Benito lay, his mouth agape, velvet blood dripped slowly across his face which was stained by the oily black which had previously drained from his parched mouth.

  “My god?” Asks James, drunkenly standing from his chair and falling to his knees beside the old man.

  “James, he’s dying. Fix it.”

  Benito coughed blood across James’ sheets and his own leathery chin.

  “Why’s he got to be dying on my bed?”

  “I’ll put him on Clark’s bed. He can die there. To be honest this guy’s awful, I don’t want a guilty conscience.”

  “Hm.” Replied James looking at the man, “Well see mister Mariella to an upstairs bed and all.”

  James followed Harland up the stairs and James kept muttering about the name being familiar under his breath.

  “The priest from the church uphill and Eric Jr.’s funeral,” Harland said bluntly, dropping the old man on the bed.

  “My dad knew you.” Said James, he became far more serious and competent.

  “What?” Asks Harland turning around.

  “I like pretending to be drunk now and again. Nobody pays a drunk man mind, of course I often am drunk. But my father knew this man.” James Walz inhaled sharply.

  “Doc?” Asks Harland.

  Walz presses a pillow over Benito’s face and begins pushing. Harland shoves Doc Walz away from him, “Stop it you fuck. Aren’t you a doctor?”

  “Aren’t you a farmer? Roles change when there’s no social order remaining to keep them on track.”

  “So, you are just going to kill him?”

  “I think me and this guy are related.” Said James, beginning to treat the wound, “Makes him a useful ace card.”

  “Are you finally thinking rationally?” Asks Harland.

  “I never am.”

  Clark stood in the church, alone. Francesa was walking back and Alexandru had left the scene pretty quickly. Clark wiped the blood off the table with a piece of old robes and took a small jar of silver powder from a shelf in the room. He poured a small amount of it on the cloth of his uncle’s blood and nothing of interest happened to the worn stained robe. Clark dipped his finger into the vial and his skin burnt like a thousand needles being pressed into every corner of his body. Clark pulled his hand out quickly and tucked the powder into his coat. He came to the only sensible conclusion he had left to make, he needed a silver sword. In his exit, he noticed the baptismal font empty, Clark knelt beside it, questioning why it would be gone.

  A small woman was standing by the door out of the dusty ancient hall, Clark never had seen her before.

  Clark noticed her and said, “Nobody’s home.”

  “Then who are you,” Replied the woman.

  “Nobody,” Replied Clark, taking the silver out of his pocket and setting it in a pew.

  “I’m Sheryn.” Said the Woman.

  “Nice to meet you Miss but I’m heading out. Out of town.”

  “You’re Clark Estman,” Sheryn added.

  “Since when was I the king of the world, hell yeah I’m Clark,” He walked up to the door frame, “Now let me go.”

  Clark was ignored, “You are as far from a king as it gets. But Clark, that’s why we need you.”

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  “Who? And why do they need me?”

  “The Guild. And we need you to sign your daughter’s application.”

  “My daughter? Shouldn’t you have led with that?” Asks Clark, fishing for details.

  Before Sheryn could respond, Susan turned the corner and hugged him, “Dad!” She called out.

  Clark hugged her back, playing along with whatever was going on, he wanted the best for Susan, despite not really knowing her.

  “Hi, back from the academy so soon?”

  “Yes,” She said.

  “She hasn’t started yet,” Adds Sheryn, “You need parental permission, something she doesn’t.”

  Clark looked at Sheryn, “I’ll entertain your paperwork.” He handed his hat to Susan who took it confusedly. Clark sat in a church pew and reached over his shoulder for the curled yellow paper. It was damp and cold, tearing when the pen met it, “Sheryn, this paper’s awful.”

  Something cold and smooth pressed against the back of Clark’s neck. A steel knife pressed into it.

  “I have a silver one too,” Sheryn grinned, “Monster.”

  “Dad?” Asked Susan.

  Clark closed his eyes.

  “Please, Sue, he’s not your father, I read up on all recruits before I decide to train them. Your parents are both dead.”

