A man stepped out: tall, dreadlocked, broad-shouldered beneath a grime-stained shirt. His face was half-hidden, but Jasper knew she'd seen him before.
He strode up to the bandit holding a rifle on the old man. When he swung it, it was too late. One hand was closed over the weapon and tore it free.
"What the—how'd you—?" The bandit stared, stunned.
The newcomer examined the gun. "I know what you said old man, but these idiots shot up your purifier."
The bandit lunged, trying to rip it back. The man barely budged, then released it.
Crack. The stock smashed into the bandit's forehead, dropping him flat.
"And I'm gonna need parts to fix it.."
Before the rifle could fall all the way he grabbed it again and rested it on his shoulder. The female bandit raised her rifle, but he was already there, closing the distance. He grabbed the barrel, twisted it in her hands, and pulled free a component with a metallic snap. He shifted it looking at its metal pieces."
"Cheap metal. I can't stand you bandits, always with this cheap shit.."
She panicked, squeezed the trigger—click. Nothing.
The man slammed the barrel across her face and swung the other rifle into the side of her head. She hit the ground with a grunt and he had collected another rifle.
The first bandit Jasper had downed dragged himself to his feet, blood running from his head. He yanked a revolver from his belt and leveled it at the man towering over the female bandit.
"Hands to the sky."
The man turned kept collecting the rifles and side arms of the unconscious bandits, unfazed. "Really? You'd draw on an unarmed man?"
"That's right." The bandit wiped blood from his lip and steadied his aim. "I know who you are—Grave Digger. Your corpse'll make me rich. Wanted dead or alive."
The dry heat pressed down, a tumbleweed skipping across the dust between them as silence stretched tight.
Dwarven let out a low groan and dropped the weapons in a pile. "Yeah, you got me. But think about the story you'll tell. When you brag about catching Dwarven the Grave Digger… don't you want it to sound epic?"
He shined a gold tooth as he smiled and slid his circular gold tinted shades down the bridge of his nose fixing the bandit with a stare. "What's your name?"
"The name's Kevin. Kevin Riten."
Dwarven smirked. "See… Kevin Riten, the man who turned in the Grave Digger—that doesn't sing." He shifted side to side, boots scraping the dirt. The revolver stayed trained on him.
"But Kevin the Undertaker?" Dwarven's grin widened. "Now that has a ring to it. Course, you'd have to kill me in a duel."
"In a duel?"
"Yeah," Dwarven said evenly. "In a duel, like Black Jackson vs Shooter Elliott."
Kevin's eyes flicked down to Dwarven's hip—no gun, just the heavy curve of two hammers strapped at his belt.
"But you—" Kevin's voice wavered. "You don't have no gun. Just… hammers."
Dwarven scoffed, tilting his head. His wrist rested easy on the head of one of hammers.
"Whoa, slow down there, fella." Kevin shifted, revolver trembling in his grip.
"You really don't know much about me, do you?" Dwarven's voice was calm, almost bored.
Kevin swallowed. "Can't say I do. Just that you're a bad man out west. Bonafide killer. One of the Sage's best guns."
Dwarven's grin was sharp. "Ex-gunna. I cut ties. Doing my own thing now."
He slid a hammer from his belt, tossed it into the air, caught it on the spin. The metal rang in his hand.
Kevin flinched hard, jerking back like the shot had already gone off.
"I'm pioneering my own draw," Dwarven said, twirling the hammer by its trigger guard. "Just me. Just two hammers. That's all I need."
A long pause stretched between them.
Kevin scoffed, lowering his revolver into its holster. "Well that's just stupid. I got twelve shots in this revolver. You got two hammers."
"I know."
Kevin barked a laugh. "Well, hell. What if you miss?"
Dwarven's eyes narrowed behind his gold-tinted glasses.
"I'll take my chance."
"I shouldn't be play with you, Boss Lobby told me the 'Jin was important. The rebel army is willing to pay a small fortune for 'em."
"The rebel army? For who? this old Onyxsmith?"
"No dammit for the girl here." he kicked in Jaspers direction. "600,000 Krits for the Courier of Death."
