9:00 PM...

A crisp breeze rolled over the sand, blowing particles into the night air, nights here were always cold here in contrast to the day time's heat that baked the small town of Paradise. A small church sat on the edge of town facing into the darkness of the night, the town built this church here because they thought it may ward away any unnatural things that would attempt to enter their helpless town, they were wrong.

*creek...creek...* the sound of heavy boots weighing down aged wood rang throughout the small chapel, there Cyrus White paced, in anticipation of the arrival of his new guests. The older man spoke short bible verses to himself as he wandered around the wooden house of God, with its unpainted wooden walls and hastily cut out windows. Cyrus approached the front of the church, he stepped upon the raised platform where the podium sat, he had been giving sermons here for many years. Cyrus sat himself down on the platform, he gave a deep exhale as he rested his worn bones.

There he waited in silence for his guests to arrive, some he already knew, residents of Paradise, including the closest thing he had to kin left, Eliza. He didn't much like the thought of putting someone who was essentially family in harms way, especially after the trauma of seeing his family killed, but he knew that she was just as good a hunter as him if not better. Cyrus often thought about what happened to his family, and he didn't favor having those wounds opened again.

Cyrus stood from the platform, his stout body made the floor warp as he did, he walked over to a bench that rested on the front wall of the church, he opened it and pulled out a bottle of wine he had been storing for some time, he figured a light drink would help with his nerves, with a shaky hand he poured the wine into a glass he had also pulled out. Cyrus tilted his head back and took the wine down with one big gulp. He sighed, putting away the wine with a slightly steadier hand, he returned to his pacing, he returned to his waiting...

An empty saloon at night was never a good sign.

If there was one thing Merrick had learned from his journeys through the American west, it was that. An empty saloon during the day could simply mean that everyone was busy having a job, but at night? That was usually when everyone would drop by to have a drink. An empty saloon at night either meant that the town was on the verge of collapsing or there was something dreadfully wrong with the town. For Paradise, Merrick reckoned that it was the latter. The three people he had spoken to since his arrival all spoke of paranormal activity around the town, though their exact words often involved mentioning 'hell' and 'devils'.

As far as religion went, Merrick was a non-believer, but as he walked down the deserted main street, he had to admit that he felt an inexplicable sense of unease. It was nothing like he had ever felt before, even if he factored in the intense guilt he felt every time he closed his eyes to get some rest. It had been six long years since the massacre and still he remembered every detail. He saw the same scene every night, the screams of the unarmed people as they were gunned down, the pleadings of the women and the cries of the children. What hurt the most was the memory of himself just sitting on his horse, motionless and his mouth hanging open in shock as he watched the supposedly disciplined and honourable United States Army carry out the atrocity.

Merrick shook his head. He could not risk going down that path, at least not now. The mayor and preacher of the town had put out a call for help from anyone who could carry and use a gun. They had offered a sizable amount as payment, but Merrick was not concerned with the money. He just hoped against hope that this would be the job that would finally put his conscience at ease. It was a fool's errand - trying to make amends for his actions, or lack thereof, at Wounded Knee - but Merrick had to give it shot. It was not as if there was anything else for him to do besides moping around until he eventually took his own life.

He stopped in front of the church and looked over his own clothes one last time to make sure he looked presentable. He pulled his face mask up to cover more of his nose. It had initially been just a way to prevent himself from inhaling sand, but now he had his face covered simply because it made him feel a lot more comfortable. Satisfied that at least his clothes were in order, he tightened his shoulder and waist belt to prevent them from sagging from the weight of all his equipment. Shrugging his right shoulder to bring his weapon, the almost archaic Snider-Enfield, further onto his shoulders, he walked into the church.

The church was a small building, and so it did not take long for Merrick to find the preacher pacing back and worth in front of the raised platform. Merrick cleared his throat and marched forward at a quick pace. "Good evening, preacher." He said politely with a nod, his accent extremely prominent even with such a short phrase. "Merrick Sheridan. I heard that your town needed help."

Splinters sighed, leaning back into his chair. He drank out of his cup of coffee, thinking about what was happening in the small town of Paradise. His small town of Paradise. Vampires, zombies, werewolves. Hell, even Succubi. He chuckled. Atleast death, or eternal slavery, via Succubi would be maybe pleasurable in some way. They did prey on ones sexual appetite, after all.

A mother and father, third pair this week, had gone to him about their missing child. This had become all too common for him. Didn't mean he stopped caring. It just meant it wasn't all that rare anymore. It was almost like death from supernatural causes, aside from household accident, was becoming the leading cause of death in the small town of paradise.

He walked on over to a small gun rack. He picked up his Winchester 1895 rifle and put it in his back holster. He put his Colt Walker .44 into his leg holster. He strapped his bullet bandolier on. He put his hat on his head, fitting snugly.

And finally...He took his tin star and attached it to his shirt.

Opening the door, he walked down the dark, desolate streets of Paradise. He tapped his Colt Walker idly, before he finally got to the old church at the edge of town.

"Hello, preacher Cyrus." He tipped his hat. "Glad to see you're still alive." he said, his southern Texan accent apparent.
He looked to the new arrival. "And hello there, stranger. I'm the marshal around these here parts. Names Alex Splinters."

Buckle rode into the town of Paradise, his battered and bruised mare exhausted from its long journey. He noted the creature's miserable demeanour, but decided that it was an improvement from how it was when he paid for it. He'd combed what he could of the matted fur into non-existence, and fed the thing better than it ever had been by its previous owners. That old bastard four towns over weren't lying when he said "I ain't a horse person, mister".

Leaning forwards, Buckle patted the mare's head tenderly. "We're here Daisy, my girl. Let's get you seen to," he said, cheerily. The horse seemed indifferent to his tone, but that wasn't surprising.

Dismounting, Buckle cast a few glances at his surroundings. Paradise wasn't much different to any other town this far out in no-man's land. Flimsy wooden structures lined the main road way, on which he now stood, and off in the distance he could see the silhouette of a church spire. There were few light sources coming from the windows of any of the buildings in sight, but this didn't seem strange to him, it was night after all, and he suspected most of the locals were asleep. He spotted a sign not far off, indicating a barn down a side street.

