The night was dark and eerily quiet in the depths of Wayland Woods. Lillian, a sharp-eyed cowgirl and skilled gunslinger, moved cautiously through the vast wilderness, drawn by a strange, haunting sound that had echoed through the trees for nearly an hour. It sounded like a wolf's howl… but something was off about it. There was an edge to it, something almost human.
Her curiosity, as always, refused to let her turn back. The steady thud of her heartbeat pounded in her chest. Her hands trembled, part fear, part excitement. Then, she saw him. Behind a tree, crouched and gasping for breath, was a man. His clothes were disheveled, his blond hair messy, and his face pale with fear. Without hesitation, Lillian drew her six-shooter and aimed it steadily at him.
"You alright over there? You look a bit messed up," she said, her voice tight with tension.
The man slowly looked up at her, eyes filled with shame and confusion.
"Yes… I think so. Thank you for asking, but… where am I?" he replied, his voice hoarse.
Lillian lowered her weapon slightly, then took a step closer.
"You are deep in Wayland Woods." she answered.
His eyes widened. "What? That is impossible. I was just watching the moon… at my house in Dead Wood. That is far away from here!"
She narrowed her eyes. "You do not remember anything? About how you woke up here?"
"No… Wait. Maybe. It is all fuzzy…" he said, his brows furrowing. His face went blank for a moment as if trying to retrieve something just out of reach. Suddenly, a look of horror flashed across his face, but it vanished just as quickly.
"Forget it. I remember nothing," he muttered.
Lillian watched him carefully, her instincts flaring, but her curiosity won over.
"Well, since Dead Wood is a long ride from here, you can stay at my place for the night. It ain't fancy, but it will keep you warm."
He looked up at her, grateful. "Thank you… That is kind of you. I am Adolfo. What should I call you?"
"Lillian," she said plainly.
"A pleasure to meet you, Lillian," Adolfo said with a smile.
As they walked through the woods, moonlight filtered through the branches above, casting broken silver patterns across Lillian's face. Her shoulder-length pink hair shimmered like rose gold in the dim light, a striking contrast against the dust of the trail and the hard, weathered white of her long-sleeved shirt. The brim of her Stetson dipped low, its silver bull emblem catching the moon's glow. Her gloved hands lingered near her belt, comforted by the weight of her revolver. Blue trousers, scuffed from use, tucked neatly into brown boots that thudded quietly on the earth.
Beside her, Adolfo moved cautiously, casting uneasy glances at the trees. His clothes were unlike anything she was used to out here. A dark wool jacket with white trim hung open over a deep red linen shirt, its laces loosened at the collar. His trousers, dusty but well-kept, were a muted cobalt hue, tucked into calf-high black boots made for walking long roads. He wore a faded red band around his forehead, holding back his shaggy blond hair, which seemed to glow faintly under the moonlight. He looked out of place and that unsettled Lillian more than she cared to admit.
A few minutes later, they arrived at Lillian's cabin nestled between the trees. It was a modest home, built from rough timber and smelling faintly of smoke and pine. Lillian cooked a simple meal, dried meat and wild vegetables, and they sat across from each other, eating and talking.
Curiosity gnawed at her, and eventually, she leaned forward and asked, "Any luck remembering what happened?"
Adolfo grew tense. His gaze dropped to the plate. "No. And I would rather not try to. Best to forget."
Lillian felt a pang of disappointment but did not press him. As they continued eating, the conversation turned to her life. She opened up, cautiously at first, then more freely. She spoke of her years as a gunslinger, the battles she had survived, the lawless lands she had wandered. The Wild West, once vibrant and savage, now lay in ruins, but her spirit had not dulled. She confessed her fascination with mystery and danger.
Adolfo listened closely, his charm effortless. There was something magnetic about him, a depth she could not quite define. As he spoke, she found herself leaning in, drawn to his calm demeanor and soulful eyes. But part of her still wondered: what was he hiding?
Then, abruptly, he stood. He looked nervous.
"I have to go," he said, placing his plate aside. "It is not safe."
Lillian stood too, instinctively stepping back. "Safe for me or safe for you? Wait… are you an outlaw?"
"No," he replied, "but—"
Ding-dong!
The sharp ring of the doorbell cut him off. Lillian moved to open it but found no one outside. Just a single leaflet lying on the ground. She picked it up, her brows furrowing.
"Strange… no one here. Just this leaflet."
"What does it say?" Adolfo asked.
She read aloud, startled.