"She's the Courier of Death? Said to travel with a pale horse and kill with one bullet? Buuullllssshhhiittt."
"I ain't think so either, thought she just looked like a regular 'jin, Most people who see her face don't get to live but What really sold me was her revolver. I aint never seen anything like it. It even looks different from his." he nodded to the Onyxsmiths similar revolver.
"Even if I did believe you and this is the Courier of Death. So what, you have me infront of you."
"Yeah? And so what your bounty is 600,000 Krits Grave Digger."
Dwarven feels dejected for a second before snapping back "You gonna let some future promise overshadow the opportunity to be a legend here in the now? Here." Dwarven presented his wrist. "Go on, take me in. I don't wanna be caught dead in a duel with some unambitious piece of shit."
"What did you call me grave digger?"
"I called you a yellow belly, slack jaw, shit for brains, coward with the wants and needs of a sea cucumber."
Kevin snorted again, shaking his head and holstered his weapon in frustration "Fine, you said enough. A duel it is. Kevin the Undertaker does have a ring to it."
"See? I knew you had it in you," Dwarven said, holstering his hammer. His grin was all teeth. "Let's have ourselves a duel, make sure you put a cigar in your mouth so it's like a real reenactment."
Kevin agreed and pulled a cigar out of his pocket, lit it and put it in his mouth with a puff.
The two men squared off, hands hovering by their hips. The wind howled through the alley, stirring dust. Brightfall heat pressed down, sweat trailing into their collars.
"Wait. Shooter Elliott had the cigar in his mouth, didn't he die in that duel." Kevin says
Low and gruff Dwarven says "Sure did."
A bead rolled down Kevin's temple, dropped into the dirt—
And they moved.
Kevin's hand barely brushed his holster before Dwarven's hammer flashed. The gears along its head spun to life, lines etching with a fierce crackle of energy. This wasn't just a hammer.
It was a Mechanica.
The hammer erupted in a miniature explosion on impact. Steel met bone with a sickening THUNK. Kevin flew backward, smoke trailing, blood bursting from his face as he hit the dirt in a crumpled heap.
Groaning, another bandit scrambled on hands and knees toward the stock of a fallen rifle. Desperation lit his eyes as his fingers stretched—
A heavy boot slammed down, pinning the weapon to the ground.
Dwarven loomed over him, voice low and cold. "These are mine now." He dragged the bandit up by the collar, pulling him nose-to-nose.
"Get your BBQ'd friend… and get the fuck out of here."
The bandit snarl twisted into a last, wild gambit. A knife flashed from his belt, stabbing upward.
Dwarven caught the strike barehanded. Metal scraped across his palm, drawing blood. His jaw clenched.
With a roar, he swung the bandit like a ragdoll, hurling him against the wall. The bandit hit hard, sliding down into a heap. Motionless but for a groan.
"You're gonna cut me, you piece of shit?" Dwarven snarled, then hurled one of his fallen friends at the last bandit.
"You son of a—"
The bandits scrambled to their feet, rattled and bleeding. But when the man raised his fist, eyes burning, they thought better of it. Muttering curses, they bolted into the street.
Dwarven flexed his hand, blood trickling from the scrape where the knife had caught him. Slowly, he bent down, scooped up the old man's revolver, and pressed it back into his palm.
"Sorry about that," he muttered. "Never should've asked to see it earlier." He offered his other hand, pulling the old man back to his feet.
"And I asked you not to come out," the Onyxsmith scolded, brushing dust from his coat.
"Old man, look at me." Dwarven spread his arms. "I'm six-foot-something—what was I supposed to do, hide in the closet?"
The Onyxsmith let out a long sigh and scratched his bald head in frustration. "I suppose you're right."
Dwarven's gaze drifted past him. "And what about her? I've only heard bad things about her."
The onyxsmith stood looking upon Jasper contemplating.
Jasper lay on the ground, vision dimming. Her eyes flickered between the two men, catching the old man fussing at her unlikely savior. Her blinks slowed, her body heavy.
Then she felt herself lifted, strong arms carrying her into the dark of the Onyxsmith's workshop as the world slipped into shadow.