It Was Almost Time For Her To Disappear Back To The Desert, To Her Home As She Didn't Belong. She Couldn't

It was almost time for her to disappear back to the desert, to her home as she didn't belong. She couldn't especially with powers beyond her control. Still, she hoped the imp, Striker she had the misfortune or rather HE had that to meet her was buried properly. She didn't want to ride past his rotting body, sure that remorse would linger.

Villám was enjoying their last hours in this town, prancing around with imp children surrounding her, Karma couldn't help but smile at the display and the little show she put on even without her rider. She had returned an another child yesterday, the last one missing, thankfully only a few bruises and dehydration. Still, she couldn't exactly shake off the feeling that something was terribly off about this region as a whole.

She didn't have the heart to announce they were leaving. Not when both the children and her horse were so happy. Instead she jumped on the playful mare with fur shimmering like oil in the blaze of suns. She was an undisputed champion of marksmanship, but among her skills came second being an extraordinary esquetarian. It was ‘made easy’ by their bond and mutual trust, but her talent was undeniable.

Suddenly the delightfully clapping children were picked up one by one, rushed inside despite their protests of wanting to watch. Did she indeed overstay her welcome and...and...she didn't even dare to think about. But the locals weren't coming with pitchforks ready for her. A newcomer or a visitor, Lord Olroth decided to make an appearance, Karma had heard a few rumors, whispers about the Hellhorse breeder, or better said horse stealer.

“Would rather not.”

She declined firmly as she yanked her priceless hand out of his talons, before the Lord could bring it to his maw.

“And Karma does just fine.” ‘Lady Karma’; holy chirst.

"Extraordinary beauty." Olroth near purred, making Karma slightly guess the path she has chosen as the Lord hungrily eyed with Villám

“Not for sale. No matter the price.” she nearly snarled, a slight twitch of fingers, the familiar weight of her revolvers grounding.

"Well, there are other ways of gaining a prize like that besides money. How about a race then? Prove your mare deserves the Wrath-wide fame for being the fastest. Or is it simply born defective?" Olroth questioned smugly and Karma almost shot him dead on spot.

Villám neighed in displeasure at the insult, emerald flame eyes burning a little bit brighter at being talked about that, which seemed to amuse the Lord even further along with fueling his curiosity.

deathshadowed​:

Acid green eyes observed carefully, without a remark or a conclusion said out loud. So that’s where the foolish bravery came from. If one had survived too many encounters with death, they were bound to be overconfident and careless. Yet still kept his mouth running; ah not for long now anyways.

“Nah, the usual way is a warning shot just grazing the skin covering the jugular. And even that is reseved for those who are stupid enough to not steer clear of me when asked.” she wondered when will his skin follow his clothing.

Those haunting eyes eagerly drunk up every little gesture, dark satisfaction at the first dent in the larger than life overconfidence.

“Ay, ay ayy cowboy” the entity clicked its tongue with twisted playfulness, taking a step forwards.

“Nobody told you the Wrath desert is full of monsters, little one?”

Everything was dead. No sounds of other animals penetrated the supernatural pitch black darkness; deathly quiet and still, except the grass drying and disappearing as the tendrils of her shadows sought reach. The woman’s body contorted gracefully, acid green mixing with the abyss swirling her higher, at least twice her original height.

“Or you thought you’re the worst hiding out of here?” despite her state, the silent destruction, her voice remained calm only just above a whisper

She might have taken it a little too far, judging how the imp was…destined to die after being in her presence for a prolonged time, let alone touching her cursed bullet. Still, she had warned him countless times. He refused to heed them and dug his own grave, happily lying into it by himself. So the shade stayed looming as a ghastly last warning: run home and hug the ones you love one last time while you’re able.

Striker had seen his fair share of powerful entities, the showboating, and flair were not lost on him, yet he was more focused on the fact his clothing was slowly drying out and falling off him to pay too much attention to the theatrics and show that Karma was putting on, and even though he had seen it and could hear her, he was determined not to react, acting as if he had gone deaf to her flexing the power of getting him nude without even touching him.

He was thankful that his pants stayed on to the saloon, though everything had been ruined, he had plenty of spare clothing at home so he was soon suited up after a nice shower to clean off whatever remained of the day. Trying to figure out how things had gone so terribly with the fabric, he’d head to the tailor before day’s end to get himself suited up once more, blaming it on some Terror of the Wastes that tried to tear into him.

It had been a week since the incident, and even though he didn’t mention who had caused him harm when he asked around for news about a lady named Karma, the information he got in turn was generally positive, even though no one knew anything about her. Tales of her saving kids, killing vermin, sorting out rustlers, she was like a proper robin hood with how nice she’d been to people, yet all he remembers is the aggressive lady with the weird bullets and the fact she had damaged his clothing.

Soon he’d stop asking and go on with his day, wandering around town to help around the local shops as he usually did, and while near the outskirts he’d hear some commotion. There had been talks about a fancy lord coming around, which was rare as the town didn’t bow to anyone besides Satan himself, so he’d not cared to go, having seen too many (and killed a lot more) so he had his fill.

But then someone talked about the -Lady Karma- dealing with them, and it had Striker stagger, more in amazement that the crazy lady had gotten such a title in such a short time.

Since it was during the middle of the day, and people knew usually how lords acted out, most would only be looking from afar or from the windows in their homes, yet the cowboy sauntered casually in the middle of the road up to where he could hear the noise, and soon spotting the pair with their horses, though he’d keep a casual walk as if not to look like he was going to engage them, only to observe as everyone else did.

“I'm glad I burned down so many churches while I was alive.”

A sympathetic glimmer in poison green eyes. But she knows better than to pity.

“I'm convinced the priest christening me wanted to drown me instead.” the marksman shrugged; it was in the past. And he was dead.

“I think you must have an idea of the reactions of me wearing men's clothes. Now not that bothered me, but when they declared my skills with revolvers are given by the devil; no, that was a different case.” the eerie mist surrounding the pale woman thickened at the memory

“And then there were the criminals running into churches all time as it's ‘the Lord's house’. ” well, she always gave a reminder that it's only four walls and a roof.

💀

@sssardonian-ssserpent

“Personal reasons or just felt like it?”

The moment when you DON'T have a normal pair of pants because they are either:

- vinyl.

- leather.

- goth queen

- punk

- leggings because I don't give a fuck and usually wear them with thongs

- eye blinding sparkly 70-80s disco queen

And I haven't even looked into the shirt section.

“Christ, your Navy man is so embarrassing.”

@lightningdamned