Demons of the Desert

This story is a fan-fiction of MLP:FiM. I don't own any of it. It belongs to Hasbro, etc, etc.

Don't sue. Seriously. That would be so uncouth.

Entrance

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Coltodora. The fiery cesspool of all that was vile and sinister out in the vast San Palomino desert and one of the few towns far into it. One of the furthest, in fact. It was miles away from Appleoosia, so much so that the ponies who lived here barely considered themselves part of Equestria.

Unfortunately, this apathy and disregard breeds one thing and one thing alone: lawlessness.

The streets were filled with seedy mares looking for a quick buck and nasty stallions looking for a good time, whether it be found in pleasures of the flesh, gambling, or fighting another stallion. Coltodora was a town any good pony would stay away from.

But he wasn’t a good pony.

Enter: the cloaked stranger.

The multitudes of stallions and street-mares they were trying to do business with stopped at once. They turned and looked at the strange stallion, walking in from the desert. No pony ever came to Coltodora without some other pony knowing about it. But the stranger…was strange. He was covered in a large desert cloak and wore a sand-beaten fedora that barely hid his flowing red mane. His appearance wasn’t that strange, but it was the way he walked and the sound of him walking that drew the glaring attention of every sin-ridden pony on the street. Every one of his steps made a loud metallic clanking underneath his cloak that told everypony one thing: this stranger was armed. And from the sound of the clanking, he was heavily armed.

All that put everypony on edge and the glares he received would scorch a normal pony at twenty paces. But if living in the desert teaches you one thing, it’s that no pony can compare with the heaviest glarer of them all; that ball of plasma in the sky that made normal ponies happy, but out here in the San Palomino, would make them cringe. So, the stranger trudged on to his final destination.

The wooden sign outside the saloon hung on a solitary chain and was riddled with bullet holes and broken glass from bottles that must have been thrown at it. Its abuse and the noise from inside the saloon told the stranger that this one would be like all the others, rowdy and crouched like a tiger about to pounce upon you, crushing the life from you the instant it has its teeth around your throat. But this wasn’t a time to falter. One can only go forward in situation like this. So the stranger entered.

The saloon was dark, musky, reeked of smoke, sex, beer, and sin. But, as disgusting as it was, it was also the darkest and coolest place in town, and the only place to get a decent drink. It seemed like the whole saloon was living with debauchery as the stranger entered, but as he strode to the bar, the saloon fell silent. The only things that could be heard was the clank of metal under the stranger’s cloak and the gentle sound of cloth on wet glass as the barkeep, an older, balding and grey stallion, cleaned a glass. As the stranger approached the bar, the only one without any eyes on him was the barkeep. He had eyed the stranger from the corner of his eye and knew his type. He would walk in, ask a few questions, maybe drink a mug, and then leave. The ponies like him didn’t like to cause trouble. That’s why they always stayed quiet and stayed under their cloaks. However, this isn’t to say they weren’t dangerous…

The clanking stopped as the stranger stopped at the bar. The barkeep kept on cleaning his mug, but the stranger took off his hat in one slow and deliberate movement, placing it on the bar next to him. He gave a silent glance to all in the room and it seemed that all the stallions had subconsciously put their hooves on their guns and as a collective whole, stared to sweat.

No pony they had ever seen had that shade of blood-red mane. No pony they had ever seen had that coat of orange-brown, like so many sand beaten mesas. But most chilling was that no pony ever had those eyes. Those predatory, yellow, and yet somehow dead and alive eyes. The stranger snorted when he saw a certain stallion that had drawn his pistol subconsciously. The pony looked down at his hoof holding the gun and fumbled it back into its holster, sweating all the hard while he did, for he knew who this pony was. Everyone in the saloon knew who this pony was.

“Excuse me.” The pony asked quietly and politely to the barkeep, who had now put down the glass he was cleaning, a small line of sweat beading his brow. “Could you tell me where Ah could find Wild Bill? Ah was told he could be found in Coltodora.”

The saloon collectively gasped silently, not wanting to upset the stallion in any way, but not being able to take this news silently. This certain pony was looking for Wild Bill!?! This pony?!? All the semi-religious ponies in the building did signs of good luck as they wondered what this could mean.

The barkeep dragged his cleaning rag across his sweat laden brow before he opened his mouth and closed it, repeating the process once more before he managed to speak. “Last Ah heard,” the barkeep stammered out, “was that Wild Bill left town.”

