Children of Terra

~7 May 1916~ ~Fresh State of Arizona~ ~Last of the Union 48, the Wildest Frontier~ ~Pruflas, vagabond~ Time tended to do two things. Go real slow for a long time, building in the hearts of men a desire for change, and then suddenly; a boom of innovation within a handful of generations. Pruflas reminisced in a small camp atop a butte in the Arizona Territory - no, State of Arizona now; thinking on how long it took for people to progress out from the sword and bow. It was simpler in many ways back when, where horse and carriage was the limit you could travel. Gunpowder radicalized warfare, probably one of the biggest shifts in history imaginable. Then there were machines. Trains, metal boats, repeating weapons. First were revolvers in the 1830's. Then carbines, Spencer rifles, Henry's. Winchesters.       Combine transportation, higher technology, expansive frontiers; with people? You get probably the closest thing to the truth of humanity you can. Out here, there is little that can stop you. Pruflas stoked the fire, letting a pot of coffee simmer a while longer -- and overlooked the vista to valleys beyond in this land untamed. When zero accountability of any kind exists in such conditions, you get the best of times, and the worst of times. There were atrocities, yes. So many they would fill books. He was there, he saw; he didn't need a scholar to tell him otherwise.       People tended to write only the atrocities, however. How many want to read about the daily logs of fisherman Roe? Lady Barnes? Who remembers now the cloth maker in the time of Achilles? A wine maker, a vase sculptor? There was a problem with humanity's tendency toward chaos, Pruflas having been amongst them for nearly one thousand years now. Violence cycles around. It adapts to the times in which it takes place, of course. But gone are the days of drawing, quartering, or beheading. Replacing them was death the same, but at least a bullet was quick if it hit right.       Still, it was the recurring nature of it all. Humans remembered the bad far better than the good. It could be ten generations and sons and daughters still paid the price of a feud no one but the Duke could remember in the first place. It certainly did make him ponder on where to draw the line at personal grievance or partake in blood pact long past. Such thinking depressed him. What exactly would be fair to Metile? His child robbed of even a chance? If he let the past go quiet, there was still the truth: the demons of Inferno remain.       They still festered in the hearts of mortals, still corrupting. That much was still the case. In that sense, Pruflas felt vindicated of his path. No, it was the eons of idleness since his loss that hurt the most. Would he just be perpetuating an awful cycle if he carved vengeance, a cog like most believed him to be?       People for one had definitely changed in the perception angle. He was reviled pretty much everywhere he went, regardless of disguise or not. Was it a deep-set predilection from exposure to the generations of miasma? The demons hated him as much now as a millennia ago. If such hatred took root in hearts of those past, propagating in the ages, Pruflas wouldn't have long before it all came to a head.       Ah. The sun finally crested over horizon peaks, streaming the sky in rays uplifting the Duke's mood. Dwelling is more of a night activity. He began scuttle of his camp -- little more than a roll and canvas with a stand for his coffee. Needing neither food nor water, he still opted to carry the beans because of their affect on him. With a final taut of his travel strings, he holstered his Bisley-handled Cattleman and slung a procured Russian Contract 1895 Winchester over shoulder. A nifty piece of equipment found during a chance encounter. Probably the pinnacle of lever action technology.       Three things made it stand out over all other notable lever actions. A box magazine under the receiver. Cut weight down and re-balanced the rifle to wear on the shoulder less. It also allowed Spitzer bullets to be used, greatly adding to the efficacy in this new era. And finally, a stronger action that could easily handle the most modern of the new gunpowder; smokeless. A lever action that could shoot farther and faster than most before, save custom tuning and loading. When Pruflas saw it, he appreciated its advantages and bought it immediately. While bolt-actions were simpler, more rugged, and generally more reliable; the Duke forsook the easy ways a long time ago. He knew strength was the main resource to stand against Inferno.       In short, war was total. It required more than just equipment and logistics. It required mindset. A war against the very foundational concepts of the demons low. Pruflas found himself defaulting to the opposing stance on anything his once-family supports. Such thinking made him predictable, but the day he returned back to Dis he had crossed the Rubicon. So what, they could predict his motivations? Good.       He could see the irony of it all, living in the past more than just about any. Chasing ghosts. That said, so did the people in Arizona. Much of the Wild West was gone now, but boy. Here in the Southwest? People still robbed banks and trains like it was 50 years ago. A perfect place to hide out in anticipation of assassins.       Demons still hounded after him, but out in the frontier territory he could gun them down in the street and as long as he plied himself right, he could walk off.       