So long story short (no pun intended) I got bored and started typing. Hope you guys enjoy. The gunslinger stood a good distance away from his foe. The gunslinger was garbed as one would expect, with garbing of black leather and revolver in hand. His large brimmed hat covered the upper half of his face as he stared down his foe, his brown leather duster blowing in the wind. There was some oddities about the man though. The joints of his duster, the shoulders and elbows, were covered by the skulls of men long past, their sickly Ivory white standing out against the, almost cloak like apparel of the gunslinger. The man drew his gun slowly, pointing it at the man standing across from him. His weapon of choice, a Colt Single Action, its grip of leather the same colour if his garb, the gun matching his Ivory pale skin. He seemed like a walking incarnation of death himself. As clicked the hammer back once, his foe began to raise his Winchester Repeater, having to aim down at the man a bit due to his sheer height and thin, lanky body making him look unnatural. In his head, he began to spell out a word, one letter for each stop of the hammer… [i][b]C…[/b][/i] The scene seemed to playout in slow motion as you watched from your hiding spot. The man dumb enough to challenge the gunslinger was much different than him. He did not don the garb of a gunslinger, but of a bandit. His lower face was covered by a blood red bandana, showing of brightly against his tanned skin. His black hair blowing in the breeze due to its length, nearly obstructing his view of the target. His white shirt was ripped, ragged and torn, worse for wear like the man wearing as the plethora of scars covering his body could be scene though it. His navy blue pants covered the brown leather boots he wore, both being less damaged than his shirt, covered in dust and dirt. He cocked the lever of his rifle forward as the gunslinger pulled back the hammer of his revolver once more, counting out another letter as he did… [i][b]O…[/b][/i] You could charge out and tackle the unholy seeming gunslinger you thought, but you knew you‘d only meet a terrible end. Something about the gunslinger told you nothing could stop what he was, or what he was about to do. So you stayed hidden behind the tipped cart, peeking over the top. The slinger stood in a patch of grass that seemed to die around his feet, faltering and drawing a trail of where he had rode in from. He stood on the edge of this short grass, the rifle wielder standing under a tree that seemed to be alive. Its orange leaves left the man in the shade as the sun sat straight above head, a breeze rattling the leaves before another sound would soon pierce it. Dust, grass and debris blew around, blowing from the side of the gunslingers back, carrying a stench of death and decay to your nostrils. Once again he clicked the hammer of his revolver back, the rifleman now pulling the lever back as a spent casing flew through the air… [i][b]L…[/b][/i] You could feel the tension in the air in the split seconds of the actions that happened. When one shot would take less than a second, it felt like an eternity as this one passed. The heat seemed to bake your skin for centuries, as you waited for the final trigger pull that would decide the fate of this battle. As the gunslinger pulled the hammer back one last time, he looked up, revealing his full face. It was a sight you wished you could wipe from your mind permanently, but you couldn’t. As he looked up, his face could be seer wrought with age, his skin seeming more like tissue paper over a skull that real flesh. His eyes were a sickening sight with their extremely pale green colour. The final click of his revolver came as the rifleman slammed the lever on his gun back into place, moments too late… [i][b]T…[/b][/i] A shot rang off from the gunslinger’s revolver, a bullet spinning through the air as it left the chamber. His left eye, he one you could see, seemed to glow a bright, ghastly green as the bullet shot, a trail of smoke the same colour seeming to follow the round. It seemed to stop the wind as it shot, no sound but that of the gun heard. The round made a noise like the dead screaming as it traveled, and as it slammed into the man’s heart he joined the choir. The life seemed to be ripped from him as the wound erupted with a ghastly green light, his skin becoming like the gunslingers: plastered to the bone, seeming to lose its colour. He dropped to his knees, clutching the spot as he screamed for several minutes, before falling flat on his face, making no more noise. You watched the gunslinger walk off as he got onto his horse, a pale white colour to its hair, seeming in some parts to reveal bone. As he rode back to his group, you moved to get a better look at the man’s posse. He was the second rider of the group, two on his left and one to his right. Though you couldn’t see the men too well, their horses stood out. One was blood red, his mane ablaze with raging fires. The third of the group, or first to his right, was a majestic steed, a brilliant white unlike his companions, looking ready to forge a path of conquest onwards. The final rider, the second to the right, rode a horse that was a sickly green, locusts seeming to swarm around it. The four began to ride off, anything alive around them seeming to die as they rode past, to finish spreading the end times across the fields of the earth. To finish spreading the Apocalypse.