"Come on Daisy, let's get you to bed," he said.

The barn was, like the rest of the town, worse for ware and poorly tended. An old man, with no hair but a full beard of knots and grime, greeted him with a toothless smile. Buckle noted that there were a few horses present, indicating that the town wasn't doing so badly in terms of comers by. The hay seemed of good enough quality, and the meagre sleeping arrangements next to the old man told Buckle the horses were being seen to around the clock.

"Howdy, you stayin' long in our fine town?" The old man asked gleefully.

Buckle nodded and smiled. "That'd be an affirmative, old boy. How much for a week?"

"You hear to see the Preacher?"

"Yup."

"Then no charge to you," said the old man, scratching his beard feverishly. "Though, I do take donations."

Buckle nodded, and handed over a dollar bill. "She's an old beaten creature, but she's all I got to my name, so look after her."

The old man snatched the dollar bill, his eyes widened by the sight of it, and then shoved it eagerly into his mangy clothes. "You betcha sir, she'll get the best I can give, I assure you of that, oh yes I do. Names Tim Ranger, by the way."

"Buckle Peterson, a pleasure," replied Buckle, leaning in for a handshake.

Tim's face scrunched up in deep concentration, as if trying to recall something hidden deep in the tomes of his memory. Buckle grew uneasy at this, and his right hand subconsciously made its way down to his 44. Tim Ranger wouldn't be the first aged adversary wanting revenge for some of Buckle's less savoury exploits. Tim didn't seem bothered though, and started tapping his teeth with a finger whilst clicking his tongue before finally shrugging his shoulders.

"Think I heard that name, when I lived east," he said.

"Well whatever you heard, that ain't me you're thinking of," growled Buckle. He hastily pulled another dollar bill, and passed it over to Tim. "This part of the country is full of ex-cons. Last thing I need is someone recognising me and itching to settle an old score, you get?"

"Safe with me, Mister," said Tim, eagerly grabbing for the dollar with arthritic fingers. Buckle withheld it at the last second, and Tim seemed genuinely pained and confused.

"Let's start again. I'm Bill Furrows, understand?"

"I understand, Mister Furrows," said Tim with a wink. Buckle handed him the dollar, and then made for the door.

***

The church was a sad structure. Nothing Godly about it, as far as Buckle could tell, but then none of them ever were this far out. It was small, and feeble, with a considerable graveyard. Life weren't easy out here, but then it wasn't much better back in the cities. Buckle would know, he tried and failed in those depressing streets of concrete and smoke. There was a light source inside, and he could hear the gentle murmur of people talking. Before he started business, he felt he was entitled to one more moment of alone time.

Seating himself upon one of the more sturdier sections of the graveyard's picket fence, Buckle pulled out his tobacco and smoking paper, and rolled himself a smoke. Striking a match, and bringing fiery life to his little stick of joy, he savoured the sweet fumes with each pull. Zombies, spirits and vampires? he mused. Looking around the graveyard, he sure didn't see any creatures of the night, and he doubted he would. The crazy old preacher beyond the church's doors was probably just desperate to consolidate and increase his congregation. Churchmen were always trying to get more of something, whether it was wealth or power, and Buckle sensed this was no different. Still, as long as the old bastard paid the promised price, he didn't care.

Eliza opened her eyes to find that she could see nothing more than when they were closed.

Groaning, she rolled over onto her stomach. She was startled to feel a limp hand under her shoulder, and when her eyes had adjusted to the dark she discovered a grizzled man drooling on the ground. His name was Silas, and she had been drinking in the church attic with him all afternoon. Shit.

Stumbling to her feet, Eliza pulled on her boots and adjusted her skirt. Her white tlouse was stained with hooch and sticky with sweat, but it would have to do for now. Silas was snoring, and she looked away from him in disgust. He was a loathsome sonofabitch, but he always had alcohol on his person. To Eliza, this was a plus. If the oaf ever touched her she'd tear his fucking throat out, but for now it was good to have a friend.

Eliza kelt down to rifle through Silas's pockets. 25 cents and a pocket watch. Poor bastard. She pocketed the money and left the watch, which read 9:07, on the ground next to him. People would be arriving at the chapel right about now to help guard the town from the evil that threatened it at night. Eliza's Yellow Boy was leaning against the wall, and she grabbed it and slung it over her shoulder.

Taking a last swig from the bottle by Silas's feet, she opened the trap door in the floor of the attic and creaked down the ladder to the wooden floor of the church. Cyrus was talking to someone around the corner, so she closed the door quietly and took a deep breath. Her hair was in her face. She pushed it aside.

Peering around the corner, she addressed the back of Cyrus's head. "Evening, old man. We gonna have company tonight?"

Gavril was silent that night, then again the man always seemed to be increasingly silent, maybe it was because he didn't like to talk or maybe it was because he could feel the evil already around this place. The fact that this town was called paradise made him almost skeptical, never in one place had he felt such a presence of evil not even back in homeland of Transylvania. That was saying something honestly, that this kind of evil energy was worse then his homeland, born in to the life of a Demon Hunter, Gavril was no stranger to large amounts of evil all around him, and his homeland was covered in it, however for as long as there was life in his lands, there was always a demon hunter to protect those who were innocent and to fight the tides of evil. But here... it was like a cloak of darkness had been thrown over this town, and dark cloak that could not be penetrated even by the eternal light of God himself. When Gavril had heard of the evil amassing in the northern continent, he knew that it was his destiny to come here, the signs were all too clear, but now it seemed like that perhaps it was a bad idea to come here, he held no fear for creatures of the night, for he himself had the cursed blood of the vampire in him, but his caution none the less was there.

Making his way through the empty and cold streets Gavril slowly made his way into the old saloon in the center of town. Looking around idly the place was completely empty which was not a good sign. There was only ever two explanations for such and empty town, the first was that everyone in the town was dead or dieing or two, they were all too scared to even exit their houses at night. Walking up to the wooden slabbed bar, Gavril took a seat quietly, reaching across the counter he plucked a bottle of whiskey from the shelf along with a shot glass and set it on the counter. Popping the top off the bottle he poured himself a small shot and set the bottle aside. Raising the glass Gavril took a sip from the glass.