He began hiking down the escarpment before the morning sun heated stone too much. A swig his coffee in a single gulp, wetting the gullet. The air was dry for the most part; however, stones tended to wick night moisture that released back in the morning. Stones also reflected heat insofar being on a rock during an Arizona day was best left for food.       The main reason why the Duke meandered about was his tendency to avoid hyper-fixation. He heard the many voices in his head. They berated him his Sloth. 900 years? Nothing! You've done fuck all, Duke!In the shadows of stones on his descent he saw eyes. Scowls. The problem in such things being it was entirely possible they were spies of Inferno. Beelzebub the many-eyed. The diviners among family. Teleporters.       900 years of this and it was set in his mind. He was half insane and half again. It wasn't hyper-fixation he needed. He needed distraction.       With a shift foot-to-foot he was back in a wash below the butte. Gravel crunched underneath his boots, denim tucked inside. That was another thing he preferred from the Old World. Socks were comfortable, sure. But in the frontier footwraps are better. Especially since he could keep them tight with magia. Socks tainted just as fast, cleaned twice as long, more costly to maintain, and expensive by comparison. His mind was meandering.       With a sigh, he cleared his thoughts. What is the goal here? I need a weapon, one that can grant me victory over demons. Arch Demons. Where would such a weapon be? He ho-hummed, kicking one of his boots to straighten it out. The motion made him shift, naturally; and that was right when the rock chipped right beside his head, bullet whiz zinging in the wash. The whip-crack of a distant shot tore the air. Shit!       Pruflas dove, pulling the 1895 around to bear while he held sideways in the wash. The dirt above his head exploded as another bullet ripped the soil out. He scattered the dirt in magia, proffering a cloud all around the area. Then he focused theurgia into his eyes, peering through the cloud. He could see the bullet ripping air, pressing down again as it came from a butte at about 10:45 to 11:15 of a clock face ahead of him. So, a demon. It could see him as well.       No need to hold back then. He suffused magia in the chambered 7.62 x 54r and fired it back. Around a 350 yard shot, piss easy for the Duke's centuries of experience. It arced high and crashed from above the sniping spot, exploding the area in recombinant magic. He began to condense the dirt cloud, clumping it into orbiting sentries around him. A pebble swarm joined, making a death cloud around the Duke as he advanced to the butte. Been a long fucking time since I could go all out.       A shot from a different vantage to the left. Retreating along the shadow line. Not good enough. The bullet was absorbed by earth magia, deflected off to the side with a ricochet twang. Let's try something new. Pruflas fired his second round, this one infused with lighting magic. Static. It whizzed through the air impossibly fast, ozone a visible streak as it penetrated deep into the rock face. A small bolt zapped out as it zipped by, chaining off of something. Suppressed. Kick up the ante.       Pruflas gathered a roiling dervish of elemental hellfire in his palm. In the near thousand years since Spheri Mundi, his magic had become writhing in almost-life -- a response of his increasing will over the aether. He idly wondered how much his brothers had progressed since. No matter. He compressed it, incorporating the spiral rifling of projectile science and fired it at the last location. Mesquite trees between here and there lit off with the passing of the comet, which burrowed and melted the area into brimstone. A form could be seen bailing over the escarpment into Palo Verde trees in the wash. Do I let it go? Perhaps, but not without a kick in the ass.       In this desert environment, he could make use of either the heat in the soil and ice magic; or the soil itself and lighting magic as bases for an aetherbaric bomb. Another principle of science adapted for magic. Physics was in a revolutionary phase and the Duke eager to learn of potential weapons against the demons. Let's try earth and lightning.       He began casting earth magia into the soil in the direction the demon had gone, plowing the area in positive charge. It was so thick he knew the demon could see it, a mist of doom rising from between pebbles. His other hand raised up, channeling negative magia into the sky. Immediately his skin pricked. He ground himself out of the current as blue aura began to prick on the tops of trees, bushes, and even began tracking lizards, birds, and any form of life in his killing field.       Pruflas struggled to maintain charges between his hands as the current grew. Birds began to fly away in fear while land animals fled in instinctual danger. Anything alive was cast in a haunting glow. His hands trembled with effort before he gasped out, letting nature play its game.       In that instant, lighting roiled the day sky. It felt with its hands for the shortest paths to the positive charge, and found many targets. Bolts were cast down in milliseconds, frying birds, bees, insects, animals, plants, all. Death. Instant and explosive as kilojoules of energy coursed through bodies, more than the conduits could handle. The rich positive soil Pruflas tended for lighting not only accepted the current, but cast it around; like gold wires in circuitry.       