The war began when the Ash Vultures fired the first shots.
Los Muertos' land turned into hell overnight—bullets in the breeze, blood in the sand, steel against bone. The desert howled with screams as two giants clashed.
Victor Blackwood arrived the next day.
Dressed in black, quiet as smoke, he rode through the chaos with only a revolver, a coat heavy with dust, and eyes haunted by ghosts.
He wasn't here to take sides. He was here to end it all.
The battlefield brought back memories—flames, screaming, his wife's blood on white sheets, his kids' toys shattered on stone floors. The massacre. The English-style village in Arizona, burned to ash on Silas Creed's order. The merchant had robbed and ruined him. Now the merchant had started another war.
Victor found Silas in the heart of Los Muertos, preaching peace while fanning flames.
"You did this," Victor said.
Silas smiled. "I gave you justice. I made you stronger."
Victor didn't reply. He beat Silas bloody with his fists, tied a rope around his neck, and dragged him behind his horse through the dust—like a dead king pulled from his throne.
He locked Silas in a secret canyon prison far from Los Muertos.
And then, he began his plan.