~Gavril . . .~

Gavril heard the disembodied voice but he did not turn nor did he try to locate its source, it was better that he just decided not to ever search for it. The voice was something only Gavril could hear, a voice that only came to him when incredible evil was present. Some would say it was a warning, some would say it was the voice of God, but Gavril himself always thought that perhaps it was the voice of his mother watching over him.

~Gavril... there is great evil here...~

Gavril took another sip from the glass of whiskey, the voice was right this place was teeming with all kinds of dark energy. Perhaps he should just leave and leave this place to its fate. Gavril knew that some fights were useless in the end, sometimes it was just too late to save a town that was too far in the darkness. As a Hunter you had to accept that some places were too far gone to save and that was a truth that no hunter could deny. However... there was something different here, an deeper meaning to this evil, something even darker in the night here that was present, and that was what stayed Gavril right now. Such evil was not easily found or stumbled upon, which meant that he truly was destined to come to this town.

~Gavril... There is only death here... leave...~

Gavril down the rest of the whiskey in the shot glass as the voice then became silent after that, looking up in the mirror across the bar, Gavril could barely see his reflection upon the surface, but even in the mistiness of the curse he bared he could see his red eye glowing back at him, and his blue eye that was right beside it. A good and an evil, a life and a death, Gavril would not leave just yet, he would not leave this town to its fate if there was anything he could do about it, to stop it. Getting up from the stool in the Saloon Gavril made his way back out to the street and walked the rest of the way to the Church where he knew the old preacher was waiting. Walking up to the old picket fence Gavril walked through it, slowly he turned his head and saw a man sitting on the fence a short distance away, however he was not evil from the feel of his energy so Gavril turned his attention back to the church and opened the doors walking inside.

The preacher was near the front of the church, Gavril merely walked to the front of the church and approached the preacher, looking at him the Preacher would no doubt see the red glowing eye in his head but that was unavoidable. In an deep accented voice Gavril spoke to the man for the first time and possibly the last,

"Hail Preacher my name is Gavril, I have come to help..."

Cyrus was taken a bit off guard by all the chatter that was directed towards him, he was used to talking, but not so used to being talked to. Though with about as much courteousness the old timer could muster he greeted everyone one by one. He already knew the town Sheriff, Splinters, so he gave him a simple tip of the hat. He was also greeted by Eliza who had asked if they were having company, Cyrus spoke in his gruff old voice, "Yes, child I'm guessing these are the people who have answered my call to arms." With that he placed his arm on her shoulder and gave her a gentle push forward towards the pews.

As he went through greeting everyone he noticed one of them was quite peculiar, he noticed one red eye in his socket, he decided to not acknowledge it at the moment, but that wouldn't stop Cyrus from being as careful as possible around the strange foreign man. Calmly, Cyrus instructed everyone to sit "Alright, alright, everyone have a seat in the pews here." he pointed towards the worn out old stained brown benches that sat unevenly in front of the podium.

When everyone got done sitting down Cyrus began to speak again from the podium, "Now I don't want to waste any time here, this town is in trouble..." He decided to be quite frank "...believe it or not, there are unholy creatures out there in the darkness waiting to pray on the fine people of this city, many of us have seen them." he looked around at everyone in the seats and continued "The few of us able to fight back hasn't been enough, we need all the firepower we can get. That's why you're here." Cyrus stopped talking and stepped off the podium for a moment, he walked to the left front side of the church.

His footsteps came closer once more as Cyrus stepped out from the edge of the church, he had over his right shoulder a body, nearly naked, clothed only in ripped pants, nothing but flesh and bones it seemed. Cyrus dumped the body on the floor, and it's face was revealed, large jagged teeth came from its gaping maw, it had dead eyes black as coal. "This..." Cyrus paused "...is a vampire." he stopped again, allowing that thought to echo throughout the room. "At least this is one of the poor bastards that went without blood for too long" Cyrus kicked the lifeless body "Full ones'll look just like you or me" he scanned the room for a moment, giving extra attention to Gavril. "Now these guys are a problem, but not the biggest one at the moment." Cyrus now walked back and forth in the front of the room, hands behind his back. "Zombies." he said sternly "Our biggest issue right now is zombies" he knew this sounded a tad silly, but after the demonstration he gave with the vampire corpse he knew nobody would be laughing.

"Now I don't know how well educated yall are in the paranormal, but a zombie doesn't simply sprout out of the ground by itself, it needs to be animated by someone." he continued pacing the front of the room. "Now I suspect that the coven of "peaceful" witches out in the forest may have something to do with this..." Cyrus stopped in the middle of the front of the room and removed his hands from his back "So, long story short, I'm gonna need enough people to split into two groups, a cleanup posse to go clear out the graveyard, and a negotiation party to go talk to those damned black hearted witches." Cyrus' disdain for the witches showed clearly. "Now we may have to wait for a few more hunters to come answer the call I sent out, so for now we wait." Cyrus sat back down on the raised platform "any questions?" he asked.

Gavril took his seat silently after the old preacher looked him over for a second, it was not as if he looked like a normal person in the slightest since, hell the very clothes Gavril was wearing were made special for him by his family. But it seemed that the old man did not ask questions, which was either a good thing or a bad thing, if Gavril knew people it would come out sooner or later, but for now he listened to the old man intently. When the body first emerged of the emaciated vampire Gavril merely gave it a look over before turning his attention back to the preacher who seemed to be paying some attention to him. Gavril kept the stare on for the moment at the preacher keeping eye contact until the mans eyes eventually diverted from him. As he continued Gavril took silent notes in his head, so far there was two different problems it seemed, possibly three if the witches were truly involved. Looking around the other people around the room seemed to be steady but the real question was if they were going to freak out, or even buy this at all. Humans were very skeptical of things like this, Gavril might have been but this was his life since he was a child but he could understand if one chose not to believe any of this at all. A body tended to prove nothing even if it was deformed, this old man would have a bit of a time truly convincing the others if it came down to it.

