Everything about me was a lie. I had been told that I was born an orphan, plucked from the cold corpse of my murdered mother by the worshipers of Horus who had raised me. That they had no idea who my father was, or why all my life I've been filled with rage.

All these thoughts raced through my mind as I watched everyone I've ever known or loved be murdered before my eyes by what could only be described as a freak of nature, a being that could have only come from hell. Another corpse falls, covering the peephole that I've used to watch from below, as puddles of blood form here underneath the floor. "I'll ask you one more time, priestess, where is my child?!"

Silently moving along the cramped space and finding another hole to look through, I saw Mother Cerdwin being held up in the air by the neck, blood dripping from her mouth. "You'll never find him." She spat blood in his face, and in retaliation he snapped her neck, throwing her body across the room. "You can only keep me from my son for so long!" After searching the church for what felt like an eternity, he finally gave up, probably leaving to search the rest of the village. That night I cried myself to sleep, curled up in a ball, bloody and exhausted.

Fast forward three years, and here I am. I snap my fingers, and a cloud of dust and smoke gathers around me, picking me up as it slowly shifted into the shape of a horse, bucking for a moment with a loud neigh before moving along the dirt road, with the now-empty temple behind me, and the vicious wasteland before me. Anyone else would avoid riding out at night, but not me. Out here, the darkness is my ally, and the freezing wind that would chill to the bone feels like a pleasant breeze as bursts of sand and air push against my face through my raggedy scarf. The sounds of the night are almost a song when put together, the chirping of the crickets, the hooting of owls, and even the howling of wild dogs, they all come together as a makeshift choir.

In contrast to the peacefulness of the night, my mind is filled with an insatiable hatred for one others might call my father, the putrid pile of flesh that I wish to destroy with every fiber in my being. I constantly scan the horizon for any sign of life, and sure enough, I saw a campfire, and started heading towards it, allowing the winds to blow away the smoky form of my familiar as not to scare them.

"Well, what do we have here?" I squinted my eyes against the bright light of the campfire to make out what was probably a group of bandits. "Why would I do that?" Normally I would've just gotten on my horse and left, but this time I was in a foul mood. "Because..." The bandit cocked his gun with a smirk, "I'll put one of these between your eyes if you don't leave me with my little doll here this freakin' instant."

I hadn't noticed until now, but next to him was a teenage girl, hogtied on the ground. She couldn't be older than fifteen. It was as if my hand had gotten a hand of its own, smoke and sand came together into the silhouette of a six-shooter, blasting a bullet sized crater in his now empty eye socket with the sound of a bang that echoed across the night sky. "You killed Marty!" "You're in for it now!" Calling up my horse just in time, I hid behind it as a barrier before somersaulting behind their carriage and shooting two more in the face, leaving one more alive. I pick him up by the shirt collar and throw him out of the camp, his neck slamming against a rock.

Now I made a second six-shooter in my hand and shot him four times, hitting his hands and feet, before grinding the open wound of his left hand into the sand. "Aaagh, oh God you gotta stop!" I pushed down harder. "How many times. How many times?!" I fired my gun again, shattering his knee caps. "How many times did she tell you to stop, how many times did you continue to use her?!" Another shot in the face and I spit on the body, walking towards the girl to free her. Hopefully she knows the rest of the way to the next town.