This is the story of a man named Caleb. Caleb was born in Texas in the year of 1847, and soon became a skilled but above all merciless and sadistic gunfighter at the age of 17. Caleb has always taken pleasure in killing anything that moves, while maintaining a gritty dark sense of humour. This... is his story, spoken from his point of view. Prologue Texas, 1871 My trusty double-barreled shotgun gives me comfort. I killed my first man when I was very young. By the age of 17, I was renowned as a merciless gunfighter, talked about across the West. Over the 24 years I've lived, I may have become what I am now -a monster-, but I know for certain that I am not responsible for the ruined remains of the small town I stand in right now. No... I don't feel the satisfaction of it. Thus, I look around the town to see if I can find fresh victims... and then, I hear it. Weeping. I walk over to the source of the weeping... and soon, I find the burning house and the previous owners of it. And only one of the owners remained alive... a young woman, crying over the corpse of a small boy. 'This just isn't my day...' is the thought coursing through my mind as I point my double-barreled shotgun at the woman's forehead. She looks up to me. The look... is enchanting. "Go ahead." she says with the tears still running down her cheeks. She speaks more words, but I tend to ignore those as insane banter "End my life. They have already destroyed it..." "They?" I ask, interested in her words as I lower my rifle again "What do you mean? Who is this 'they'?" "The Cabal." the woman sobs "My... my husband... it's all his fault! The coward shouldn't have tried to resign from the dark cult! It's his fault that they burned his homestead. Our homestead. My homestead! He's much better off dead! But... they shouldn't have killed my baby son!" Her words amaze me... I have always heard of the Cabal from stories. Stories about it being a cult dedicated to an ancient cruel god, named Tchernobog, the One Who Binds. And whomever would join the cult and become a General of Tchernobog will be gifted with immortality... But I have only thought of the Cabal as a legend. A myth. And now that she tells me that the cult does indeed exist, I am enthralled to join it. And she will help me. I kneel down to her, reaching underneath her arms to pick her up and put her over my back "Alright. Let's take you home..." ******** It doesn't take me too long to arrive at the place I call my home. I lay the beautiful wounded woman down on a bed, walking over to a nearby cupboard to bring out my trusty doctor's bag. More rather, it's the bag that belonged to my doctor... before I unloaded my shotgun into his mouth. Hehehehe. I use the bag's contents to treat the lady's wounds, not able to stop thinking about what she said about the Cabal. It's real. And she must know where it is... "Stranger... what is your name?" she asks me softly. Her words are more beautiful than the sounds I have started to consider pleasant; rain pattering on my head -both regular and red-, the removal of someone's intestines, and of course the ever-satisfying sound of a nice TNT bundle causing one's arms and legs to fly into several directions, while the torso and head fly into yet other ones... But enough. I introduce myself to her. "Caleb." "I am Ophelia. Ophelia Price." she faintly smiles to me as I apply some alcohol to her wounds to clean them. She twitches with the acidic burning sensation, but keeps her smile. My word... that smile... those lips... "You're free to stay in my home as if it's yours until your wounds are healed." I say stoically, not revealing what I feel now. Something I've never felt in my entire life... I fear it. "Thank you." she replies in that beautiful voice... now calm. Like an undisturbed lake. After 4 hours. After the rotting corpses have piled up in it "This is the very first time anyone has ever shown me any tenderness." "Well, don't get used to it." I reply, reaching for my backpack to check its contents... and as expected, my TNT, bullets and shotgun shells are still in it "I'm not what you call... a nice person." I then step out the door, leaving the young widow in silence on the bed... ******** Hours later, I return. I return from a hunt. A hunt... for human life. It cost me several of my bundles of TNT, shells and bullets... but it was worth it. It filled me with the satisfaction of killing I have sought the entire day. I step into my house, and the smell of fried eggs and fresh coffee meets my nose. I look into my house to see her sitting near my table, plates and utensils placed atop of it with mugs alongside the plates. I put my backpack down, and sit near a plate. "Good." she smiles to me, placing a fried egg on my plate and filling my mug with coffee. She then does the same on her side of the table, and sits down "You have saved my life, Caleb. And for that, I will forever be in your debt... so is there anything I can do for you?" "Show me the location of the Cabal." I demand "My wish is to join them." She grins to me, nodding again "That can be arranged." ******** The next day after a long night of passionate love-making, Ophelia and I are getting dressed. Dressed to get going. Dressed to go over to the Cabal. To join the Cabal. And to see him. She takes my hand, and escorts me to the majestic building. A brief ritual involving a grail that contains the dark god's blood soon allows me to take a place among the Cabal's ranks. Naturally, I start as a regular Cultist, and am handed the appropriate brown robe... but soon prove my worth as I grow in rank; from the brown-robed Cultist, to the black-robed Fanatic, to the green-robed Ackolyte, to the blue-robed Zealot, to the red-robed Priest... ******** I now stand in the Hall of Epiphany, where Tchernobog sits on his throne, as chanting occurs in the background. My hat is clutched in my hands -as requested-, awaiting