Gavril listened to the rest of what the preacher had to say, taking note of the personal distaste that he seemed to project from his voice for the so called coven of witches. When the preacher was finished he silently took a seat on the raised platform in front of them all. Every one seemed silent for the moment so perhaps Gavril would say something now before this went too far.

"Preacher its obvious that you have a major problem here, anyone with eye's can see that, the very dark cloak over this town is enough to make you want to shiver. But if I may, I would like to say something, something that might very well help. I do not believe the witches have anything to do with the Zombies, in fact I believe a more powerful force here is at work, and that the witches may very well be working with this force. Witches are not particularly known for committing necromancy, as evil intentioned as some witches can be, their own beliefs restrict them from tampering with the dead, so I doubt they are the cause of the re-animation, at least not directly anyways. I would also like to mention that I think this is bad idea, involving normal people in this sort of fight, I understand the urgency but even you must see that these people will be fighting against something that in all rights should not exist."

Gavril looked around his words would not make him any friends that was for certain, but in the end saying nothing at all was an afront to the very things he believed in. Even his words went unheard or received anger he at least had to try.

"If they choose to stay that is their decision, but this kind of Evil is cunning, and by now I am sure you can see that as well. If you will allow me to show you something Preacher."

Gavril rose from his seat on the pew and made his way up to the raised podium and silently came down to emaciated body of the vampire that the Preacher had presented them with only moments ago. Reaching down Gavril plucked a small dagger from its sheath and cut his hand slightly, black blood started to slowly ooze from the open wound, putting his hand over the vampires mouth a couple drops of blood fell into its open mouth. When the blood touched the vampires tongue the body violently jerked, try as it may the vampire jerked for a couple moments then lay still once more.

"Vampires don't die of starvation, but the lack of blood puts them into a coma state that they can not come back from unless they are given large amounts of blood to sustain themselves again. As you saw it came back but only for a brief moment, you were technically right preacher this vampire is technically dead, however the only way to assure it stays dead is to remove its head and burn the body. The only reason I speak of these things is that everyone must understand that these creatures while deadly also have specific mechanisms that if unknown can spell death for someone who is unaware of it."

When Gavril got back up to his full height he could feel the eyes boring into him, he didn't even have to turn and see to know that his small demonstration was drawing in even more questions then answers. Turning Gavril looked at the others an then at the preacher.

"I apologize for my abruptness father, I am going to take a deeper look around the town, when the last of the hunters arrive I shall return as well."

Gavril nodded his head in respect to the Preacher and then started walking for the door of the church.

Buckle watched with bemused interest as a stranger clad in red walked up to the church. He was a man, and the moment the two locked eyes, Buckle felt a deep dread emerging in his chest. Before he could muster up a word or two, the man in red carried on towards the church. Buckle eyed a heavy metal gauntlet, tipped with claws for fingers, secured snugly to man's left arm. This was already turning into the strangest job Buckle had undertook, and he once sat up all night watching a cave because some Indians down on one of those depressing reservations were certain a spirit was emerging from it nightly to take their children. He didn't see any spirit, but he saw the dollar bills they threw at him afterwards.

"Well I'll be," muttered Buckle in a gruff voice, "if that ain't one strange individual."

Buckle.

Buckle dropped his cigarette, drew his revolver and turned in one fluid movement. Darkness greeted him, and aside from a few intermittent noises from the natural night life, he saw and heard nothing. Passing it off as a feat of his imagination, the retired bounty hunter holstered his pistol and looked at the church. With a sigh and a shrug, he made his way towards the meagre structure, and placed his hand against one of the doors. It moved on rusted hinges, but he was careful to keep things quiet. Before he threw his lot in with a bunch of crazies, he at least wanted to know more about the situation.

Peering in through the opening, he eyed the preacher. He was a haggard old man, but with the deep fire of passion burning in his eyes, and Buckle knew there and then that this man was either terribly ill of mind, or he was genuinely troubled by something; something as real as the howling wind. After listening to the old man talk of Paradise's peril, and how time was not a quality in abundance, he was startled by the sight of the preacher throwing onto the floor the body of a half-naked roughian.

"This... is a vampire," the old man proclaimed.

Buckle stifled laughter, and took a step back but allowing the door to shut as silently as he had opened it. Vampires? Was the old bastard as desperate as to kill a homeless man, play surgeon with his face and then pass him off as a thing of legend? Whenever Holy men were involved, reasoned Buckle, anything was possible. Feeling that this was one party he wanted no part in, the bounty hunter turned to leave. Fighting children's bedtime stories was one thing, but murdering innocent folk was quite another - Buckle had done enough of that in his time, and the bitter after taste it left had never leaved him, no matter how good the money. As he started back down the path through the graveyard, he suddenly became aware that he was being stalked.

Foot steps sounded behind him, and he gripped his pistol. Easy now Buckle, let 'em think you've got the jump. Pulling back the hammer of his trusty 44., the bounty hunter listened intently. He hadn't heard the church doors open, though it was possible someone had slipped out with great care - but it would have taken a few seconds, they wouldn't have been right up behind him. If they'd rounded the church as he was walking away from it, then he'd of heard their feet crossing over the dried earth of the graveyard. This was odd indeed, but what troubled Buckle more was the pace of the foot steps. There was the solid sound of a boot being planted in the ground, but it was accompanied by a dragging noise. Whoever it was, they were limping.

Why, Buckle?

Buckle sprinted forwards, threw himself to the floor, rolled onto his feet and looked down the sights of his pistol. A woman, pale and limp at the shoulders, with her head cocked violently to one side, approached him. Her face was a mess of broken bones and blood, and there was a large pooling stain on her abdomen. Her eyes are what really bore into Buckle though, for they were misty - as if they'd belonged to someone dead several days. He knew this woman, knew her well, and the impossibility of the situation froze him into inaction.

Then she vanished, as quickly as she had appeared. Buckle stood for several moments, his limbs locked rigid, and his heart pounding so heavily he was certain it was about to give up on him. The church doors started to open, and this shook him from his fear. He quickly dived behind a low-lying shrub, trying his best to conceal himself. Peering through the gaps in the branches, Buckle eyed the man in red leaving down the path. Keeping silent, he tried to soothe himself.

