Part Forty One: Accidentally Like A Martyr

	Having defeated the powerful Cerberi, Caleb took a moment to wonder if this strange journey might finally be over. As he did so, a section of the wall opened up to reveal the ancient scroll that he had been seeking. For a moment all the old gunslinger could do was stare dumbly at the object, his mind having trouble grasping the concept that it was now finally firmly and easily within his reach. This is the scroll that Tchernobog had once promised would be his, the scroll which he would now use to control both life and death itself. After a long pause he finally began his approach, fully expecting it to vanish before his very eyes as it had done to him so many times in the past. Strangely enough though the scroll remained both amenable and material before him, giving to his touch as if it were any other piece of wound up paper.

	The old gunfighter then brought the parchment before his softly glowing eyes, unrolling and stretching it out in order to take in its full glory. Strange symbols and Cultic phrasings littered the piece, some of which were familiar while others seemed to be in the most foreign of tongues. This truly was an ancient document, and yet none of its edges were frayed and its surfaces showed no signs of age or discoloration. It really did seem to have a life of its own. Caleb searched the scroll for any words or phrases that he could decipher, and finally found a passage written in a more modern Cultist script. Roughly translated, it stated that the bearer of the scroll could dismiss the forces of entropy and death by clasping the scroll in one hand and the object or person they wished to save in the other. The old gunslinger simply blinked at this. Then his heart sank like a stone.

	Through his own actions Caleb had ensured that there was nothing left of Ophelia for him to grab hold of. To save her from the Cabal and the stone gargoyle lord Cheogh's defiling touch, he had burnt her remains on the Altar of Stone and had cast her ashes to the wind. There was nothing left of her for him to use this ritual on. The gunslinger started to pace around the arena uncomfortably, desperately searching for some way he could make this scroll work, some way he could use it to return his most beloved back to him. He also thought of the other Chosen, and how they were now similarly inaccessible to him. He had consumed what little was left of Gabriel, using his power to aid him in his quest for vengeance against both the cult and Tchernobog. Of Ishmael he was never able to find any trace. Without them, the scroll was useless to him.

	The old gunslinger felt like howling, but somehow did not have the energy for it. All the hopes and dreams he had worked into the scroll suddenly left him, just as the old life he now sought so hard to return to had done so many years before. Was there any facet of his old life that was still left to him, anything at all that could provide him with some solace or even just the tiniest vestige of hope to carry him through the many long years and difficult trials ahead? Caleb idly placed his hands into his back pockets as he paced, and found there the charred remains of something else he had thought had been taken away from him for good. Gently he drew out what little remained of his photograph, the one that now bore only the faintest of outlines to show that the face of his beloved ever once showed there.

	As he extended it out in one hand Caleb also brought forth the scroll in his other, closing his eyes as the mystical forces involved did their work. When he opened them again, he saw that something amazing happened. Not only had the scroll managed to restore the image of her back to him, it had done it in such a way as to bring forth such a definition as he had never seen before. The original bleached out sepia image had been replaced with something far more colourful and vibrant, revealing to him once more the true wonder of Ophelia's features; her hair, her smile, her lips, her eyes. It truly was a sight to behold. Tears started to well up in the corners of the gunfighter's dry old eyes, and a smile of warmth finally managed to break across his usually cold and cynical face, adding force to the words he was about to speak.

	"I will find you Ophelia" he stated softly, staring into the photograph. "I don't know how, I don't know where, and I don't know when, but I will find you. I will bring you back to me for good. I just need to find a way." As he was speaking, he unconsciously started to bring the hand holding the photograph closer to his chest, and suddenly felt a strange feeling start to rise inside of him. The scroll had found its next target, and had set about reinvigorating him. It was giving Caleb his life back, supplying him with the force he would need to stand alone for the next century. It was telling death to back away from him, and sending his spectral reapers all the way back to hell. It was also taking Caleb away from it. He suddenly felt himself to be shifting, being pulled away from the realm of the dead and back to the land of the living.

Hamish Paul Wilson
December 14, 2014