Gunspell


I climbed slowly up the crumbling and heaving rock face. Grunts of effort pain escaped in ragged breathes around the killing blade clenched in my teeth. Cold sweating in hard bead as I pulled my weight with bloody palm and broken fingers steadily up.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see other cliffs crash down like waves of stone. Melted face specters folding themselves into nothingness as the escape the death-throws of this dying world. They hissed at me in seething anger, howled in sorrowful anguish, as the seas boiled away beneath the shifting carpet of spreading color.

Slung in its holster, I felt the ebony barreled hell gun tremble in anticipation. It wanted its pound of flesh, payment was due in full.

Above me I could hear the sorcerer calling out every spell he could think of to shore up his crumbling home. Between conjurations he looked down at me, his face all nerve sweaty. I told him once that I would tear this whole, damn world apart to get to him.

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