The stranger gently shook his head. “No. Ah know for certain he is still here. Could yah point me in the direction he was last?” he said with a smile.

The barkeep’s eyes widened so much they almost popped out of his skull. He took a small step away from the bar, scared at what would happen if he didn’t tell this pony where Wild Bill was. It was true that he could be here to kill him and rid Coltodora of the one thing that tried to suppress its sin, or it could be that he was here to help the bastard. Unfortunately, the barkeep couldn’t do anything but tell him, his mind working on pure fear.

“We locked him up in the prison inside of the Sheriff’s place.” The barkeep said, spilling the beans.

The stranger laughed and smiled. “How ironic! Lockin’ up the Sheriff in his own prison! Ah like it. Oh, thank yah kindly.” He said as he grabbed his hat off the bar and started to head outside. However, the sound of a multitude of pistols being armed stopped him from leaving. His smile disappeared and he cast a sidelong, hateful glance over to the denizens of the saloon who had all pulled their weapons on him. He saw every stallion holding a pistol and some easily bought mares holding small pistols they could hide under their prostitute dresses. He turned his head as he hear the sound of a lever-action rifle be cocked from behind him. The barkeep, as terrified of this pony as he was, had the gall to pull the bar’s only weapon on him.

“’Tain’t goin’ nowhere.” Said one stallion near the front of the pack, clearly scared, but cocky from his fear.

“We can’t let yah cajole with our here Sheriff. He’s stain’ where he is. We don’t need no more meddelin’ from him.” Said one of the prostitutes, her dress ruffling as she shook out of fear, her small gun looking like it would fall from her hoof.

“Ah’ll give this one warning,” the cloaked stallion said, putting his fedora on his head. “You don’ wanna die this way. Believe me.”

The crowd seemed to falter, a few stallions lowering their guns, hearing the truth behind his words. They all knew who he was, and despite his politeness, he was deadly. Just when it seemed like they would put their guns away, a large set stallion, muscular and covered in scars, walked to the front of the pack, his revolver held high. He walked up to the stallion and put his gun against his head.

“Y’all really gonna let this scrawny, yellow, colt-coddling, ass try to free that Sheriff? Y’all remember what he did? Y’all remember how he tried to change mah town? I ain’t goin’ back tah fighting with him e’reyday.” He said, shouting it to the crowd, making them raise their weapons, their morale steeled.

“Ah don’t really care who ya’ are and we all know yer reputation. But lemme tell yah this yah weakling,” he continued, shouting at the stallion while his gun was pressed against his temple. The cloaked stallion stayed calm and held a straight face. “Yah ain’t e-mortal. Yer just a pony like all the rest a’ us an’ now it’s time tah meet yer maker.”

“I already have.” The cloaked pony said.

One gun shot was heard through the saloon, the town, the desert. Everypony in the saloon sat back down, their weapons hitting the floor, knowing futility as the cloaked pony left the saloon and headed towards the sheriff’s. The denizens replayed what had just happened in their minds. The cloaked pony had somehow disarmed Granite, one of the deadliest stallions in all of the Sao Palomino desert, in a matter of movements. His actions seemed to slow time down, making the squeeze of a trigger take eons. Granite didn’t have a chance as the cloaked pony flipped him around, pulling the gun off of Granite’s hoof with his left and pulling the trigger in less than a second. The bullet that was meant for the cloaked pony ripped through Granite’s skull and into the wooden floor of the saloon. Blood stained the wood as everypony in the saloon fell to their knees in fear. They again, did signs of good luck to garner some protection from him. From the Chindi.

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The door of the Sheriff’s office was unlocked so the cloaked stallion strode into the large one room floor of the two story building, just two blocks away (which was actually pretty close for a town as small as Coltodora). He entered the building tenaciously and carefully, expecting some sort of guard to be set up to watch over Wild Bill. There was, but he was knocked out and hog-tied over in the corner of the room. The cloaked pony tensed as he heard yet another pistol cock, ready to steal his life in a matter of milliseconds.

“Who are yah, and what do yah want?” asked a rough, feminine voice.

Without turning, the cloaked stallion answered. “My true name died with me ten years ago. Now I am known as Chindi.” He said steadily, knowing that the mare’s pistol faltered when he said his name.

“The evil dead…The demon of the desert…” she whispered.

“I know.” Chindi answered back, hearing it one too many times already.