"That was not real," he whispered , "she's long dead. It wasn't your fault, it wasn't your fault. This is just your conscience, see? It was not real."

After a few minutes, Buckle stood from his cover. A powerful yearning to walk into that church and ask the preacher more about the situation suddenly possessed him, despite his rational mind doing its best to get him out of the town without delay. Real or not, what he had seen didn't belong in the waking world, and if somehow evil really was afoot, Buckle wanted no part in it. That all said, however, he stormed towards the church, suddenly feeling that perhaps the old bastard had played some kind of trick on him. How hard would it be to dress someone up in- he stopped there. How would anyone out here know what she looked like?

"You ain't finding answers out here, so you best get yourself inside," he told himself.

Putting a heavy hand on the door, Buckle pushed his way into the building. There he saw the priest, standing over the deformed creature.

"Bill Furrows, a pleasure really," he said, walking up to the preacher. "Mind telling me about what exactly it is we're up against here?" Pausing, Buckle felt he'd better make himself for specific. "I mean, just saying for a second that the dead are walking, and that there are frickin' vampires flying around, what is the true picture?"

Realising he was making a confudled mess of himself, and suddenly becoming obvious to the buckets of sweat rolling down his forehead, Buckle breathed deeply. "Let me try that again," he said with a cough. "Are guns going to do us any good against whatever it is that might be out there?"

Splinters tapped his revolver idly, looking at the stranger that just walked in. Bill Furrows. He stared for a few moments. A minute. "...Silver bullets for the werewolves. Regular bullets work fine on zombies, just aim for the brain. I've barely fought any vampires, so I don't know about them. Burn witches." He paused. "Name's Alex Splinters. I'm the Sheriff of Paradise. Some messed up shit has been happening in this town and I intend to solve it."

He glanced at Eliza. "Even if we have to recruit some...Unruly individuals." He leaned on one of the pews. "If you're still skeptical, mister Furrows...We'll see when a hungry, hungry vampire comes for you. Keep an eye out."

He then looked at the old man Cyrus. "Question, where did you find the little shit, Preacher?" He gestured at the deceased vampire corpse.

Cyrus stood from the platform with a groan and took a few steps to Buckle, "Name's Cyrus White, friend, if there's one thing I can't stand it's being called "the preacher" " he looked around for a few moments at the people who referred to him as such. "It's just like Splinters said, but enough gunpowder will stop anything in their tracks long enough to dispose of them..." he stepped over to where he had left his shotgun and brought it over, a Colt 10 gauge double. "I once nearly tore an entire werewolf in half with two trigger pulls." he smiled looking at his prized weapon. "Still had to stab the bastard with a silver knife to finish the job though, so you need to know what you're up against." he closed the breech on the gun and set it on the platform.

He looked over to Splinters who asked him a question, "I found this poor bastard about a half mile out of town, I assumed he had been left for dead by a pack of the som'bitches" Cyrus kicked the body again for good measure. "These things are getting desperate for blood, they usually don't get this close to town"

Buckle started to lose his mind; he felt sanity ebbing away in almost physical convulsions. His eyes fixated on the creature, that he had earlier thought to be a surgically altered corpse. It was real sure enough, and hideous at that. Slowly, he stepped back from it and sat himself down on one of the pews. Taking a deep breath, and wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, he attempted to regain his composure.

"So, Mr. White, are there many of those 'things' out there?" He asked. "Because I be thinking that you should've sent for the God darned Army, than for a few gunslingers."

She had been in this room for five minutes and was already beaing called "unruly"? Fucking Catholics.

Eliza looked from person to person, catching each pair of eyes and holding its gaze until it turned away uncomfortably. She didn't get a good feeling from the man with the red eyes. Eliza wasn't one to judge, but this guy was a real piece of work.

And the man that had just walked in, Bill; he seemed about ready to crack. Eliza put on her best comforting voice, a honey-sweet tone she often used with children. "Bill honey, the goddamn army don't care about a little southern town. We take care of our own here, but 'our own' don't mean much. This is all we got."

Tying her long hair back with a red ribbon, Eliza wandered lazily over to sit on the floor by Bill, looking across the room at Cyrus. "So, preacher," she chided, "We going to do anything about these dead guys or just talk about 'em? We all got guns, I think. Let's go get 'em."

Vampires, zombies, witches.

A few minutes into the meeting and it was already shaping out to be one of the strangest things Merrick had ever stood witness to. The body the preacher had showed them looked like a badly emancipated human - almost like the starved survivors of a long siege. In fact, he had actually felt certain that the preacher was a man gone mad who had made the whole story about vampires up just to attract more people to the town. However, that theory quickly went to hell when the man with the red eyes seemingly 'awakened' the corpse with just a few drops of his blood. Merrick was still skeptical; for all he knew, the man and the preacher were in cahoots, but even as he told himself that, he knew that it was unlikely. The man had only just showed up, and the preacher did not seem to know anyone apart from Eliza and the sheriff.

In any case, Merrick's attention had been largely grabbed by the new arrival - Buckle, that was his name. He acted erratically, like a man who was on the very edge of slipping into insanity. It was a nature that Merrick had the misfortune of knowing well. He had lost count of the number of young soldiers who suffered from unending and relentless nightmares after their first few battles. Some recovered, others took their own lives and a handful simply disappeared in the dead of night, much like what Merrick had done. Most, however, lived the rest of their lives as a broken shell of a man.

"The army won't do us any good, mate." Merrick said in response to Buckle and nodded to Eliza. "She's got it right, the army has more things to worry about than whatever trouble Woop Woop found itself in." He neglected to tell them that that was the exact reason why he had came to Paradise, aside from the offer of a job. They did not need to know that he was a deserter. "Besides, anyone they send would probably just be a weekend warrior, and they're about as useful as tits on a bull." He said. From his experience, militiamen were only effective when fighting in a place and against an enemy they were comfortable with. Against the paranormal here in Paradise? They would most likely turn and bolt the first chance they got.