"If you see a… werewolf, report immediately."
Lillian blinked. "What in the hell is this? Some kinda joke?"
Adolfo's expression shifted. A flicker of fear passed through his eyes before he masked it.
"Uh… strange. Anyway, I really have to go. I will see you around."
Before she could say another word, he darted off into the night. Lillian stood frozen at the doorway, the leaflet clutched tightly in her gloved hand. Her thoughts swirled like a dust storm. Werewolf? She had never seen one, but in this world, she knew better than to dismiss the possibility. And now, she was not just curious. She was determined to find out what Adolfo really was. Lillian frowned, her gaze lingering on the door.
He can't be a werewolf… right? she thought. His clothes were clean, not a single tear, not a drop of blood. But then… why did he leave so suddenly?
Something did not sit right. The pieces did not fit, and yet, the unease in her chest kept growing.
The next morning, Lillian saddled up her horse, as golden sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting warm streaks across the ground. The air was crisp and cool, carrying with it the first whispers of autumn. She wanted to buy meat as replacement to what she used last night. The journey was peaceful, the only sounds the steady clop of hooves and the distant calls of birds. The quiet allowed her mind to wander, and she found herself thinking about Adolfo's strange behavior. His sudden departure, the haunted look in his eyes when she mentioned the werewolf. It was as if he had seen a ghost, or perhaps something worse.
As she approached the market, she noticed a gathering of townsfolk. They were talking in hushed tones, their expressions grim. She rode up to them, her heart sinking as she saw lots of blood and an eaten body.
"What happened here?" she asked the nearest man, a grizzled old-timer with a shotgun slung over his shoulder.
"Another one last night," he murmured, his eyes flicking to the blood-stained earth.
"Another what?"
"A werewolf attack," he whispered, his eyes going wide with fear. "The second one this month. As usual, we ain't safe in the West. This could be worse than the Dark Age. Maybe it is better at Spicehaven or Dynamite Valley."
Lillian's mind raced. Could it be connected to Adolfo? Was he in danger, or was he the danger? Her resolve grew stronger. She had to find him. She had to know the truth.
Meanwhile, in the shadowed stretch between Blackhaven and Wayland Woods, a lone figure stood still as stone, observing a vampire palace that loomed against the horizon. Part man, Part machine, his presence was a haunting contradiction of flesh and steel. The left side of his face was pale and scarred. The right, a cold metal mask fused into bone, its single crimson eye glowing steadily as it whirred and clicked, scanning for movement and biological signatures. His long duster coat, reinforced with carbon-weave mesh, fluttered faintly in the breeze. Beneath it, fragments of his humanity showed through only where the plating did not cover: a neck corded with tension, arms spliced with armored implants, and hands both calloused and alloyed.
"I will not let her escape again," he muttered. "This ends tonight."
He looked down at the hound beside him, a lean, wiry dog. She barked.
"You ready, Daisy?"
She growled low, ears flat.
"That will do. Let's go."
Cullen approached the palace. The vampires that guarded the perimeter were pale and sleek, their purple-toned skin gleaming faintly, senses sharpened for blood. Daisy darted forward first, snarling and snapping, drawing their attention. In a flash, Cullen moved. He drew his sidearm, a massive revolver with rotating barrels, and opened fire. The gun roared like thunder, spitting custom-forged garlic-tipped rounds. The first vampire disintegrated mid-leap. Another lunged, only to meet Cullen's blade, a silver-lined garlic dagger that slashed through its chest before it could shift into mist. More came. One transformed into a bat mid-air. Cullen spun and slashed, catching it mid-flight. He ducked, rolled, vaulted over a railing. The palace halls echoed with shrieks, gunfire, and the hiss of decaying flesh.
By the time he reached the throne room, he was breathing heavy, bloodied but unbroken. And there she was.. Perched on a throne of obsidian and bone, the vampire woman wore a long black dress with long sleeves that clung to her frame like shadow. High-knee boots clicked against the marble floor as she rose. Her skin was pale violet, her hair snow-white with purple-dipped tips. Eyes like twin rubies glinted with amusement.
"Well, well," she purred. "Nice of you to join me, Cullen. You always did look your best when you were angry."
Cullen leveled his gun at her, voice hoarse with rage.
"I am not here for talk, Callidora. I am here to kill you, for everything. For my father's heart," Cullen said, pain in his voice.
Her smile sharpened. "Then come, cyborg. Show me your fury."
