RISE UP DEAD MAN

RESILIENCE

LOUISIANA, 1895

Whether it be the effect of the merging of hunters and the other side, a curse by a higher power, or perhaps something entirely different, all hunters eventually reach this point in their careers.

Damnation.

And, to restore their waning humanity, cleanse this repulsive darkness from their souls, and avoid a fate worse than death, they seek out rifts and wellsprings, which boom with exceptionally pure energy that will save them from losing themselves to the corruption that plagued the bayou.

I am one such Damned.

As the final cartridge loaded into the cylinder, my thumb quickly closed the latch and cocked the revolver's hammer back, ready to fire with a squeeze.

My eyes fell onto the limp corpse of the fellow damned who tried to take my life. Honestly? I don't blame him or his actions, for all hunters going through damnation know too well the meaning of the appearance of a wellspring in the bayou.

Looking to the right of the body, I bend over to pick up his shotgun. Although I was not well versed in simple break-action shotguns, I needed every advantage I could muster. even if pistols always served me better.

After burning the body with a nearby lantern, my hand loaded a new shell as I walked off toward the wellspring, gunshots ringing in the distance.

~<⁕>~

Making my way through the muted fog of the bayou, my feet trudged through the mud and blood of hundreds. The shrubbery brushed through the flaps of the tattered beige vest and leather rigging that clung to my body and my long blue sleeves, which shielded my arms from any mosquito bites.

However, going through dense shrubbery was a good way to draw unwanted attention, which caused me to hurry across a road into a nearby treeline to avoid exposing myself out in the open or to the many living dead.

My body tenses at the sounds of gunfire to my left. Raising my shotgun, I pulled my blue and white patterned bandana up over my nose.

After a while, a wail of pain rang through the clearing. It seems the fight has been won and lost.

With my gun raised, I watch the winner of the battle hastily rummage through the corpse of his fellow hunter, desperate to find any tool or consumable to aid him in the battle of the wellspring—a slight advantage.

Anything.

This sudden tunnel vision proves detrimental, as he is dulled and unaware of my existence and the subsequent roar of fourteen pellets splattering his chest and head, killing him instantly.

...

After making sure nobody was near, I burn the bodies and move past the clearing, leaning against a tree for cover.

Quietly, I pull out and unfold a map from one of the pouches attached to my rigging.

I scan my eyes over the numerous locations where the wellspring could possibly be after absorbing rifts.

But as I'm crossing out locations, I suddenly feel a lurching pull slightly to the right. Shit, that's bad. The wellspring's been fully activated, and someone is currently contesting for its energy.

This, however, comes with its pros.

I put my arms out and closed my eyes.

And when they opened, instead of the dense forests of the Louisiana Bayou, I found myself in the middle of an abyssal drifting storm of leaves and ashes. The muted colours of the plagued land turned to grayscale, and my hands' light yet dirty skin paled as the shadows around it deepened.