word from the dark god in whose service I've toiled these many years. Over the years, the Cultists have asked me again and again how I came to be in the service of such a creature, one who knows no remorse, no mercy. Tchernobog only knows the hunger for power, and he demands complete domination. I never answer. I know my trusty double-barreled shotgun can never be enough to kill the demon. But why would I try? Tchernobog has given me skills and abilities beyond the deadliness of a bullet sped true by the explosive gas of burning gunpowder. My beloved Ophelia stands beside me. I can see that she is wary, too. Tchernobog's hunger for control of this world has only grown ever since I joined. Some say he's close to achieving the means to cross over. I wait because there's nothing else I can do. Tchernobog has summoned us. The four of us. The two other people summoned by Tchernobog are two men. One of the men is Gabriel, a bald Anglo-Saxon man with a brown tunic. A man who was born out of vengeance and groomed to be a warrior since birth. His life was told to me to be steeped in ritual, tradition, and war and his bloodlust was insatiable. This of course made him a perfect fit for the Cabal, though how he joined... I don't know. But his prowess, skill and service to the Cabal eventually led to him being proclaimed one of Tchernobog's elite Chosen. The other man is Ishmael, the most intelligent member of the Cabal who specializes in the dark arts, eschewing conventional weapons. I don't know much more about him, though... oh well. I have seen a hundred years pass since I've completed the blood ritual. Yet I've not aged beyond the 24 years I was when I agreed to serve him. The world, on the other hand, has changed around me. I've seen things of wonder come to pass, and I've seen blood and turmoil spill past me in loose skeins. "Caleb. My son." the voice of my master echoes through the Hall. I step forward to him, looking up to his eyes. "Yes, my master?" "Over the many years of your servitude to me, you have proven yourself worthy of the gift I gave you. The gift of immortality." He's right. He did give me immortality, that's what the ritual was for. "And recently, you have proven yourself even more worthy. I therefore say that you may cast away that red robe of yours... and place your hat near my feet." I nod to my master, and obey as I cast aside the red robe after laying my hat down his feet. Tchernobog looks down to my hat, and it catches on fire for a moment... as the flames die again, my hat is still intact. The master tells me to pick it up and wear it. I obey. As the hat touches my skull, my back arches over and I feel myself imbued with a new power. And with the power, my eyes turn the same colour as the people behind me - red. The sudden surge of this power forces me to fall over forward onto my knees, panting with this sensation. Yet it does not feel painful. Not in the least. It feels good. Very good. "Good." Tchernobog's voice echoes again "Caleb, my son, I bid you welcome among the ranks of my Chosen..." ******** Years later of my continued servitude, I walk over to a pair of large steel double doors. The entrance to the Cult's communal dining room, where all the followers of Tchernobog sit to eat. The Cabal's meals are all taken this way - breakfast, lunch, and dinner. All are at tables long enough to accommodate everyone. The tables are divided by ranking - the Cultists -brown robes- sit away from the Fanatics -gray robes-, Fanatics sit away from the Ackolytes -green robes-, who themselves sit away from the Zealots -blue robes- and so on. But though they are divided at the dinner table, they all eat on the same floor. Those who do not eat on that floor are the four of us. The Chosen. We eat on top of a balcony in the wall overlooking the dining room. "Ah, my people," I comment, as I nod my head and smile as I approach the table. Gabriel is about to speak "Ah, finally, someone who will speak well of me?" "Caleb, you are such a bastard!" Gabriel says. "On the other hand, what do I know?" I shrug and chuckle. "You're a stupid idiot," Gabriel continues "You never listen to us. You jus' go off on your own and then yell at us for not doin' what you did." "Here, here," Ishmael agrees, sipping his wine. I ignore the words, however, and just fill a plate with some good foods. "I don' know why we jus' don' cut you right now. We should hang ya by your thumbs. Teach you a lesson." Gabriel adds. His words amuse me. "I can't believe you!" Ophelia hisses. "How dare you talk to Caleb about him like that?! He is our leader. The general of the Cabal!" Gabriel snarls "He's your boyfriend!" "Be that as it may-" "Boy-toy, more like." Gabriel and Ishmael laugh to themselves. Ophelia hisses, "Caleb was right, you are idiots." Ophelia's defending words please me "I mean, even I know he's a stubborn, arrogant, psychotic lunkhead. But you know what he's capable of. If he wanted you dead right now, your head would've dropped onto the dinner table below already. And besides, you know the Cabal has ears everywhere, even where we sit. Do you want to unhinge our bonds and factionize the Cult? Then where would we be? Where would our power be? He may be an idiot, but we need him on our side." "You talk too much, Brit." Gabriel snarls. "Bayou street trash." "You go back and thump your precious leader all you want, cause you know he'll protect you. Has he gotten 'roll over' down yet?" Ophelia grimaces, takes her plate and slams it on Gabriel's head. Gravy and potatoes dribble down his dreadlocks. I laugh at the sight as Ophelia goes to sit next to me, and I put my arm around her. Ishmael puts a hand to his mouth to stifle his giggling while Gabriel licks the dripping gravy off his face. "Attagirl, baby," I comment, kissing her. Ishmael brushes the dripping gravy from Gabriel's eyes. "Bit off more than you could chew?" End of the Prologue