He knew that he had probably used too much Australian slang in his words, but it was at least a lot better than when he had first stepped off the boat. Back then, no one could understand a word he was saying, and even after close to a decade living in America, he still enjoyed using it. It reminded him of home and was like a slice of Australia he could carry on his person and never lose. He looked back to the preacher, then at the sheriff. "I'm ready to head out on your go." He said. They could send him against the witches or the zombies, Merrick was confident that the .577 shot fired by the Snider-Enfield would put a quick end to them, and a quick end to anyone standing behind.

Cyrus bobbed his head and listened to the conversation that took place, after everyone had finished talking he chimed in "Well, we don't have enough people to split up right now." he stepped away from the group and towards a cabinet at the front end of the church, "so we're gonna have to take this one thing at a time." he opened up the cabinet, there on a rack was an iron chest piece with a silver cross embedded in it. Next to the holy armor was a set of revolvers,bullets, and 10 gauge shotgun shells he grabbed them up and put on his holster. He then took the plate and strapped it to his chest under his worn black duster.

He stepped back to the group in his holy garb, he felt like a modern crusader, purging the wicked from the earth. "We should head over to the graveyard, bout a mile away from town." he said picking his shotgun back up from the platform. "Seeing the dead walk will get any skepticism left right out of you" he wasted no time walking towards the front door of the church, "let's go, I'm sure just the few of us can handle this one" he said opening it up and stepping out into the cold dark night.

Niiu awoke to streams of light flowing in through cracks between crudely nailed boards over her window. Nowadays, one couldn't be too careful about where they slept or how well they were protected. In this moment of her life, she would often think about how she was merely surviving in this little town, now. It wasn't living, no, just instinctual acts to keep her blood pumping as cleanly as possible. She rubbed her eyes, scowling at herself as she felt the lengthy scar across one of her eyes, an accident from blacksmithing, but then she felt the warm red scar and sighed. Finally, the girl sat upright and grabbed the large blade from her bedside table and strapped it over her back. Her stockpile of food was dwindling, and it'd been awhile since she'd last left her residence. She needed to find more food as well as check on the state of the town.

Standing, she stretched and looped her belt over her cut off jean shorts, placing her gun x knife combination into the holsters on the side. They were shaped in an odd way, but that was because the weapon itself was rather odd. As she made her way over piles of laundry that needed washing, empty cans, full cans, etc., she grabbed a dark blue cloak from a hook on the wall. She tied the thin cord loosely at her neck, and pulled the hood over her face. She knew that if there were drifters, they might mistake her as something other than human, but to her, it was better than them seeing the scars that covered her body. She rested a hand on one of her weapons as she flung her door open, in case there was anything waiting for her. Several scents wafted into her nostrils, but besides that, there was no undead or otherwise harmful creatures in plain sight. She drew the pistol anyway, simply as a precaution. For a few minutes she didn't move and took in the new scents until she came to a conclusion.

'There's....people...here... Why?' She thought to herself nervously, not wanting to be seen by any of them. She shut the door and created a new route to her destination in her mind, and began to follow it, hiding the best she could in the shadows by abandoned or maybe occupied buildings, hoping no one heard her or saw her. She, at least, wasn't seeing them. It wasn't until she was a little ways off from the church that she began to hear the voices, but she dared not go near the building. Instead she ventured around it, at the border of trees. Of course, that made her far more nervous, but which was she truly more scared of- people inferiorating her or monsters that wanted to kill her? Well, in Niiu's poor little mind, they were equivalent. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest as she edgily watched both the church and the trees, fearing anything or anyone coming out of them. And so she began to run. Her shoes, which were quite torn up by now, created loud noises as they crushed the dried fallen bits from trees of the prior season. After several steps she stopped dead in her tracks; frozen in place, she looked around her, not even breathing, taking in the potential horror of her mistake.

Granted, most things didn't dwell too much at that time of day, but it was still very possible, and with the noise she'd just made, if there was anything, it was sure to have heard her. She held her pistol with both hands, careful not to catch her fingers on the blade. Slowly, she exhaled her pent up breath, having not heard anything. She began to walk again, keeping her nerves in check. She glaced at the church for half a second, and a voice welled up in her head.

"Go ahead, go inside. They'll all hate you for your scars. They'll know you were stupid. They'll know you were cursed. When they laugh, you should kill them. Shoot them or slice their throats... You know it'd be so much fun... to bathe in all of their warm blood...."

Several images of the scene flashed in her mind, and she keeled over and hurled, Standing back up straight she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, shaking her head. 'I just want them to go away. I just want the voices to stop... I hate this... Why me?' She thought, taking another moment to make sure there were no creatures following her again. Then she carried on with her mostly careful venture to the also probably abandoned by now food market. The town had gotten more desolate the longer she'd been gone in her little house.

Derek Aukos sat on his front porch in a rocking chair, a lantern hanging from a peg on the wall to provide light for his reading, which was an open bible in his lap. The chair was leaned back, as his feet were resting on a horse trough just in front of the porch. He puffed a pipe slowly, every once and a while lifting his head to blow a carefully made ring, which would bring a brief flicker of a smile to his face, before returning to his reading. He had it open to the book of numbers, chapter 13.

13 And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying,

2 Send thou men, that they may search the land of Canaan, which I give unto the children of Israel: of every tribe of their fathers shall ye send a man, every one a ruler among them.

3 And Moses by the commandment of the Lord sent them from the wilderness of Paran: all those men were heads of the children of Israel.

