Chapter Text
Elsewhere, a few days later...
Viscen glanced at the clock mounted on the wall, nearly choking on the coffee he'd been drinking. "Son of a bitch, I'm nearly late."
He took his hat from the rack near the door and stepped outside, squinting and shielding his eyes as much as he could from the raging sandstorm assaulting the county. Barely audible over the howling wind, the Sheriff heard the neighing of a horse, wondering just who would be out in this storm.
"Get yourself inside!" He yelled, worried his words would go unheard. Since he heard no reply, he assumed the rider hadn't heard him. Whatever; he wasn't here to hold hands - let them be buried alive if they wish.
He crossed the road, nearly blown over several times, grabbing a beam holding up the covering in front of the general store, then made his way along the boardwalk towards the town hall, where Mayor Dotour, Mutoh and the other members of the two council expected his arrival.
After what felt like hours of fighting the wind and stinging sand, he pushed the double glass doors open and stepped into the entrance hall.
His sense of danger kicked in instantly.
The first thing Viscen noticed was the absence of the green-haired receptionist, who had never missed a day of work, come hell or high water. Even when sick, she'd come in and toiled at the mountain of paperwork on her desk, despite repeated chastisement from the Mayor and his family.
Slowly, Viscen approached the left door, where the Mayor's office was. He had his hand on his revolver, though hadn't pulled it from it's holster yet. He reached for the doorknob, turning it silently and giving the door a slight push.
He nearly lost his breakfast.
The receptionist lay across the desk, nude and very much dead. Her eyes were removed, shoved into her mouth along with her fingers. She'd been slit from neck to crotch, intestines hanging from the gash.
In all his years as a lawman, Viscen had never seen such carnage. His hand began shaking as the color drained from his face, his first instincts being to flee the building. But his gaze went up to the picture of the mayor hanging on the wall behind the desk, and he felt his resolve harden. If they were alive, it was his duty to rescue the mayor, his wife and the other members of the town council.
The sheriff darted to the other door in the reception area, throwing it open and running inside, gun drawn, ready to take down the sick son of a bitch who'd murdered the receptionist.
Only it wasn't just one psycho.
It was a dozen.
He sprinted into the town council meeting room, feeling his heart stop as he saw the scene within.
The mayor...
His wife...
Mutoh...
Professor Shikashi...
All dead, heads removed and placed on the table in front of their headless bodies seated in their chairs.
Standing around the table were various men in dark hats, masks and red kerchiefs. One to his left snickered.
"There's the one we were missing, boys... Let him have-"
Viscen knew he was dead, of that there was no doubt. But if he was going down, he was taking at least one of them with him. Taking advantage of the leader's (he assumed the smiling asshole was the leader) cockiness, he brought his revolver up, firing a round which hit the man smack in the middle of the forehead.
Nearly a dozen guns were trained on Viscen before the dead leader's corpse even reacted from the shot. His last thought before the swarm of lead hornets tore into him was to thank the Goddesses above Kafei and Anju had left for their honeymoon the day before.
The sheriff's body, now resembling a crimson flesh sponge, fell backwards into the main parlor from the force of the hail of bullets.
"Shit! Fucking pig got Sakon!"
"Good riddance. I never liked him, prancing around with that goofy smile on his face."
"He was weird, but he was loyal. Show him some respect."
The bitter member spat on Sakon's corpse. "Respect my-" he was interrupted as another gunshot rung out, drilling into his heart. He fell dead beside the man he mocked.
All eyes turned to the one who'd fired the shot, gun still smoking. It was held by tall, thin woman with yellow eyes which almost glowed with spite. One hand was hidden from sight behind the deep purple cape she wore.
"Sakon was a fool, but he was a brother," the woman hissed in a voice betraying barely retained wrath. " 'Curse your brothers, and be damned to death.' It seems some forget this oath they took when joining the path of righteousness."
"Rest assured, Majora. Most of us remember, and honor our words."
"Good." She holstered her revolver turning to exit the room. "Place the sheriff with his fellow councilmen, then continue cleansing this town of life."
She half turned back to her men, revealing the bladed glove she wore on her hand, still stained with blood from the woman she brutalized earlier. She cut her own tongue as she ran it over the blades, savoring the blood.
"Save me a few young people. I do so love playing with them."
~~
The redhead yelped in surprise as a hand touched her in an area that was particularly sensitive. She giggled as she leaned back into the firm chest of her husband. "Now, now, Darling. If you keep distracting me I might burn your dinner."
The man pulled her closer, burying his face in his wife's neck. "That would be fine, Honey. I know of another.... sweeter meal you could offer. I feel we would both be very satisfied."
The woman turned to face her husband, moaning loudly as he forcefully pressed his lips into hers. Their tongues met as he dropped his hands to her rear cheeks, feeling himself get more aroused when he felt her tense up.
