt, you have no right calling me that. We were never friends." Morgan sternly replies.
Judas backs away from the two towards the doors, stumbling backwards as he does. He falls backwards and flails about to catch himself. His hand breaks through the floorboard as he catches himself and he quickly pulls it back out of the newly formed hole. As he does a black snake with a white pattern resembling eyes on its back also emerges from the hole, hissing and baring its fangs at the nearby Judas. He screams and quickly races away from the coiling snake.
"SEEIN SNAKE" Judas yells as he races towards the bar. He drops his gun and jumps on top of the bar and crouches on top of it shaking with fear.
Wyatt too quickly darts away from the snake still keeping the same distance from Morgan. The snake coils itself and begins weaving in and out of itself creating the illusion that the eye markings on its back are blinking at and following the men in front of it.
Seeing Snakes are a common occurrence in the vast desert, a common way to get killed as well. The venom the snakes use is so potent it can kill thirty men five times over. One bite anywhere means death, a brutal and slow one too. The venom paralyzes those bitten and slowly rots them away until they eventually die. There is no cure and there is no hope for those bitten. Yet still the world as vast and as old as it is, there are myths and rumors that a Seeing Snakes first bite does not kill, but no valid evidence has been found on the subject.
Tombstone, the young boy kissed by both Fate and Luck, was not at the right place at the right time, or so was thought by the three men in that saloon on that day as they watched the young boy race into the saloon and step on the coiling snake. In an instant it reared its head and bit Tombstone on his ankle and immediately slithered its way back into the hole in the floor from whence it came. As fast as it came, the snake was gone and all that was left was Tombstone who went white when he realized what had happened.
The boy dropped the floor clutching his leg where he had been bitten dropping the revolver he had gotten. Screaming and thrashing around in agony, his eyes began to bleed as he writhed on the ground of the saloon. The three men stood and watched him as he slowly withered away, not one of them saying a word. Foam began to form in the corners of the boy's mouth and slowly as his body began to slowly calm down the foam spread around his whole mouth and began seeping down his chin. His bloodshot eyes stared out at nothing as he finally stopped moving. Tombstone was dead.
Those myths about the seeing snakes weren't true, for no one knew it but that snake had not bit anyone yet. As the men in the saloon began to talk to one another about life and death, Tombstone's body was undergoing many changes. The seeing snake's first bite does kill, but it creates another life in its place.
As the men bickered in that saloon, fate was fast at work.
"Morgan, it's just you left. I killed everyone else." Wyatt said directly.
He pointed at the corpse of the young boy.
"Was he yours? No, your son is still out there, isn't he?" he continued.
Wyatt took note of the pistol the boy was carrying. He walked over to it and grabbed it off the ground by the young boy. As Wyatt picked the gun up Morgan took note that his holster was empty. In an instant Wyatt pointed the pistol at Morgan and fired. The bullet dropped just before Morgan, falling to floor at his feet like it had hit a wall.
"You still got it," Wyatt muttered as he chuckled to himself.
Judas was stunned at the sight before him, "How'd he do that?" He thought.
Judas looked at Wyatt, he didn't bat an eye at Morgan's feat, more seemingly expecting it. Judas was awe stricken by the two men, both legends in their respective worlds. To have a duel of this caliber to no audience would be criminal of itself, Judas vowed to not only himself but the two men before him that he would remember this day forever. That was the truest thing Judas had thought all day, because not a moment after his vow, Tombstone's corpse burst into an inferno of black flames.
The flames were not just black, they were darkness incarnate. To look into them, was to look into the deepest darkest depths of your own mind. No horror was too dark or vivid for those flames, nor was any thought too dastardly or dreadful. Deepest within the darkest of darkness that was those flames, was the skeleton. Where Tombstone's body had been, the epicenter of this ever-growing blaze, was now a skeleton. The deepest darkest abyss could not compare to the blackness that was that skeleton. Even in the sea of dark flames that quickly overtook the saloon, the skeleton could be seen. The men each rushed out of the saloon, Judas jumping out of a nearby window and running for the hills never to look back. Morgan raced over the bar and out the backdoor while Wyatt too jumped through a window.
The two men both raced out to the front of the saloon, for a moment forgetting their duel. Wyatt and Morgan shared one last moment of peace between the two as they watched the black inferno climb out of the saloon and into the sky above it. It swayed as it fought against the wind, but that too was a battle it eventually won, racing across the small town with the wind spreading to every building in minutes. Soon Wyatt and Morgan were almost entirely surrounded by the black flames. A single exit behind Wyatt was all that was left.
"You know what this means Wyatt?" Morgan said to him as he turned and looked at his former friend.
"All too well," Wyatt responded flatly. "Those flames returned just like he said they would." He finished.
"Tell you what Wyatt," Morgan began, he raised the whiskey glass he had taken with him from the saloon. He stared at the center of the flames, at the skeleton that was Tombstone.
"You raise that boy a lawman and I'll let you kill me right here right now no fight at all."
Morgan finished his glass of whiskey and threw the glass to the ground, smiling as it shattered. He turned to Wyatt and held out his right hand. Wyatt shook Morgan's hand and nodded at him. He raised Morgan's revolver to the old man's head and with a single pull of the trigger, The Predator of the West Sands was no more. Wyatt threw Morgan's revolver down onto his corpse, the last gesture between the two.
Wyatt turned towards that dark skeleton within the sea of blackfire that had consumed Shooter's Draw. Wyatt stared at the skeleton, he took in a deep breath and as he exhaled, he raised his right hand and drew his pistol from its holster. A small tunnel formed in the flames all the way to the skull of the skeleton. Wyatt shot his pistol, and with precise accuracy he nailed the skull of that dark skeleton.
Suddenly the flames retracted like the shadows across the land in the morning as the sun rises. As the blackfire seeped back into the skeleton, Tombstone became once more. His body fine as the fire disappeared into it. He lay there with a new wound on the spot on his forehead where Wyatt had shot him. Wyatt picked the boy up and threw him over his shoulder.
Fate had given Tombstone another life. Luck had ensured his new life would be much different than his last. Yet Fate was not done with the young boy, only just beginning to spin the web that would be his life.