The throne room ignited. Cullen fired first, three shots, each one aimed for the heart. Callidora vanished into a blur of shadow, the bullets slamming harmlessly into stone pillars. She reappeared behind him, claws slashing, but he was ready. He spun, caught her arm mid-swipe, and drove his metal fist into her gut. She staggered, hissing, but recovered fast.
She twisted into a swarm of bats, fluttering through him, before reforming mid-air, landing gracefully with her boots cracking the marble. Cullen rolled beneath her next attack, spraying silver dust from a canister at his belt. It singed her skin, forcing her back. She screamed and launched forward again, fangs bared. They collided in a brutal grapple, metal meeting ancient flesh. Cullen headbutted her with the steel side of his face, knocking her backward, then slammed his garlic dagger toward her chest. She caught his wrist mid-strike, her grip iron-strong.
"You still think you are stronger than me?" she hissed.
"I do not think," he growled. "I just fight."
He kicked her square in the chest, sending her sprawling across the floor. Before she could rise, he grabbed his revolver and fired point-blank, but she dissolved into mist. The bullet passed through air. She reformed behind him and raked claws across his back, sparks flying as her claws tore his steel. He roared in pain, twisting, slashing, barely keeping pace. They circled each other now, blood trickling from his back. Both breathing hard. Callidora grinning evilly. Then she struck.
In a blur too fast to follow, she swept beneath his guard, grabbed his throat, and slammed him into a column. His gun clattered to the floor. He struggled, metal arm flailing, but she was already leaning in, fangs gleaming.
"No more games," she whispered, and sank her teeth into his neck.
Cullen gasped as fire surged through his veins, not heat, but cold, ancient power ripping through flesh and circuitry alike. His red eye flickered wildly. His body seized, convulsed. The strength drained from him, replaced by something darker. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, his thoughts clouded, his will slipping. Callidora stepped back, her lips crimson, her gaze triumphant.
"Now," she murmured, "who do you serve, Cullen?"
He looked up slowly. The fire in his eyes had dulled to embers.
"You… your Majesty," he whispered with no ability to resist the words.
Her smile was slow and cruel. She stepped forward and raised his chin with a finger, staring into his eyes with feelings of amusement and possession.
"Do not worry, Cullen. You will come to enjoy the perks of being a vampire."
She turned, walking back to her throne.
"In the meantime… I have some servant tasks for you."
She glanced back over her shoulder.
"Starting with mopping the floors."
Back in Wayland Woods, night pressed heavy against the treetops. The wind stirred the leaves with an uneasy whisper. Adolfo was running. Hard. Breath ragged, legs burning, heart pounding like a drum of war.
Please… he thought. Let me reach Dead Wood before I turn. Just a little further… please.
But fate had other plans. From the trees ahead, a figure dropped with practiced grace, landing directly in his path. A young woman, red hood draped low over her brow, hiding most of her face. Strands of braided crimson hair escaped the hood, falling across her tattered long-sleeved white shirt and long pants.
Adolfo skidded to a halt, dread rising like bile in his throat. He could feel the change crawling beneath his skin, the cracking of control.
"Run!" he shouted, voice breaking. "Get away from me! Now!"
But the girl did not move.
Instead, she straightened slowly and said, cold as steel, "You are the one who needs to run from me."
In that instant, Adolfo's human form disappeared. Where he stood, now loomed the beast. A monstrous werewolf stood tall with its dark fur, sharp claws and snarling teeth, howling into the encroaching dark. However, the girl did not flinch.
She lunged forward, a taser crackling in her grip. Electricity surged into the beast's chest, lighting up the woods with blue arcs. The werewolf shrieked and swatted her aside with a vicious swing. She tumbled through the dirt, rolled, and rose with grit in her eyes. With a flick of her wrist, a silver-edged knife flew, striking his leg. The beast stumbled. He growled, furious and staggering, as she sprinted toward him again. He slashed with claws wide, but she twisted, flipped mid-air, and landed behind him in a single smooth motion. Before he could turn, the taser cracked again, stabbing into his back. The werewolf roared one final time, then collapsed.
In a flash of light and dust, the monster vanished. Adolfo lay on the forest floor once more, human, gasping, feeling pain but without any scratch on his body. He looked up at the girl, confused and weak.
"Who… are you?" he asked, blinking through the haze.
She stood over him, hood shadowing her face.
"You ate my grandma," she said.
And as Adolfo's world faded to black, the woods fell silent once more.