She pulled her mouth away and took the pot of stew she'd been cooking off of the fire. "Fine, you win Darling. Let's take this to the bed."
"I thought you'd never ask, Honey."
He picked her up bridal style, capturing another kiss as he turned around....
... Only to be met with an iron barrel and a metallic click.
" You left the door unlocked."
A shot rang out, and the husband's head was reduced to nothing but a bloody stump as the twin barrels of the intruder's shotgun spat fire and lead. Blood sprayed all over the ceiling, floor, walls and countertop, as well as his wife, who screamed as she went down with her husband's headless corpse.
The wife continues to scream as she held the body of her late husband, oblivious to the intruder who casually reloaded the shotgun from nearby.
Another shot rang out, and the wife joined her husband on the floor, just as headless as he was.
~~
"Thanks for stickin' around to help, Cremia," the middle-aged bartender said as he polished glasses behind the bar. "Not that you could really go home in this storm, but I 'preciate the help."
"No problem at all, Mr. Barten," the lady in question replied, wiping down a freshly vacant table. "You should really look into hiring some extra help. You're not exactly as spry as you used to be."
As if on cue, Barten felt a crick in his back and had to arch like a rainbow to relieve it. "Maybe you're right, milady. I'll hang some signs out front and run an ad in the paper when this damn storm clears."
Cremia brought some glasses to Barten, who did as he had been and wiped them. "I hope Romani is gonna be okay. I hadn't planned for this storm, and she's still young. Not incapable of protecting herself, mind you, but a bit too... Trusting of strangers."
"If she's anything like her Pa and big sis, she'll be just fine," he assured with a smile.
"I hope so."
The double glass doors swung open, the bell above jingling as three strangers stumbled in. One closed the door behind the other two, cursing, "Fuck this stupid storm and fuck whoever decided it was a good idea to build towns in the middle of fucking nowhere."
Barten cleared his throat. "Beggin' your pardon, friend. I don't normally worry about folks swearing in the saloon, but there is a lady present currently, so lasso them tongues, okay?"
The guy who swore looked to Cremia, taking his hat off and bowing. "My sincerest apologies, madam. I shall hold my tongue."
Cremia smiled at him, but the smile was simply to hide her anxiety. Something didn't feel right about these men. Well, two men and a woman, now that she got a better look.
The woman walked up to the bar and slammed some coins down on the wooden surface. "Strongest stuff ya got, boss." She removed her hat, running her hand through her bright orange hair.
The first thing Cremia noticed was her accent. It was similar to their tongue, but slightly different, leading her to suspect she was a foreigner who'd lived in Hyrule for a while and adopted the local accent yet couldn't shake the traces of her motherland.
The second thing she noticed was her clothing. It was rather progressive, which was unusual around here. She wore tight black pants with black leather boots and had several knives strapped to each leg. Had she not been wearing a coat, a great deal of her shoulders and bare arms would've been on display, but the coat hung open, showing a rather raunchy shirt that was more akin to a girdle, if a girdle covered even less cleavage than was normal. She saw many knives, but no guns, surprisingly.
"Not a gun gal," the woman confirmed, letting Cremia know she'd been caught staring. "I much prefer blades - knives, swords, axes. Though my buddy here is way better than axes than I am." She threw an arm around the shoulder of the man next to her, who'd joined her after brushing as much sand from himself as possible. "Go on - show 'em your axe."
The large bearded man finished off his beer, withdrawing an axe from his belt. It had a razor sharp spike on the back, making it a good thrower as well as a melee weapon. He raised the axe high and stuck the spike so far into the bar it completely buried up to the head. "Sharp as fuck, ain't it?"
"I asked y'all to watch your mouth around the lady," Barten warned, rightfully angered by the vandalism displayed by the axeman.
"I made no such promise as my dandy associate," he replied coldly.
"Whatever. Now get your weapon off of the bar and keep it out."
"Oh, I'll get rid of it alright. I'll make it... Disappear."
The knife woman clapped and cheered. "Oh, I do love your magic tricks! Ya gonna do the slam?"
"You know it."
Barten was admittedly curious. "The slam? What the hell is that?"
"Oh, you'll love this one. It's so amazing, you'll split your head open trying to figure out how it works."
Barten blinked. "... Okay? Just do it-"
"As you wish."
With no warning, the man grabbed Barten by the back of the head and slammed it down onto the axe, splitting his face open, brain matter and blood oozing from the bartender's face.
Cremia screamed, dashing for the back door, but a searing pain erupted in her leg. She fell to the ground, hitting her head on the hardwood floor, drawing blood.
A few other patrons stood and grabbed for their guns bit were cut down by the dandy outlaw who dual wielded two Peacemakers. "Kay, if you're gonna have some fun make it quick." Outside, someone was preparing to enter the saloon, but the dandy outlaw spotted him and ended him with a shot through the glass doors. "We have a lot left to do today."
