Cowboy Necromancer: Infinite Dusk
Page 1
Infinite Dusk
(Cowboy Necromancer Book One)
By Harmon Cooper
Copyright © 2021 Harmon Cooper
Copyright © 2021 Boycott Books
Edited by Adam Luopa
Proofed by Andi Marlowe
Art by Daniel Kamarudin
Font by Shawn King
Interior art by Sor
Print Design by Joshua Mason
Audiobook produced by Podium Audio and narrated by Macleod Andrews
www.harmoncooper.com
writer.harmoncooper@gmail.com
Twitter: @_HarmonCooper
Harmon Cooper’s Patreon
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Map of Sterling’s Journey
Part One
.Chapter One.
.Chapter Two.
.Chapter Three.
.Chapter Four.
.Chapter Five.
.Chapter Six.
.Chapter Seven.
.Chapter Eight.
.Chapter Nine.
.Chapter Ten.
.Chapter Eleven.
.Chapter Twelve.
Part Two
.Chapter One.
.Chapter Two.
.Chapter Three.
.Chapter Four.
.Chapter Five.
.Chapter Six.
.Chapter Seven.
.Chapter Eight.
.Chapter Nine.
.Chapter Ten.
Part Three
.Chapter One.
.Chapter Two.
.Chapter Three.
.Chapter Four.
.Chapter Five.
.Chapter Six.
.Chapter Seven.
.Chapter Eight.
.Back of the Book.
.About the Author.
Map of Sterling’s Journey
“Now this is the way I am living here. I am living here in poverty. I have not anything; this is the way I am living here. Now if you are willing to live here that way too, with me and share this life, why come, you are welcome.”
-Masau’u, Hopi God of Death
Part One
Killbillies; Godwalkers; Amalgamations; Crucified in Radium Springs; Pyromancer; Blood Magic; Don Gasper; the Coyote’s Riddle
.Chapter One.
Truth or Consequences, New Mexico.
Not too distant future.
Sterling knew when the Godwalker showed up that his life as a post-apocalyptic pepper farmer was over. The floating alien monolith blotted out an already hazy orange sun as it triggered a cloud of dust, which quickly engulfed his property. Leaping into action, Sterling kicked out of his front door and whistled for Manchester just as a gust of wind swept through his home, shattering all his windows as he made it to his porch.
“Come on, boy!”
His bone horse came charging right up to the front porch and Sterling hopped on. After righting himself on the saddle of his skeletal steed, Sterling tore off toward just about the only crop that he cared about: his chili peppers.
As if things weren’t already bad enough, a horde of Killbillies appeared on the ridge overlooking Sterling’s ranch house, the bandits as welcome as an outhouse breeze, all of them snarling, tatted up, and ready to brawl. Sterling knew what the Killbillies wanted—his peppers, in the form of a local tax they were imposing—and he figured that they had likely followed the Godwalker to his home, using the floating monolith for cover like a bunch of chickenshit cowards.
One thing was for certain: Sterling most certainly wasn’t going to be able to do anything about the Godwalker, not alone, anyway, the blasted thing akin to a floating skyscraper casting all sorts of omnipotent shadows over the landscape. He could sort its appearance out later, after he dealt with the Killbillies.
“Ain’t going to pay no damn chili tax,” he mumbled, his black cowboy hat dropping down onto his forehead, a shadow covering his eyes. Sterling clicked his tongue and his bone horse moved even faster.
Hooting and hollering, the Killbillies started down the ridge, all of the bandits with enhanced powers, two already flying in the air toward him.
Sterling whistled and Manchester skidded to a halt, kicking up a cloud of golden-brown dirt. He launched himself off his skeletal steed and nearly cracked a knee on the landing, the ends of his black duster whipping around his body.
One of the flying Killbilly bandits landed in front of Sterling, the man all sorts of deformed, his face covered in scars and faded tattoos, the yellow bandanna-clad brute looking like his mother had run a cheese grater across his face for good measure. He spat, psyching himself up to fight.
“Out of the way, pendejo!” Sterling shouted, going for his sickle-sword with the turquoise hue radiating off its blade. He cut into the flying Killbilly, the bandit crying out in pain as Sterling pulled the half-moon blade up, quickly killing the man.
The other flying Killbilly landed just as a grin took shape on Sterling’s face.
“Y’all shouldn’t have come here,” Sterling said as he went for his revolver, which he flourished once before squeezing the trigger.
Bam!
His magic bullet passed right through the Killbilly’s eye socket, exploding out of the back of the man’s head, air misting with brains and blood.
Of the dozen or so Killbilly bandits currently charging at him, none of them were mancers like Sterling; had they been mancers, he definitely would have known about it by this point. Be it a pillar of flame, or a gust of wind strong enough to tear through a barn, the Adapted—people like Sterling—were pretty easy to distinguish from regular folk.
