Thread:MediocreKnight/@comment-27666783-20200914014420/@comment-25808351-20200919231905

He was without fear, yet an uneasiness lingered in his gut. The Regulator crept through the fog that shrouded the graveyard, his wheelgun clenched firmly in one hand and a dim lantern in the other. The orange glow gave little relief, as Marshall could sense the immense Demonic Energy overlapping these sacred grounds.

He suddenly looked down. Marshall notices a splotch of blood, fresh. He dips his finger in the crimson liquid and brings it to his nose. One whiff, his head retreats in revulsion.

“Incubus....” He murmured. “THE Incubus....” Marshall stood and reloaded his pistol. He heard voices, terrible voices, begging him to run. But he didn’t. He stood steadfast, stalwart and firm. He clenched his pistol. His eyes scanned vigorously until they settled on the best, and worst sight of all....

Marcus Jaghund emerges from the darkness, his hand grips the side of a family tomb, his irises glowing bright in the darkness. A supernatural blue to give anyone a cold chill to their spin, as blood seeps from his fresh wound. A gunshot.

Marshall backs away slowly, as he pulls back the hammer of his pistol.

“I just want you to know, this isn’t personal.” Marshall speaks out, his hand trembling at the prospect of fighting the Wardog. “It’s just my job....”

“Then I hope you understand what I have to do....” Marcus cracks his neck and approaches Marshall aggressively. Like a rabid dog who has found a lost sheep....