"Okie dokey, G."
Cremia was flipped over and pinned by a boot to her chest, the boot belonging to the knife woman who stared down at her, blood red eyes full of sadistic satisfaction. Wielding two knives in reverse grip, the woman pinned both of Cremia's arms to the floor, laughing at the cries of fear and pain from the rancher. "Ooh, I can tell you're gonna be fun to play with..."
The knife woman, the dandy outlaw and the axeman left the saloon fifteen minutes later. In the back of the saloon, Cremia lay, bloody, humiliated and dying. After being beaten, tortured and molested by the knife woman, she didn't even have the decency to put her out of her misery, smirking as she left her there to die in a pool of her own blood.
Cremia didn't know how long it was until she breathed her last, but I'm her final moments, all of her thoughts were in her beloved little sister.
"Ro...man....i....."
~
Ten outlaws. One hour.
Using the cover of the sandstorm, these few outlaws decimated an entire town of nearly one hundred. They stole every valuabtthey could get their hands on, leaving behind scenes of absolute carnage. Several wagons loaded, they rode out, bragging and singing about their victory, proclaiming how generation after generation would tell stories of how ten outlaws, using a sandstorm, killed everyone in the town of Ikana.
Well... All but one.
one week later...
the sandstorm had died down days ago, finally allowing the traumatized gravekeeper to bury the lives of those murdered in town.
It was a long, grueling task for Dampé, working all alone and with a bad back. But he would do it, and he'd do it swiftly. There was no hiding the fate of his parents from Kafei, but so long as life was in his veins, Dampé refused to allow the boy to see just how monstrous the murders were.
In the blazing sun, Dampé toiled away, breaking the hard dessert ground with his trusty shovel. He sunk it into the ground over, and over and over again, until he finally reached the appropriate depth. Struggling, he slid the body of Sheriff Viscen, which he'd wrapped in a roll of cloth, into the hole, then began filling the hole back in.
He finished it and patted the soil down then took another break. He hated stopping, but he was an old man with nearly fifty years of digging finally catching up to him; he was tired, sweaty, and sore, even his ancient, hardened calluses beginning to crack.
And he still had another fifty bodies to bury.
And light was fading fast.
Limbs protesting, muscles crying in pain, he forced himself to his feet and began digging Professor Shikashi's grave.
By the time the sun dipped behind the Stone Tower, (not an actual tower, rather a pillar of rock on the western edge of the valley), Dampé had only buried three more bodies: Shikashi, Anju's grandmother, and Zubora, the owner of the blacksmith shop. He glanced at Gabora, Zubora's assistant, who stood head, shoulders and chest above Zubora, and dreaded the size of the hole he'd have to dig to bury the lovable giant.
But for now, Dampé had dug all his body could take for the day. He rested the shovel on his shoulder and grabbed his lantern, heading towards his shack on the edge of the valley. The remote location of his humble home, he reckoned, was the only reason he still lived to bury those less fortunate.
As he walked back, he glanced toward the center of town, and froze.
A single rider held a casual trot into the dead town, formerly headed to the saloon but broke into a brisker pace when he spotted Dampé.
Ever since witnessing his pa getting gunned down by a drunken cowboy, Dampé had developed an aversion to firearms. He wasn't one of these new-aged peckerwoods advocating for the complete removal of guns from society, but he'd sworn never to touch one again. He knew they had use, and guns were the only way they could subdue his father's murderer, but he'd still never touch one. His shovel wouldn't help much against a man he knew held no such rule, but it was all he had. He dropped the lantern, threatening the approaching rider. "Stay back, you bastard! I'll knock your brain loose from your skull!"
The man raised a hand as he brought his horse to a stop in front of the gravekeeper. Now, Dampé got a good look at him: he wore a black coat over a green shirt, black hat with a green band, solid black boots and green fingerless gloves. A pair of fancy 45. Caliber revolvers rested in holsters at his sides, and a shotgun and rifle rested in the saddle holsters on his mount. "Easy, old timer. I mean only to ask you some questions."
"No way. You can't fool me, boy! I know you're one of them no good Demon Thieves what done kilt the town!"
"... Demon Thieves?"
"Don't play coy with me, you whorespawn! You know what i-"
"I am no ally to the Demon Thieves, I swear. I'm on the trail of one who's in the area."
Dampé slightly lowered his shovel. "You a bounty hunter?"
"I'm not in it for the money," the rider clarified. "Though if one had a price on it's head, I wouldn't say no to the cash."
Convinced, Dampé lowered his shovel fully. "They kill someone you know?"
The rider was silent, only nodding.
"Then we have much in common. What's your name, boy?"
The rider leapt down from his mount and offered his hand. "Link."
The gravekeeper accepted the hand, shaking it firmly. "Dampé."