He ignored the floating Godwalker as he pointed his revolver at the horde of bandits, who were running toward him with clubs and other weapons; no guns though. The bandits this far out rarely had guns, bullets hard to come by these days unless they drew upon a person’s Mana, like Sterling’s did.
Deciding on another avenue of attack, Sterling dropped his sickle-sword into the custom breakaway sheath hanging from his belt, the piece clicking into place. He curled his fingers and the ground began to tremble. A couple of the Killbillies staggered backward once they saw the soil shift, seven corpses slowly tearing their way out of the soil. “Yup,” Sterling said as he motioned his curled fingers toward the line of Killbillies.
Once again, Sterling caught the towering Godwalker out of the corner of his eye, the alien craft hovering over his property, its glassy black surface omnipotent and otherworldly.
It only took you three years, Sterling thought as his animates—which was what he liked to call anything he raised from the dead, rather than ‘zombies’—tore off toward the Killbillies.
His undead animates weren’t smart, but they were brutal.
Truth be told, there wasn’t much he needed to do now, Sterling getting the urge to roll up a cigarette as he watched the Killbillies engage his animates. It was going to be a bloodbath, and for a moment, Sterling almost felt sympathy for the damn fools. Then again, the bandits had come to collect tax in the form of his chili peppers by any means necessary, and there was no way in hell he was going to pay any of their taxes.
A loud creaking sound caught his attention. The bottom of the floating monolith started to swivel, the Godwalker’s shadow now spreading over his ranch house.
“Goddammit,” Sterling mumbled. He lifted his Mana-powered revolver and started walking toward the Killbillies that were still engaging his animates. His creations were as brainless as they were savage, able to quickly overpower most of the bandits, ev
en if the corpses he had pulled from the ground were missing a limb or two.
The idea of burying a few potential animates in shallow graves had come to him about a year and half ago, Sterling figuring that someone or something would catch up to him at some point, and he would need backup. After the Reset, there was always an enemy, always someone lurking in the shadows ready to stab you in the back. No rule, no real law, what was left of New Mexico’s larger cities marred by warring factions, militias, and vandals, rife with violence and corruption.
It was a hell of a time to be alive, and having a boobytrap on one’s property was the least a person could do.
Sterling’s first shot tore into the arm of one of the larger Killbillies, a man less afraid of his animates than his bucktoothed compadres. The mulleted, acne-faced bandit took the magical bullet in stride, fury in his face as he tried to run Sterling down. Three more shots and he was a goner.
Sterling stepped over the man and returned his revolver to its holster, going for his sickle-sword. He knew he needed to hurry.
As much as he wanted to have a good old-fashioned brawl, that Godwalker hovering over his property looked like it was mere minutes away from destroying his ranch house, and Sterling had a few things he needed to get out of there before it did.
He spun into action, the blackened ends of his duster whipping along as he cleaved his blade into a muscular Killbilly, a man with more ink than a set of encyclopedias.
Of the fourteen that had shown up to fight, only five of the Killbillies were still alive, Sterling’s animates growling and snarling like the undead that they were as they honed in on the few that were left. It wasn’t long before two of the Killbillies retreated, tails tucked between their proverbial legs. Sterling took a couple potshots at them, but they managed to get away in the end.
The dust settled, leaving him with a dozen freshly dead bodies, a looming, alien craft hovering over his property looking like it was about to destroy his home, and seven animates all turning to him at once for instruction.
“Shee-it,” he mumbled as slick black compartments began opening on the bottom of the floating monolith, the air suddenly electric, the Godwalker preparing to fire.
He knew what would happen next; he’d seen it play out plenty of times before. Sterling pointed at two of his animates, the other five falling to the ground, back to the world of the dead. The cowboy necromancer felt a surge of energy as twenty-five Mana Points were returned to him.
He motioned for the two animates still standing to follow him, Sterling easily able to reach his ranch house before they did. There was only one thing he was really interested in getting, aside from the chili peppers he had drying in his home. As trivial as it was, Sterling had been making sketches and writing what he called ‘desert haiku’ in a leatherbound book since a year or two after the Reset. These writings meant something to him. Like everyone else still alive, all of his memories from before the Reset were lost. These desert haiku now served as his memories, a testament to the time that had passed.
Sterling found the leatherbound book near his bed and sent it straight to his inventory list, the item disappearing before his very eyes. “Get the damn chilis!” he instructed his undead animates as soon as they came inside his home. Sterling charged outside, leaving the mindless summonings to gather what they could.
He spotted one more Killbilly waiting for him, probably the leader of the bunch who had initially hung back. This final Killbilly looked hopped up on something, the bandit in a mask crafted from a steel plate over his face, two little slits for his eyes, tribal tattoos tracing the contours of his scarred muscles, his body gleaming with sweat.
