[Erdawn Il Deus]

Blam-bla-blam!

Instinct rushed down his arms and legs like a red fever and before he knew it, before Asnabel had lifted his revolver to shooting position and before his eye saw any of it happen the heavy wolf pelts swung forward, clutched in his hand. The three rounds pounded into the furs, and were stopped. Whatever the hell wolf wore a pelt that could stop a bullet was anyone’s guess.

Wolv brought his furs forward, sliding them off his body and holding them with his other hand like an unorthodox shield. He was wearing a slim, furred leather jerkin sewn with blue-flashing metal plates which left his arms bare, rounded pillars of bulging muscle and taut sinew. Asnabel took a moment to appreciate that the man’s hair - body, arms, even his stubble - was the same white as his ears. It made for a very strange sight.

“Orchis taking the day off?” The large man boomed slowly. “I’ll send him your head.” There was motion - Wolv was sprinting, his furs coiled in a ball of grey, Asnabel had already fired again and the reports cracked but the bullets were nimbly swallowed by the pelts and disappeared thwock-thwock! There was a ring as the man’s barbaric straightsword clove air and sliced downwards to bury itself into the gunman’s skull. He ducked and threw himself into a side roll and Wolv thundered past him, likewise turning his body so now he was sliding backwards on his heels and they were staring each other down.

-He moves as fast as a cat.- the gunman thought to himself. -Faster, like a god-damned cat!- Wolv rotated his wrist, cycling the blade of blue steel, sunlight winking of the tower of runes running through the middle.

“A gunslinger, eh? Maybe a longhunter?” His eyes glimmered like blue candle-fire. “I’ve killed enough of each.” Asnabel’s hands blurred and the heavy gun cracked and boomed. Wolv’s hands blurred as his blade rose and tipped and the bullet ricocheted downwards into the grass with a puff of dirt, his arms recoiled with the hit. The steel twinkled frostily, the eerie blue of an alien metal. The runes flashed.

“Fast. Worthy.” He said.

“You say that like it’s nothing,” Asnabel replied heatedly. Wolv was silent, reaching down into his mess of belts and withdrawing a small sheepskin canteen, like a small drum. He popped off the cap and took a long drought - the alcohol was sizzling, stinging his eyes but awakening them. Again, that cold fire in his irises.

-This man reeks of the arcane, the prehistoric… what the hell is he?- But that didn’t matter. What mattered was whether or not he could die. The acridity of gun smoke weighed the air, and the strom-richened breeze fluttered their clothing in a scene that was almost melodramatically silent. And then, for true, it began. Words faltered.

Wolv whipped his hand forwards like a viper’s neck and the canteen shot at Asnabel like a bullet. The gunman’s hand came up and the hammer backed up and thundered down and suddenly there was a boom and the bottle blew wide open in frayed tatters - the contents spraying over Asnabel’s face and clothes and hair, almost drenching him in the sheer volume of the alcoholic liquid. And Wolv was already thundering forward bent low and over his pounding, muscled legs, and the distance between them closed and Asnabel didn’t even bother lifting his gun - he knew the vagrant had tricked him out of bullets. Wolv shoved forward with his fistful of wolf pelts, hurling it at Asnabel to distract him and run him through - Asnabel swept them aside with a well placed cycle of his arm and brought both his hands up, revolver hooked around his thumb, closing them on the broad blue blade before it nailed his guts to his spine.

The strength of the man bolted on the gunfighter’s arms, driving him backwards, his boot-heels digging trenches in the grass and bones. Muscle and sinew pounded and struggled and heat beat down and sweated their pores - now both of Wolv’s knuckled hands were holding the sword, and Asnabel back-pedalled to stop the point from opening his belly. Suddenly, Wolv pulled back and the sword sliced clean deep down Asnabel’s palms - he choked down a shriek and hissed as the pain stung him to his bones. Wolv lifted his leg an drove his sandaled foot so far in his adversary’s gut the man’s doubled over the toes, bellowing coughs and back-pedalling again with the momentum. Wolv came on, his lips split back at the teeth, snarling, and the blade reaped blood as it whickered one-handed down and across, the point tearing raggedly down Asnabel’s shirt and chest, darkening the cloth. The goliath kept coming and his free hand shoved forward and Asnabel’s face was buried in his massive palm and fingers. Wolv bulled forwards into his opponent, clenching his hand and crushing the man’s nose and cheeks like clay pottery and bursting capillaries-worth of blood from his face and heaving with the arm, lifting Asnabel off his feet and hurling him backwards through the xylophone of the colossal skeleton’s ribs.

Bones crumpled and splintered into sharp points and the gunfighter disappeared into the thing’s ribcage, landing hard and sprawling across the dusty earth. Whump.

Wolv blew air through his teeth, and raised the blade up, twisting himself into a stance that shrank the trunk of his body and seemed to broaden his arms.

”Get up.”