Such energy supersaturated the entire area. Ground upended as it went from 115 Fahrenheit to 50,000 Fahrenheit in about a tenth of a second. Heat expansion flash-vaporized pretty much everything between the sky and soil for about 4 feet deep. Never gets old. The Duke had wrapped himself in dense neutral energy to cut himself off the circuit entirely, preventing the shock wave and blast material from getting close.       He looked at the vitrified soil, scorched through and back to neutral charge. Heat vapors rose in tendrils, as molten glass poured into soil depressions. Effective, but took a while to cast. The demon got away, probably with shit between cheeks.       More of stress relief than an actual spell for combat.       "Phew." Pruflas wiped his brow and hiked up to the brimstone escarpment, looking for something left behind to track the demon assassin. He avoided the crater as the ground's likely too heated for at least half a day. Climbing up the stone face, using twine-magic to aid himself, he clambered over the side and onto flat surface. Was there anything here? He knelt about where he was shot at, using theurgia to scan for traces. Hmm. He walked to encircle the area and look from a new direction. There! His eyes caught a single feather. Harpy. He picked it up to begin a harmonization sequence in the aether.       A ply of the fabric. A hum as it responded. It tugged in a southern direction, and off he went. ~Days on the trail~ ~Into badlands~ The grounds turned from brown gravel to black basaltic. Hills rolled in steep inclines and the gouges of rains past left paintings along rock faces. Flora shifted subtly, going from smoke-tree brush to saguaro, ocatillo. Nopal pears were out from recent rains, and they did bulb in delicious crimson. He was tempted to cut one, but he didn't want to lose the trail. The fact he didn't catch up yet was impressive. It was rare for the demons to send an assassin that wasn't some impid or hound dreg.       Wasn't long before he hit a mining town. One of the last, but that meant there were veins still. Out this far, the town still spoke of the western ways; wooden buildings, candlelight, and pickaxes. Well, shit. He was attracting attention standing in the dirt road so he went to the one place a town like this lived around. A saloon.       Open the swing doors, he was beset with the usual stares. No gunslingers much anymore, but miners could be gruff in their own way. With a nod of his head and disguise set a while ago, he made for the bar.       The saloon madame placed hand on hip. "What'll it be?"       "Water. Premium, the kind you pay for."       The madame called over her shoulder without breaking stare. "Jess! Get a glass of water from the cellar!"       An adolescent girl came out of a side room and scurried by. Pruflas didn't speak but took a nickel from his waist pouch and thumbed it on the bar counter. Better to wait and pretend to wet gullet than speak from a trail. His clothes were dusty as and he probably smelled a fair bit to boot. Good. Who the hell smelled good after weeks in the bush?       The glass of cool water was placed on the counter, which Pruflas took and swirled before drinking. Filthy, needing purification as he chugged it down, but it served its purpose. Placing the glass down, he spoke to the madame. "Has another drifter come through in the past few days? Probably has the same countenance I do."       "Dunno."       He was about to change his avenue of questioning when a lady came out from the upper board rooms, descending as though on a normal day. She screamed when she saw the Duke, everyone turning. Her! Demonette in disguise! She yelled out: "That's him, the man that soiled me! Please help me!"       There was a half second when the miners turned back at him with murderous stares. The demonette smirked under her breath as she turned to flee, the Duke needing to duck a bottle of beer thrown at him. "Dammit! I'm no woman beater! She lies!"       "You all say that you pig-fuckin' swine!" Another bottle thrown while some bashed them against tables, drawing makeshift stabbers. "We saw them burn scars! Tarnation's sake did you need to burn her fer?!"       He made to chase but the miners closed in, Pruflas needing to draw on them. "I'm a deputy for Lord's sake! She's got a bounty on her head! I need to fix after her afore she gets away!" He pulled the hammer back, cocking the cylinder. "Now."       A moment passed. They were too smart for their own good. "Oh yeah? Where's the badge, deputy?"       Pruflas closed his eyes in regret. Oh damn it all . . . "Look, make way - " Too late. One of the miners rushed him, broken glass in hand. He fired, blowing brains out. He emptied the revolver, dropping 5 more in needless slaughter. The die was cast however, and the rest charged over dead bodies. Shit.       The saloon was burning when he left. The ones that wanted to get out, did. The rest . . . He hunched over, breathing through bloodied face. Glancing back, he watched as the the roof collapsed over, a couple bodies visible under the saloon doors. He'd have to change his disguise again. Casting magic in these times solved immediate problems but made for long term ones if there were witnesses. And as much as Pruflas fought back, he didn't have the heart to chase down and murder innocents just for secrecy's sake.       Been a long time since he lost a duel. He felt sick of it.       And with a push off his knees and grimace of jaw, he felt renewed of his choice.