“Drop yer gun Creosote.” A husky voice said from Chindi’s right. Chindi heard the pistol disarm and then heard the sound of cool metal sinking into smooth leather. Then he took off his hat and looked around the room. Like all the other buildings, the Sheriff’s office had a wooden floor and walls. However, the first floor had been cleared out, so it was just one giant room. Off to Chindi’s left was a couch, while there was a table to his immediate right. The back of the room had a door that must have led upstairs, while the right side of the room was split. There was a door to the armory, cleverly disguised by the “ARMORY” sign painted onto the door. Next to that was what looked like a large metal cage, mostly because it was, a large metal cage. Next to it stood a young unicorn mare, slender yet tough from living in a town like Coltodora. Her coat was light yellow and her dark brown eyes glared at Chindi with so much suspicion a pony could bite through it.

Inside the cage stood Wild Bill, locked behind bars and hog tied, just like the guard was. His gunmetal grey coat was as dusty as his aged red vest, but his piercing blue eyes shone with a piercing, youth defying gleam. The Sheriff to Coltodora and hero of Southwestern justice. He was famous, first starting out in Dodge Junction as Deputy, moving up to Sheriff, taking down Quick Shot the bank robber and murderer, and then tackling Coltodora, looking to cleanse it of all villainy. Chindi had to hoof it to him, the old salt had done quite a lot here in Coltodora. The last time Chindi was here, there was an omnipresent scent of death around every corner of the town.

“Uncle Wild…” Creosote started, her horn still lit up, the gun illuminated in the yellow magical aura.

“Ah said put the gun down.” Wild Bill said with finality, making his niece drop the gun from her magical hold. “If he wanted to kill us, he would have done so by now.”

“Yah got that right.” Chindi chuckled, earning him an even harsher glare from Creosote. “Kiddin’.” He said, coughing. “But it looks like yer in quite the pickle.”

“Ah’ve been at these bars since noon and Ah haven’t gotten nowhere.” Creosote said as she threw her file down to the ground.

“So what do you want, Mr. Chindi? Why have yah come tah see me? Y’all wanna laugh at the ole’ sheriff locked up in a cage?” Wild Bill asked.

Chindi strode closer to the cage, making both of the Coltodorans tense up. He deftly grabbed the pistol from Creosote’s holster with his left hoof and dumped a bullet onto the floor.

“Hey!” Creosote shouted as he tossed the gun back to her. He picked up the bullet and brought it over to the table, laying it against a book on the table so the only part laying off of the table was the actual bullet, not the casing. He put his left hoof onto the bullet to steady it and he raised his right hoof. He swung it down, atop of the bullet, making it fall out of the casing with a resounding ‘pop!’ He then gently carried the bullet casing over to the cage and poured the black powder into the lock.

“Ah would stand back.” He said as he grabbed a match out of his fedora and struck it against the cage. It flared up and he tossed the match into the lock while hopping backwards. The black powder lit and ‘BOOM!’ shook the room. Luckily, nopony was hurt. However, the lock was mortally wounded, its sides blown in two, and the locking mechanism almost completely gone. The door swung open on its own accord and Wild Bill crawled out. Creosote immediately ran to his side and started helping him untie the ropes around his legs and help him up.

“Ah’ll thank yah fer freein’ me, but Ah still don’t rightly know what yah want.” Wild Bill said as Chindi snorted because he noticed the guard was still asleep.

“Help. Yers preferably.” Chindi replied. “Ah might be what y’all call a desperado or even an outlaw, but Ah need yer help.”

Wild Bill and Creosote looked at him in amazement. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. The pony that destroyed too many Royal Outposts, the stallion who singlehoofedly took on the whole Hole in the Corral gang and survived needed their help.

“Now why would Ah wanna help yah?” Wild Bill asked. “If y’all didn’t just save me, Ah’d be throwin’ ya into the same jail cell. Do yah know how many times Ah’ve been told by the Royal Equestrian police tah just kill yah if Ah ever did lay eyes upon yer sorry soul?” he said dynamically to Chindi who was looking out the front windows of the building.

“Ah would hit the floor if Ah was yah.” Chindi said as he crawled underneath the desk.

“What?” Creosote and Wild Bill asked as they heard the first gunshot go off. The dove to the floor just as broken glass and bullets filled the air. Creosote screamed, projecting a force field just as glass rained down onto her and her Uncle. Just what had this Demon of the Desert brought unto them? At least he lived up to his name…

“Y’all come out nice and slow if yer still alive in there!” a brutish voice called from out on the street as the trio heard guns being reloaded and cocked. Creosote groaned. She knew that voice along with her Uncle. It was Lime Stone, the second in command of the Rock Gang, led by Granite, the worst stallion in Coltodora and the pony who locked her uncle up.