  Susan clenched her teeth and stood back. Two sets of handcuffs were placed around Clark’s Wrists, another pair at his ankles, he was then wrapped in chains which were locked.

  “How strong do you think I am?” Asks Clark.

  “Strong enough to fight a mutant which has three humans and a horse’s worth of flesh to work with and survive.”

  Clark began to say something but was gagged, blindfolded and thrown into the back of a wagon. Sheryn turned to Susan, “Kill him.”

  Clark Shook and writhed.

  Susan looked at Clark then to Sheryn,“Steel or Silver?”

  “Guess,” Said Sheryn, looking the girl in the eyes.

  “Silver?”

  Sheryn looked at Susan, “Why would we go through all the effort of putting this guy in chains if the plan was to kill him anyways?” She asked.

  Susan took a Steel sword from the left side of her belt, the long black blade reflected the hazy sunlight back towards the heavens.

  “Sorry,” Susan whispered and stabbed Clark through the chains, choosing his heart to make it fast for him.

  “Good.” Replied Sheryn, piling hay onto the main as he struggled for just a little longer, “We are farmers Sue. Don’t break your cover for anything.”

  Susan climbed into the wagon and Sheryn did the same, giving the reins to her, “You know how farmers drive wagons. You drive.”

  Susan nodded and held the reins, casting them upon the two horses pulling the large wagon. The cart steadily made its way down the switchbacks to the bottom of the hill.

  The sweet smell of hay, the shaking of chains, the endless jarring of the wagon upon upturned rocks, this was Clark’s world when he returned to it. Clark flexed his core trying to push up but the weight of hay and chains kept him pinned. There was no air and soon Clark began to asphyxiate and died once again. He knew the wagon was slow when he returned again, still in it. It took him roughly two days to return from death, so they had already traveled four days. Clark just began counting times he’s died to measure time. When he was again on the brink of death for the thirteenth time, the hay was pulled from the cart, and the gag removed. Clark wheezed as he sought any air for his scorched lungs. The blindfold was pulled off and Clark was blinded by the noon sun, shining down on him. Clark was breathing heavily, “You… are just the worst.” He strained pushing the words out. The back of the cart was opened.

  “Bring him over there,” Clark heard Sheryn demand “To kill monsters, you must be able to lift at least four times your own weight.”

  Something pulled on Clark’s ankles, he barely moved, assuming it was Susan, he struggled to sit up, seeing a different person, a boy, probably late teens. “You’re a Drill Sergeant?” Asked Clark.

  “Yes.” Sheryn responded, “You’re the simplest task on the bounty boards, and decided to use you to train my apprentices.”

  Clark lay back down, “Fine. You’re making monster hunters for all I care. Do it well.”

  The boy in his late teens pulled on Clark and dragged him with all the strength he could muster for hours on end, but the futile effort only closed half the distance to a holding cell.

  “Sergeant,” Started the boy.

  “Keep going.” Sheryn snapped.

  “I agree, hurry it up pal, I ain’t got all day to be chained up. You’re giving me too much time to plan my escape.”

  The boy pulled for another hour of excruciating squealing of steel chains on brick floors, before finally pushing Clark fully into the cell.

  Sheryn closed the door of silver on both of them. An unseen system of pulleys opened a second silver door, this one was not solid but a grate of silver bars.

  The boy kept pulling until Clark was at the center of the Steel plated containment room.

  “Untie him” Sheryn said from outside. The child used a key to undo Clark’s bindings. Clark lay still as the kid dragged the chains away from him.

  “If you attempt to escape,” Began Sheryn.

  “I’m not going to escape,” Said Clark, “I was just trying to get him to go faster. Honestly, I deserve whatever this is.”

  “As I was saying, you’ll be bathed in holy water, if that fails, molten silver will be our resort.”

  “Okay.” Said Clark looking at the ceiling grates which could presumably have the door behind them opened to let molten silver run over him if they chose to do so. Clark’s room had a fireplace with a similar vent system which could close, everything however, was plated in steel. The fireplace was empty, and the room was dark. There was a blanket on the ground but there was nothing else inside the room besides the gray blanket. Once the door fully sealed, Clark was once again plunged into darkness.