4 And these were their names: of the tribe of Reuben, Shammua the son of Zaccur.

5 Of the tribe of Simeon, Shaphat the son of Hori.

6 Of the tribe of Judah, Caleb the son of Jephunneh.

7 Of the tribe of Issachar, Igal the son of Joseph.

8 Of the tribe of Ephraim, Oshea the son of Nun.

9 Of the tribe of Benjamin, Palti the son of Raphu.

10 Of the tribe of Zebulun, Gaddiel the son of Sodi.

11 Of the tribe of Joseph, namely, of the tribe of Manasseh, Gaddi the son of Susi.

12 Of the tribe of Dan, Ammiel the son of Gemalli.

13 Of the tribe of Asher, Sethur the son of Michael.

14 Of the tribe of Naphtali, Nahbi the son of Vophsi.

15 Of the tribe of Gad, Geuel the son of Machi.

16 These are the names of the men which Moses sent to spy out the land. And Moses called Oshea the son of Nun Jehoshua.

17 And Moses sent them to spy out the land of Canaan, and said unto them, Get you up this way southward, and go up into the mountain:

18 And see the land, what it is, and the people that dwelleth therein, whether they be strong or weak, few or many;

19 And what the land is that they dwell in, whether it be good or bad; and what cities they be that they dwell in, whether in tents, or in strong holds;

20 And what the land is, whether it be fat or lean, whether there be wood therein, or not. And be ye of good courage, and bring of the fruit of the land. Now the time was the time of the firstripe grapes.

21 So they went up, and searched the land from the wilderness of Zin unto Rehob, as men come to Hamath.

22 And they ascended by the south, and came unto Hebron; where Ahiman, Sheshai, and Talmai, the children of Anak, were. (Now Hebron was built seven years before Zoan in Egypt.)

23 And they came unto the brook of Eshcol, and cut down from thence a branch with one cluster of grapes, and they bare it between two upon a staff; and they brought of the pomegranates, and of the figs.

24 The place was called the brook Eshcol, because of the cluster of grapes which the children of Israel cut down from thence.

25 And they returned from searching of the land after forty days.

26 And they went and came to Moses, and to Aaron, and to all the congregation of the children of Israel, unto the wilderness of Paran, to Kadesh; and brought back word unto them, and unto all the congregation, and shewed them the fruit of the land.

27 And they told him, and said, We came unto the land whither thou sentest us, and surely it floweth with milk and honey; and this is the fruit of it.

28 Nevertheless the people be strong that dwell in the land, and the cities are walled, and very great: and moreover we saw the children of Anak there.

29 The Amalekites dwell in the land of the south: and the Hittites, and the Jebusites, and the Amorites, dwell in the mountains: and the Canaanites dwell by the sea, and by the coast of Jordan.

30 And Caleb stilled the people before Moses, and said, Let us go up at once, and possess it; for we are well able to overcome it.

31 But the men that went up with him said, We be not able to go up against the people; for they are stronger than we.

Aukos looked up, and considered for a moment. "And as a result, they were doomed to wander for 40 years in a desert, at the border of the promised land." He frowned, his brow furrowing, and he looked down at the Mauser in his lap, "Their sin was not action, but inaction." The man, dressed in a pair of levi's and a plain cotton shirt, looked up at a nearby shed, newly built and solidly lock, with a door that rattled violently, and nonstop. Aukos stood, and walked up to the door, holding his gun, cocked and loaded, in one hand. He tapped on the door, and the rattling redoubled. He paused a moment, and then lifted his weapon, firing it five times through the woodwork, and the reloading the weapon, and cocking it once more. He then unlocked it, and used the tip of the barrel to maneuver it open, revealing the body of a zombie on the ground, unmoving. He stared at it for a moment, and then shook his head, looking sad. He closed the shed and locked it, then returned to his house, pausing to pull the chair and the lantern inside the house with him, and then locked the door. He lit a fire in the corner stove, and set a kettle of water on, and then sat in his chair again, refilling his pipe and staring at the flames through the grate.

He began to pray.

Gavril had silently been walking down the dirt path for a few moments now, on either side of him he saw different size buildings that he supposed were houses for the residents. However it was painfully obvious that they not there anymore, he saw no candle lights on inside, just darkness an nothing more. This wasn't the first time Gavril had seen something like this before, in fact this was something he had seen more then many times in his homelands. This was a sign... a sign that something bad was coming here very soon. This is how it always started, the creatures would attack under the cloak of dark, and one by one they would start to drop the count of lives in the town or villiage. Then after a certain amount of people mostly men who could fight were gone then bigger attacks would happen here and there. Most never truly noticed a couple disappearances in a world like this where there was so many ways to die, which meant that most towns were taken by surprise with a full on attack. However this town did not have the markings of such attacks, it was just... empty as if no one had been in a time, that was what threw Gavril off it was too neat, no one would notice if you didn't understand but the situation here was very troubling.

Gavril kept walking along the road silently and soon enough he was walking through the woods, he was unsure if this path lead to the mysterious coven of witches he had heard about but he kept his guard up. The woods at night in a situation like this were no doubt crawling with creatures of the dark. Gavril listened silently to the world around him, he did not hear an animals making any noise, not even a cricket, these woods felt as though they were completely empty of any life, which was another bad sign that something was definitively here with him. Gavril sniffed the air silently as he stopped in the center of the road, the wind blew his hair wildly for a split second as the smell of something was around him, the smell was very strong which meant whatever was here was close. Gavril could feel a small energy which meant it was weak, the attack was coming Gavril could feel it now, and almost like as if waiting for the thought Gavril heard the hiss like scream come from his left side, the light was dim but Gavrils cursed eye could see the darkness as if it was day, a vampire was coming full speed at him now.

Time seemed to slow down almost to Gavrils eye's as the vampire came at him, the claw hand was already back and ready to strike, when it came Gavil raised his hand with the metal gauntlet and caught its hand in mid swing. With one powerful swing Gavril took the weak vampire off its feet and threw him a short distance away, in the moment of distraction Gavril removed the razor whip from his belt and unraveled it. As soon as the vampire caught itself and landed Gavril was already moving at a fast speed, closing the distance quickly Gavril flicked his wrist as the sharp metal blades of the whip wrapped around the vampires neck, and in one strong angled tug the metal razors ripped through the vampires neck like paper, the head went flying sideways away from the now useless body as it hit the soft dirt. Gavril silently watched the body fall to the ground as the fight had last only mere minutes if not less. However Gavril heard clapping from behind and realized he was not alone again, the sudden spike of energy guaranteed him of that. Turning Gabriel saw a man standing in the middle of the road, he was clapping his hands as if a show had just been going on.



