The Devils Comrade

I stood up. Lying flat on my ass wasn’t going to get me home. Wherever that might be. I took a good, long look around, finding myself surrounded by trees… on a mountain. What the hell happened last night that I can’t recall ending up on a mountain? I was then hit with a rather nasty pain localized to my brain.

Goddamn did I get bashed over the head with a damn bat last night. Okay, let’s recall my steps. There was the drinking—that’s where the bloody hangover came from—and the eating… Oh, that fucking light.

…What?

How can light transport me to a different location?

What kind of sci-fi bullshit is this?

I patted myself down, revealing that I still had everything on me.

My Lucky Strike and my full flask in my inner pocket.

The right pocket had my pocket watch and MP3 player, and in the left one was where my notebook, pen, and pencil sat.

Of course, I wasn’t buck-ass naked.

I donned a dark-blue suit and tie with my whitish-yellow dress shirt. I wore a trench coat over my clothes. A cowboy hat rests upon my head, and red-tinted sunglasses cover my eyes. A pair of black loafers covered my feet.

Why am I dressed like a damn fool? Who's to say, but I find it rather comfortable.

Am I forgetting about anything…

Holy shit, I forgot about my gun! Also, my Bowie knife was about twelve inches.

I unbuttoned my coat and threw flips back.

Revealing my pistol harness holding my Jericho 941 R with a few magazines on my left and my knife holster on my right.

Jesus H Christ, how did I forget about that?

I’m a damn mess.

I saw an Indian trail-like thing and decided to take it to the top. Trying to figure out where I am would be a good start. The air had a rather warm smell to it, matching the temperature, an oddity due to it being mid-December.

About an hour later, I made it to the peak of the mountain. Something Sisyphus was never able to do. When I reached that summit and viewed my surroundings, my confusion grew to its peak.

I decided to unseal my flask for the first time in a while and throw back whatever lay within it.

To describe what else my eyes found was this.

A fortress in the distance. It was like Frankenstein’s monster of cultures. The stronghold used four stone walls that wrapped around the fortress, making it seem like an European design, but it also held a traditional Japanese design of a shiro or jō.

The men who lined the wall looked as if they were something between samurai and knights, with rows of cannons lying throughout the whole in the castle walls.

I'm trying to get a grasp of this mayhem, but I can’t figure out what the hell is happening.

It was like a bad joke repeating itself over and over again, as if the person saying it believed it would become funnier the more they repeated it.

When scanning the land, I witnessed a three-headed beast ripping apart a man like a Snickers bar. Only the caramel and peanuts were replaced with guts and blood.

I force myself to forget what I have seen, and while I trying to forget, I got a glance of a town. It was about a five-hour walk from here. It's better than just standing and doing nothing. So I head off to the town with nothing but my flask to fill my thirst.

The sun was cooking my very white skin even though it was all covered, and the dried air didn’t help with cooling me down.

The last trilogy of things that was kicking me in the head was the only thing keeping my hangover; it was the same thing that caused it.

Felt funny in a non-funny sense.

I took off my trench coat and suit jacket, laying the two pieces of clothes across my arm.

Looking across the land, it was all lush green, but something felt wrong… or dead.

A few hours later, I saw this shabby town in the distance. I'm guessing it was the one I saw from on top of the hill. I throw the two pieces of clothes that lie on my arm and place them back on.

I entered the outskirts of the town, and when walking through the street, people started staring at me.

Could blame them; I would look at me too if I were them.

The villagers wore patchwork clothes, hand-sewn, mismatched scraps of fabric.

The town's architecture was crumbling right in front of my eyes; the air reeked of shit and death. I felt grimy just by standing there. There was a melancholy feeling to seeing all this. No matter where you go, there are always the poor and the needy. Maybe the Land of the Free could take some notes.

I listened to the conversations that surrounded me and how they were talking about the strange, tall man in odd clothes. The people kept giving me suspicious looks everywhere I went. Not wanting to stay still for long, I walked.

I wasn’t sure where I was going. All I needed was to learn more about this land. A place to gather information, and of course, that was the local watering hole. I search for one, finding one in some hidden area in this hidden town.

A sentence was written upon the tavern.

“For the fools who die to live.

And those who saw demon wars.

Welcome to a place that doesn’t care.”

Walking into the bar, I found the place to be rather rowdy.

A place filled with drunks, and while looking around, I saw people armed with bows, swords, and long wooden sticks.

It was like a powder keg waiting to kill everyone here.

I continued to look around when my eyes, for some reason, were drawn to a man who was sitting in the corner alone with a katana next to him.

I headed over to the counter, where I started to talk to the bartender.

“I’m new around here. Can you tell me a bit about the land?”

“Welcome to the town of Scheißloch.

This town has been forgotten and forsaken by its county of Sisyphu.”

“What about your money?“

“We use coins—copper, iron, and gold coins. Copper is the most common, and gold is the rarest. We don’t get too many travelers here, as you can see the reason why all around you. So why are you here?”

“Let’s just say I was dropped here by the gods.”

“Then they must despise your exsiccant.”

The poison seller wasn’t wrong if god were to exist, then we wouldn’t have a good relationship. We would have been at war with each other.

“Thanks for the help, man.”

“Cheers.”

Earth seemed to be long gone, like a con man who’s been caught in his charade. Maybe I should be more surprised, but I didn’t care.

The man who was sitting alone got up, walked to the bar, and stood next to me.

He wore a deep, dark blue kimono with clogs.

His breath stank of booze; he didn’t say anything to me. He just stood next to me, not even ordering another drink.

As I was getting ready to walk away, he grabbed my shoulder.

“Looks like you got your clothes off the Devil.”

“Well, that’s because I am The Devil… and I came to do The Devil’s work.”

The man with the blade by his side started to chuckle at this response.

“Then should I kill you and send you back to the pits of hell?”

He started to pull a katana out of his sword sheath and laid it next to my neck. The room fell into an uneasy silence. All eyes were on us, waiting to see if the bar was going to be repainted with a new coat of dark red.

“You may kill me, but prepare yourself to follow shortly afterwards.”

I pulled my gun out and pointed it inches from his face.

The cool blade was resting on my neck.

My gun was pointed at his chest.

He laughed.

I laughed.

“I’ve been waiting for a reason to leave this fucking place, and you seem like a good enough reason.”

We returned our weapons to their resting place, and the thickness in the air vanished.

I reached my hand out, and the man did the same. I asked for the swordsman’s name.

He said it was Miyamoto.

He asked for my name.

I said, V, it's not my real one, but it'll do.

Miyamoto asked me if I would join him for a drink.

I replied that I have no money.

Miyamoto said he’ll pay, but he told me to keep it cheap.

“I don’t have much on me.”

The two of us talk about our lives.

Miyamoto was a bounty hunter. He didn't care much for it, but it paid the bills.

The reason he stopped me was to make sure I wasn’t a man on the run, but after the first question, he knew I wasn’t.

He only pulled his sword to see what type of man I was and whether or not he should join me on my journey.

I questioned Miyamoto about how he knew I was on a journey, and he said that the way I walked in told him that.

I asked why he would want to join a total stranger on a journey that may end with his death. He replied that he was bored and wanted to leave this town.

After a few drinks, I decided that he would be perfect and allowed him to come.

We drank like fools about to go to war.

Talking, fighting, and joking as if we've known each other since the start of time.

In the morning, I found myself once again with the sun beating down on me and the birds’ chirps.

I woke up with a hangover—this time, I have a comrade to join in with the pain.