“Ah wanna see Chindi come out here now!” he yelled, firing two warning shots. “Now, or Ah torch the place!”

Chindi deftly got up and headed for the bullet ridden door.

“Wait.” Wild Bill said, getting up too. “Yah just saved me twice. At least lemme save yah this once.” Creosote couldn’t believe her ears. This is what happened to outlaws; they always ended up killing each other. Why would her only uncle do something stupid like this?!?

Chindi smiled warmly back at Wild Bill. “Yah can repay me later, after we leave town. Lemme just clean his plow and then we can ride. Oh, y’all might want to stay down until Ah’m done.” He said while walking out the door. Creosote pulled her uncle down to the ground, but he pulled her closer to the now windowless window. They both peered out between bullet-ridden curtains.

“Y’all done beefed the wrong pony!” Lime Stone screamed at Chindi as he walked out to the street. Lime Stone threw a pistol at Chindi, his tears of anger mixing with sweat as the pistol landed next to Chindi. “Take it!” he continued. “We’re gonna settle this like stallions!” Instead of picking up the pistol, Chindi walked to one side of the street, the rest of the Rock Gang on the other.

“So yer gonna fight unarmed? Then die!!!” Lime Stone screamed as he and the rest of his gang took aim. “Fire!” he screamed. Wild Bill’s eyes went wide and Creosote screamed as she heard the command.

However, Chindi just smiled and brought up his right hoof. Until now, it had always been covered by his cloak. But now, it shone in the midday sun, reflecting the rays of sunlight everywhere, including the eyes of the Rock Gang’s shooters. But their rouge shots and momentary blindness didn’t affect Creosote’s and Wild Bill’s gaze at all. They were transfixed and scared.

Where Chindi’s right leg should have been, there was a Gatling gun, already humming and spinning. It was strange because it was so deadly, but Chindi was humming along with the gun, almost singing to it lovingly.

“Join yer boss.” Chindi said as the Rock Gang regained their sight and he fired.

In a matter of seconds it was over. While any other gunslinger would have gone crazy and caused terrible carnage with their power, Chindi took seven shots. All kill shots, all neat. There were no mangled bodies, no excessive amounts of blood all over the place, just silence. ‘Like the Desert’ Creosote thought. ‘He comes in quietly and if you’re stupid enough to challenge him, you die. Not with violence, but with silence.’

Chindi took a deep breath and wiped his leg with his cloak. Then he put it back under his cloak and Wild Bill and Creosote could hear a loud ‘Click’. Finally, he turned to the office.

“Pack up yer favorite gun, some food, and lots a’ ammo. Don’t worry ‘bout water er food. We’ll be at a friend’s tonight. But could you hurry please? We should git movin’. And bring Creosote along with ya. Ah don’t like leavin’ loose ends.” He said loudly so they could hear him. Wild Bill got up and headed straight for the armory while Creosote blushed as she hurried off to get the saddle bags and fill them up with small snacks. But she felt apprehensive too. Loose ends? What could that mean? Nevertheless, she had a job to do. Chindi had saved her and her uncle twice today. The least they could do is repay him, even if it meant going someplace unknown with him.

When they had everything together, all their saddle bags packed, all their guns (two Colt revolvers for Creosote-even fillies gotta shoot out west-and one beaten, yet trusty Springfield model 1873 for Wild Bill) holstered, they were ready to depart.

When Chindi saw the rifle, a grin spread along his face. “Yer gonna be popular tonight.”

“Now why is that?” Wild Bill asked.

“Where are we even goin’? And yah still haven’t told us what yah need help with!” Creosote stomped as they started to journey out of town and into the desert. “An’ why would yah tell us not tah bring water?! Were goin’ intah the desert consarnit!”

“We don’t need it.” Chindi said as he started to canter. The pair followed him and when the three of them reached a good distance away from the town, Chindi whistled while Creosote and Wild Bill caught their breath. Out of nowhere came a cart pulled by two large bison braves. They stopped in front of Chindi and they all spoke in bison for a minute. They all laughed at something one of the bison said as Chindi and the two braves looked at the two ponies.

“Jump inta the cart. They’re our lift.” Chindi said as he jumped into it. The two followed again, but Creosote made a face.

“What?” Chindi sighed as the cart got rolling and then sped over the desert under the power of the two bison.

“Where are yah taking us?” she asked.

“To a home away from home.”