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The Hunt

Blood pools around the fragmented skull of Drewitt, staining the concrete ground upon which it rests. Everything is silent, a deathly quiet.

As Tombstone sits beside his body, alone, his mind is one to wander.

The hunt has seemingly only just begun.”

He sighs deeply.

“For if I cannot ferry his soul, where doth it go? That is a torrid conundrum, Luther Grim. I don’t hunt. That is not the service I provide.”

“Yet here I sit, less one soul in my possession.”

Again.

“If I want to retrieve it, one might have to hunt it down.”

“I could seek his soul. I could hunt for it in the darkest recesses of the abyss. I might find it briefly in the underworld, or in purgatory. It might even reside for a breath in paradise.”

“There are traps I could lay to find it.”

“But that kind of hunt is not for me. See, I do not traverse Arcadia hunting for the souls of the deceased. I don’t desire them. They aren’t trophies that I hang on the wall of my abode, of which I stroke my hubris with.”

“Like I said, typically, I do not hunt. I ferry.”

“But Drewitt here has left me little to no choice, has he not? If I want his soul, I’m going to have to participate in some type of hunt for it. It isn’t here, where it should reside. It isn’t where it ought to be.”

“But unlike you Luther, I won’t be packing a bag of weaponry and heading into the badlands of this world to hunt him. I do not need to do that. Neither the abyss, purgatory, the underworld or paradise require my presence.”

“I do not need to track or trace. I do not need to hurt or harm. There are no doors to break down or forests to search.”

“The best hunters require little more than patience; not haste, violence and greed.”

“Whilst you’d be feverishly searching every parcel of land in Arcadia, desperately and exhaustedly searching for your prey, I’m going to sit right here.”

“In this very spot.”

“And wait for it to come to me.”

“Sooner rather than later, Drewitt’s soul will return to his broken carcass and reunite with it. Before long, he will breathe life once again. “

“When that happens, I won’t have moved an inch from this very spot.”

“You on the other hand, when we meet, will be exhausted. Your hunt for Jinx no longer a simple game of cat and mouse.”

“And when a hunter is tired, exhausted and no longer focused, that is when he becomes the prey. That is when he meets his end.”

“But never fear the end, Luther Grim.”

“The end is where we meet.”

“And I will send you on your way.”

Tombstone