In the 1800s, amidst the sprawling wilderness of America, there was no greater name of fear than Vance Malcolm—the ruthless king of bandits. Stories of his savagery spread like wildfire, and his very name sent shivers through even the bravest men. Yet, on one fateful night, five desperate men dared to challenge the legend.
Under the cover of darkness, they crept to Vance's cabin—a solitary structure on the edge of a remote forest—and set it ablaze. Flames roared, consuming the house in minutes, its wooden frame collapsing under the inferno. As the five men watched the fire reduce the cabin to ash, they smirked, certain they had ended the reign of terror.
Confident, they rode out to a nearby encampment, where their employer awaited with the promised payment for killing Vance Malcolm. The tent was lit dimly by a single oil lamp, and the men approached with swagger, their task complete. But when they entered, their blood turned to ice.
The contractor was slumped over a table, his throat slit, blood dripping onto the floor. Before the men could react, the tent flap opened, and in stepped Vance Malcolm. His coat was charred, soot streaked his face, and his eyes burned with unrelenting fury. Behind him, his bandits filed in, their guns drawn, encircling the tent like wolves closing in on prey.
"You thought fire could stop me?" Vance asked, his voice low and guttural. His lips curled into a sinister grin. "You don't kill Vance Malcolm. You only make him angrier."
The five men stammered, backing away, but there was nowhere to go. Vance stepped closer, pulling a revolver from his holster. "Let's play a little game," he growled, spinning the cylinder of the gun. "Gun roulette. Let's see how lucky you really are."
One by one, the trembling men were forced to pull the trigger, the barrel aimed at their heads. Click. Click. The chamber spun, and each man miraculously survived. But the terror in their eyes only deepened with every pull of the trigger.
When the last man's turn ended, Vance let out a cold laugh. "Looks like luck's on your side tonight." He turned to his men. "But I don't believe in luck."
At his signal, his bandits opened fire. Gunshots roared, shattering the silence of the night. The tent erupted into chaos as bullets tore through flesh, splattering blood across the canvas walls. The five men were ripped apart in a hailstorm of lead, their screams drowned out by the deafening barrage.
When the dust settled, the tent was soaked in blood, the lifeless bodies of the five men sprawled across the ground. Vance stood in the center of the carnage, holstering his gun.
"Let this be a lesson," he said, his voice cutting through the heavy air. "No one can burns Vance Malcolm."
He strode out into the night, his bandits following, leaving the encampment a silent graveyard drenched in terror
and blood.
~BlackBlueKnight