Chapter 43: Hunter and Prey [Part 2]
The Ballads had always been more than just a path toward power. Scaramuccia had understood that since his days in his home country. In fact, it was something he had already mentioned to Bonnie and Evelyn during that moment inside the circus wagon.
The pioneers of the Desert Ballads in this country knew that behind the rituals, absolute divinity lay waiting — just within humanity's reach. Exactly as that jester had witnessed with his own eyes back in his homeland.
The memories of those grim, blood-soaked days painted his eyes with tragedy and nostalgia — but his seven bodies pressed forward, like a wounded beast fighting for its life.
Two clones moved in on Marcus from the front, maneuvering their knives with relentless force in an attempt to cut him down. It was a fast, precise, and silent fighting style — something fitting of an assassin, just as Exorcist Bader had warned Marcus.
The Sheriff dodged the clones with relative ease, using his weapon to deflect some of them. The remaining clones seized the opening and piled into the fight — but one of them hung back, watching the others in silence.
Marcus noticed. Dodging a dozen knives that had come within inches of his throat more than once, he found a split-second opening, raised his weapon, and fired.
The bullet tore through the air at tremendous speed — but Scaramuccia tilted to one side. The round passed close to his eye, but as he dodged the first, a second, third, and fourth came right behind it to finish the job.
The bullets found their mark — Scaramuccia's chest. He fell backward, blood soaking through his clothes. The light in his eyes went out, and the clones still fighting exploded into red smoke, shoving the Sheriff back. For a moment it seemed like that would be the end of the confrontation — but Marcus showed no confidence as he recovered. He scanned his surroundings instead, weapon raised. His narrowed eyes glowed faint and cold in the blue light of his irises.
He waited. Sounds coming from every direction: the tall grass, the whispering wind. Then a creak in the earth. Marcus aimed. Nothing. His Hunter's senses pushed to their limit. A soft brush of fabric. He spun around and fired. A shadow lay moving in the darkness.
"What were you trying to pull? Stab me in the back?"
No answer.
A creak. A footstep. Marcus aimed — his eyes could see the shadow, though he could barely hold it in focus, since it dissolved every time his gaze found it. It was clearly Scaramuccia, using the same stealth ability he had used on his horse before.
That ability, however, had already shown its weakness. Yes, it concealed its user beneath the dark veil of shadows — but it couldn't conceal the sounds they made.
Scaramuccia was an assassin, so it went without saying that he had experience in moving silently. That was exactly what made this such a difficult fight — because as a clash of Ballads, the Hunter and the Coward directly opposed each other at the level of their archetypes.
This was demonstrated in how Scaramuccia moved through the shadows in near-total silence, and in how Marcus struggled to keep him within range.
Another footstep. A louder creak, closer. Marcus aimed and fired in the same instant. Scaramuccia's shadow flickered into view for a brief moment — the mist broke apart in that second, exposing his position. Then the jester fell back.
His footsteps began to retreat, but Marcus pushed forward, trying to match his pace.
The tracks left in the ground, where the grass had been flattened, drew the sheriff's attention, and he pushed all his senses outward to follow.
"No matter how far you run, I'll find you," said Marcus, firing into the air.
Scaramuccia's shadow revealed itself for an instant — the mist released him for that one second and gave away his position. Marcus adjusted his aim and fired.
He ran out of bullets. He reloaded. But by the time he was ready to fire, the jester had vanished again.
This was the Coward's Ballad — made for those who ran from their problems — while the Hunter's Ballad existed precisely to pursue those who fled like prey. When these two archetypes met and clashed, it produced the effect known as Neutrality, where both parties stood on equal footing in a confrontation.
If one Follower held a higher Stigma, they would hold an obvious advantage over their opponent — but in this case both of them stood at the same "level." What would decide the outcome came down to who had the greater command over their own Ballad.
