The bar was nothing more than a pile of busted shipping crates, half-sunk in the cracked wasteland ground.
Scavengers and drifters shuffled in, trading scraps for gut-rot liquor brewed from poisoned dirt. It burned like hell even mildly sipping down, but in this shithole, that was the best drink anyone could get.
The air reeked of sweat, blood, and old booze. Bullet holes riddled the walls, patched with scrap metal and half-rotten boards. The floor crunched underfoot—glass, rusted nails, god-knows-what.
Alyssa sat alone at a table, her axe propped nearby. A chipped glass in her hand, but she barely sipped. Her eyes, lazy and aloof, swept over the room. Watching. bored.
The bar buzzed with low voices.
"Oi, that's her?" a raider muttered, scratching his patchy beard in nervousness.
"No doubt," another whispered, leaning in. "Skull Saintress. She's the one who dragged Red Jaw's boss through the sand—left his skull at New Oasis like a damn warning sign."
"Fucking psycho!"
"Don't talk shit about her," a scrawny drunk slurred, spilling his drink. "Red Jaws torched my camp. That cannibal freak ate my cousin's leg. She's truly a saint."
"That ain't the half of it," a wiry woman added, missing an ear. "They say she hit a Slag Vipers' den solo. Blew the whole damn place—twenty heads popped like fireworks. Scavengers trailed her for weeks, picking through the wreckage."
A big raider snorted, arms crossed. "She's just a bounty hunter. Just stories. She doesn't scare us."
"No shit you're just a big dumb pig," a scarred raider at the bar sneered, teeth black from rot. "You don't get it, do you? She doesn't just kill. When she does, they don't leave bodies. They turn to fucking bones. Like the world itself doesn't wanna keep 'em. That's why they call her Skull Saintress. Like some goddamn plague sent to wipe out the worst of us."
The big raider shifted, looking uneasy, but scoffed. "Tch. Just tricks. Nothing but tales."
"Yeah?" The scarred man leaned in, voice low. "Tell that to the Blood Pikes. She wiped a whole caravan clean—ripped their warlord's spine out with her bare hands. Now their bones line the Blackroad like damn gravemarkers. Even the crows won't touch 'em."
He downed the last of his drink and pushed off from the bar. "I'm out. She's bad news."
Alyssa heard every word, every whisper. She didn't react.
She swirled the drink in her glass for a long moment, then finally took a sip.
Still disgusting. She scowled.
Then, as if her mood had finally soured past the point of patience, she spoke—clear, calm.
"Anyone who doesn't want to die tonight, leave now."
The room froze.
A few chuckled—nervous, uncertain. Two bolted for the door.
"She takin' the piss?" a raider barked, flexing his arms.
"Fuck you!" another spat. "For boss Red Jaw!"
The young raider lunged, fists swinging wild.
Alyssa slid aside, caught his arm, and yanked—hard.
Bone tore through skin. A red arc of blood sprayed across the table.
The raider howled, staggering back, clutching the dangling wreck of his arm, flesh shredded, blood dripping between his fingers.
"AAAGGGHHH! My arm! What the fuck, you bitch!? MY ARM!"
CRASH!
Alyssa smashed a bottle against his skull—hard, fast, without even looking. His legs buckled. His body dropped. Silent.
Another raider growled, swinging a busted pipe.
She ducked low, caught his wrist mid-swing, and locked her other hand around his neck from behind in a death grip.
"No, no, no!" he thrashed, eyes wide—he saw it coming but couldn't stop her.
Alyssa gave him a moment. Just one.
Then she slammed his head down.
CRACK!
The bar split under the impact. His skull caved. Brains splattered across the wood. Bits slid to the floor.
A third charged, knife out.
She stepped aside, hooked his leg, and stomped down.
POP!
His knee twisted inward at a sick angle. Tendons ripped. Blood sprayed as he crashed onto the metal floor, screaming.
Before the scream could finish, she kicked.
The knife in his hand jerked up—shhk—straight into his throat.
His body jerked. A wet gurgle, then silence. His eyes rolled back, limbs twitching before going still.
"Monster! She's a fuckin' monster!" someone shrieked, voice cracking as he bolted too.
Alyssa exhaled, unimpressed. "Done already?"
More rushed her, wild-eyed, weapons raised.