"You truly are a Hunter, I was curious as to if you were dressed that oddly because you had weird fashion sense or that your clothing is related to a family of Hunters itself, that show told me all."

Gavril watched the man silently approach, he kept the whip in hand but did not attack for he was getting a rather weird feeling from this man, he was most definitely a vampire there was no doubt but his energy was not of on that was completely evil. The white haired man slowly approached Gavril and stopped a couple feet away, looking down at the headless body near him the man shook his head.

"Truly disgusting creatures, this is the product of one who is turned and not guided, one who only knows human blood. They have no other way to survive, never knowing that they could quench their thirst off the animals that are in these woods. I must apologize Hunter, I sent that weakling to attack you, but I needed to be sure you were a Hunter before I tried to talk to you, and if I attacked you myself to test it then we would no doubt be in combat to the death and that would serve nothing."

Gavril looked at the vampire silently, he was not all that angry either way, however this vampire was tweaking his curiosity to a certain degree.

"Why? You could have just asked couldn't you?"

The vampire smiled a toothy grin as Gavril saw the long sharp curved fangs, this vampire was well nourished from his demeanor. An he did not even look like he appeared to be from this country at all from the garbs here wore.

"I would have but unfortunately I meant a couple Hunters down the road of my life and they were rather... how do you say violent towards me. You however intrigue me, you keep your weapon in hand yet I can tell you won't attack me unless I attack you. This kind of mentality in a Hunter from this country is non-existent which tells me your not from around here."

"You would be right, I am from another land, an where I come from I was raised to believe that not all creatures of the night are evil, but those that are choose to be. We do not kill recklessly like savage beasts."

"Thats an interesting view on things Hunter, however I think there is more to it then that, for when I look at you I do not see just a man before me, but also I see the traits of a Vampire with in you. They are not easy to spot with a human eye but I see through the skin, the blood in your veins in black as mine. I must say that you are one of the most interesting hunters I have ever crossed in my life. However I respect that you have allowed me to speak without violence so where are my manners, My name is Alucard Sebastian Vladimir the sixth, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Hunter."

The vampire gave a respectful bow towards Gavril after giving his name, Gavril looked at him idly, this was rather his first encounter with a sophisticated vampire and in his mind he was trying to find the catch. However for now Gavril would keep the peace, there was a meaning for this meeting and he was very curious to see where this would go in the end. Gavril returned the respectful bow and spoke:

"My name is Gavril Fane Vlasimirescu the third, it is a pleasure to meet you Alucard, not to be rude but I feel like there is a reason for our meeting here at this moment, perhaps you could enlighten me as to why you choose to talk to one who is sworn to kill creatures of the night?"

"No offense taken Gavril, I understand that is it hard for most Hunters to believe that there are Vampires who can be civilized, it is rare to find one but not impossible my friend. But I shall make my point Gavril, it is no big secret that something terrible is about to happen to that little town a ways down the road, I am sure you have noticed peculiar things in town. I am coming to you because if I came to one in the town they would not believe me and try to kill me, but a great evil is here in this place, an evil that has no name, I have felt it yet know not what it is, you too have felt it I know for you are half vampire."

"Yes I have felt it, from the moment I got within 100 feet of this town I could feel it. But my question is... what is it?"

"This I do not know, however I can tell you that a certain Coven of witches maybe able to tell you if you can persuade them. You see they are not happy either with the events that are taking place, and they are more knowledgeable then I in such matters. They have lost precious sisters from their coven to this evil, corrupted by its influence and now working with it. You must handle this matter my friend, for I know the man who calls for aid... he has a vendetta against the witches, he does not like them for reasons that are unknown to me."

"I know what you mean Alucard, I have seen him talk of them and I can see the blood lust in his eyes for them."

"Exactly if you attack them out right then they will never help you, an this evil if I like it or not affects me as well, its intoxicating enough that I have had to lock myself away so that I will not be driven into corruption like the many witches from the Coven. There is still time to stop it Gavril, but time is running out and quickly at that. Here take this Gavril you will need it."

Alucard reached into his coat silently and pulled out a medallion which was inscribed with the sign of Witch Coven. Gavril took the medallion from Alucard and slowly placed it safely in his own jacket.

"The Coven is in a frenzy right now because of this evil, and no doubt will not allow an outsider to enter their camp. Present this to one of the sisters and ask to speak to Nadalia, she is the oldest and wisest of the Coven she leads them, if you can get her on your side then there might be a chance, if you can't then there may not be a future for any of us. I must go now Gavril, but I am sure we shall meet again the future, take care my friend."

As Gavril nodded to Alucard he silently started to fade off the road and then was gone, Gavril was alone now on the road, he now had a lot to think about, deciding it best to return to town first Gavril made his way back down the road and soon found himself back at the church in time to see the Preacher and the other men exiting looking as if they were ready to fight. Walking up to the preacher Gavril spoke.

"What is going on?"

Splinters grinned. "Just the way I like to deal with these things." He took out his Winchester 1895 rifle from his back and following Cyrus out the door. He whistled. "Colder than regular nights, tonight." He glanced at his left, then right. The red-eyed stranger, named Gavril, finally came back, it seemed. "We're going zombie hunting." The tin star on his shirt reflected the moon and the stars surrounding it. He tapped his rifle absently, waiting for everyone to get outside the church.

Buckle pulled his Colt Model 1860 New Army from its holster and gave it a look up and down, as the others talked. It had served him well his entire life; weighty and solid, it smelled pungently of a gunpowder, though he hadn't used it some years. He rotated the cylinder slowly, checking that the percussion caps were still firmly in place upon the nipples. Yes, it had served him well, but after six pulls of the trigger it'd take him about fifteen minutes to reload the thing. Six bullets was plenty enough when you were gunning down some lowly criminal and his friend, but a thing of nightmares? That might be another matter altogether.

"I volunteer to go and erm, you said negotiate? Yeah, negotiate with them witches you spoke of, but I sure as Hell ain't going there alone. Pardon, me, Father, I mean I sure as heck ain't going there alone," he said. "Who's with me?"