Footsteps again. The sound of grass. A loud creak. Marcus fired, Scaramuccia dodged — and for one brief instant his supposed invisibility deactivated. Marcus didn't hesitate. He fired.
A bullet connected. Drops of blood appeared behind the jester's muffled cry, which cut off immediately.
"So the wound I gave you in the leg was fake. Smart way to throw me off. What other tricks are you hiding? Care to share them with me?"
Too obvious a provocation. Scaramuccia didn't bite. Marcus sighed, tired, and holstered his weapon.
"Alright. No more games."
He brought both hands together, pointing his fingers forward as if mimicking a gun. He closed his eyes, his senses reaching out to touch the landscape around him. His vision shifted — animal eyes took form on his face. Then, frowning, he said:
"Coyote."
Formed from the dust and the darkness, an animal appeared before Marcus — the very one he had named: a coyote. The canine broke into a run across the plain, in search of the assassin hiding somewhere in the circus grounds.
Marcus lowered his hands and stood there staring into the dark. Then he brought two fingers to his lips and whistled, calling his horse, which came galloping toward him without slowing. He sprinted to meet it, and with a single leap, landed in the saddle.
Further ahead on the horizon lay the much-talked-about Dustfall — and beneath that same moon, not too far away, the Sisters of the Horizon were spending the night around a campfire.
Evelyn seemed better than before. Her wounds had closed over on the surface and she had no trouble holding her revolvers. She sang as she did every night, by the light of the stars, dancing and calming the hearts of her companions.
It had started to become something of a tradition that Bonnie enjoyed, clapping along to the rhythm.
'So tomorrow night we'll reach Dustfall. We won't be staying long, but I'd like to remember the old days there. How much could the city have changed in all these years? Steam-powered machinery must have revolutionized it the same way it did Steam City.'
While lost in thought, she received a small nudge on the shoulder. It was Victoria, passing her the flask.
"Have a little. It'll give your mind a rest from all that thinking. You could use it."
Bonnie took the flask and looked at it carefully.
"There's no way my mind stops after getting shot at half a dozen times this morning."
Victoria glanced at Evelyn with a slight smile.
"You want to get stronger, don't you? Then what you need to do is train. We'll do the same thing tomorrow. Two rounds of four seconds each."
That didn't sound pleasant at all. Bonnie shuddered remembering the fear she'd felt in that moment.
"But that's way too dangerous. I could—"
"If we'd meant to kill you, we already would have. Remember, girl — you're not traveling with beginners. Lady is a master marksman. Evelyn and I are no different. Every shot we fired was calculated. But even though you won't die, that doesn't take away the fact that you could catch a round in the leg or the arm."
Bonnie thought it over. She imagined those scenarios and only felt more overwhelmed. So she raised the flask to her mouth and took a small sip. Her whole body shuddered. The whiskey hit far harder than expected right off the bat. Victoria let out a quiet little laugh watching her.
"In a real duel, you won't have the luxury of breaking down because a bullet grazed you. No — the most likely outcome is that the bullet finds your body. You need to be ready for that before you go out on your own."
"I know… I understand that, but—"
"Don't say it's hard," La Señora cut in. "We're outlaws — almost nothing is impossible for us because we're free to do whatever we want. Keep that in mind."
'Easy for you to say. I barely even understand what's happening around me half the time.'
She was starting to spiral into her thoughts again. She took another sip from the flask.
"Easy, girl — that's not water."
Bonnie wiped her lips on her shirt sleeve and looked up at the stars.
"I think I should have bought myself some whiskey when I had the chance."
Victoria was about to answer — but then a barrage of gunshots rang out in the distance. Very, very far away — and yet the heightened senses of these women were enough to pick them out clearly.
"That was…" said Bonnie.
Evelyn furrowed her brow.
"It sounded far off, but even so…"
"Vicky," said Lady.
La Señora took a long drink from her flask and said:
"Put out the fire. The three of you sleep apart from each other. We'll take shifts keeping watch."