"Smash her fuckin' head!"
"Cut her guts out!"
She moved. Fast.
A punch to the throat—blood gushed, the guy choked out red.
An elbow to the ribs—crack—lung burst, he spat crimson.
A kick to the gut—he folded, puking blood and bile.
A wrist snapped—bone shredded through skin, dangling wet.
One raider stumbled back, panting, eyes darting to the corpses. "She's a fuckin' demon! Red Jaws, Vipers, Blood Pikes—three months since New Oasis, and she's still stacking bodies like firewood!"
Alyssa met his eyes. He ran, pissing his pants.
Five mercenaries stood. Bone Chewers.
Big, scarred, armored in scavenged steel. Not drunk. Not amateurs. Killers.
One grinned, cracking his neck. "Bloody hell, that's a proper slaughterfest."
Another rolled his shoulders. "You're meat, hunter. We ain't them piss-weak dogs you minced."
Machetes. Spiked fists. A rusted cleaver.
Alyssa didn't reach for her axe.
"What, you think I need toys for you losers?" she said, dry.
They charged.
A machete came first—she caught the swing, twisted it free, buried it in his chest. Shhk! Ribs cracked, blood sprayed. He fell, gurgling.
A spiked fist swung—she ducked, drove her knee up. Crunch. Jaw shattered, teeth exploded, blood poured down his front.
A cleaver hacked at her—she sidestepped, caught his arm, snapped it. Pop. Flesh tore. He screamed, hit the dirt.
The survivors crawled off, leaking everywhere.
Silence. Carnage. Gore soaking into the floor.
Alyssa sat back down and rang the bell.
The barkeep shuffled out from the back, hands shaking. He poured from a fresh bottle—cleaner, smoother. A rare drink for a rare customer.
She sipped. Still scowled. She'd never be a hard liquor girl.
"Next time, stock that peach beer." She slammed a stack of cash down—more like plastic cards, battered but valuable.
"Ye… yes."
Slow clapping.
A man stepped forward.
Coat clean. Boots polished. Too clean for this pit.
A Broker from Elysium.
Sold death for a living.
"Hot damn, The one and only Skull Saintress, Alyssa," he said, smirking. "You're a walking massacre."
The wounded dragged themselves away.
"What do you want?" she asked, straight.
He leaned on the bar, unfazed by the blood. "Seeing if you're still worth the cash."
A bounty contract slid across the counter. An Elysium ticket beside it.
Clean city. Real water. Food. No warlords—just suits. She'd never gotten in before.
"One job. One guy. Gets you out," he said.
The bounty page flickered.
Ethan.
Alyssa stopped breathing.
Those same Soft eyes. That same boyish face.
Her vision blurred. She blinked hard. Once. Twice. But the name didn't change. The face didn't disappear. The smile didn't change.
It's real.
A storm of feelings slammed into her at once. Her fingers dug into the counter, her chest tightened, breath uneven.
A lump burned in her throat. She swallowed it down. Hands shook. Her body begged her to react, to move, to do something.
But all she did was whisper, barely a sound.
"…Ethan."
The broker didn't notice or thought she reacted because of the Elysium Ticket.
He just nodded. "Yup, that's it."
Seeing the ticket worked, he tipped his hat. Walked off smirking.
Alyssa stared at the bounty.
Her chest clenched. Hands shook. She wanted to hug the damn paper, hold it tight—but she didn't.
Inside, she screamed.
Ethan… I finally found you.
She flicked her fingers. The bounty page vanished.
She flicked her fingers and the bounty page vanished in thin air.
The barkeep froze at such a devil's trick, still in terror from the previous carnage.
Although she paid good which will cover most of the damage she did to his bar but he is still reeling from it.
Alyssa stood up.
First real smile in days.
Her eyes drifted over the bodies.
She flicked her fingers again. Body stripped bare of nothing, not even their undergarments.
Flesh turned to dust. Bones bleached white in an instant.
Dust & Ash drifted through the air. Skeletons collapsed.
The barkeep pissed himself. Legs buckled, back pressed to the wall. Silent. Terrified.
He had no clue what he just witnessed. The legends were true, she is the Saint sent down from heavens to cleanse this world in ash and bones. The Skull Saintress.
If only he could see the game screen floating before Skull Saintress, as she casually sorted through her new loot.