He was either really brave, or really stupid.
Normally, Sterling would stop whatever he was doing to brawl with a tough guy like this. He would have taken pleasure in stomping the bastard to the ground for showing up on his property uninvited. But he knew what the Godwalkers were capable of, and what happened when one of the alien craft sounded off.
“You’d best run!” Sterling told the man.
He ran right past the brute, aimed at the ridgeline, almost catching his foot on a bit of bramble as he quickened his pace. Sterling whistled, and Manchester charged toward him. He hopped onto his bone horse and took off.
“¡Vamos!” he shouted, Manchester moving even faster, Sterling hunkering down, one hand on his hat and the other on the saddle horn, dust kicking up all around him.
The explosion that followed sent a ripple of energy across the barren desert expanse, tearing everything from the ground, Sterling feeling the blast in his chest, his ears ringing, his world trembling. It wasn’t long before the mushroom cloud of dust and debris started to dissipate, the Godwalker gone in a flash.
Sterling slowly turned Manchester around to take in the damage.
He felt the urge to take off his hat and throw it on the ground, stomp around for a moment, and let his frustration out. It had been three years of relative peace here on the outskirts of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, three years of quiet. Yet here he was, looking at the destruction of his ranch house, his livelihood, his way of life, all because a Godwalker had finally found him.
“Looks like we best hit the road again,” he said, patting his bone horse on the side of his skeletal neck. “I know, I know, and trust me, I ain’t in the least bit interested in riding all around what’s left of this godforsaken state looking for them either. But that’s the only way we’re going to deal with these Godwalkers once and for all. Ain’t nobody going to attack me at home and not face the consequences—human, alien, or amalgamation. Ain’t nobody.”
It went without saying what Sterling planned to do next. The Reset had taken place five years ago, and three years ago, he had tried to do something about it, but ultimately failed. Now it was time to give it another shot. But before he took off toward town, before he started his search, he needed to get his house in order.
Sterling first released the animates he still held power over, the two zombies burnt ends by this point, covered in chili pepper ashes. Upon doing so, he felt a small swell of energy in his chest, his Mana returning to him. Still seated on his bone horse, Sterling mentally summoned his stats.
You have received 935 XP!
Name: Sterling Monedero
Race: Human
Mancer Class: Necromancer
Class Ranking: Blood Mage
Level: 58
Fortitude: 117
Strength: 35
Resolve: 151
Mana: 113/132
Current Armor Rating: 23
XP: 291,839
XP to Next Level: 479
Stat Points Available: 0
Technique Points Available: 21
It had been a while since Sterling had gained XP, which solely came from killing.
As much as he liked to fight, he tried to keep to himself these days. It was better that way. Even so, it looked like he would gain a level soon. The Killbillies had brought the fight to him, and Sterling would certainly encounter more of these bandits in the near future.
Damn chickenshit cowards, he thought. Using a Godwalker as cover…
The Godwalker would have to wait. He wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, or the other Godwalkers for that matter, until he found his people. It could be Roswell, Duke City, Taos, all the way up to Pueblo, maybe even pressing over the Rockies and into Utah, Nevada or Arizona beyond—the people he needed to find could be anywhere in the Southwest corner of what used to be the United States of America. There was no telling where they were, but he knew where he needed to start.
Sterling needed to find Don Gasper.
.Chapter Two.
Keeping his bone horse animated was a constant draw on Sterling’s Mana. Any animate, be it human or animal, took five Mana Points to keep alive, and Manchester was no different. Sterling had lost two points per bullet he fired back at his ranch house, but those would be recovered by the next morning. As it stood, he still had over a hundred Man
a Points, which was plenty to head into town with, even if there was the potential for a shootout.
Sterling knew he hadn’t leveled up in any of his class skills, but he took a look at them anyway, as he had done almost daily over the last five years since the Reset.
“No hurt in doing it,” he mumbled as words appeared before him.
Necromancer Class Skills
Death Whisper: Class Proficiency Level 4
Casting Cost: 6 Mana Points
Description: Can communicate with the deceased; blood needed to do so.
——
Resurrection: Class Proficiency Level 3
Casting Cost: 5 Mana Points
Description: Can summon at will, but doing so takes a cut of MP until the animate is relinquished.
——
Enhanced Durability: Class Proficiency Level 2
Description: Enhanced durability, plus grafting at higher levels.
——
Death Sense: Class Proficiency Level 2
Description: Able to sense the bodies of the dead around you. Higher levels allow for wider ranges, including remote animating.
Unlike the Killbillies that had attacked him, Sterling was one of the Adapted, a term used for a person who had been gifted a mancer class after the Reset. From what he had learned over the last five years, there were about twelve other mancer classes, the Adapted few and far between.
He’d heard various estimates as to how many people got one of these unique mancer powers—something like one in every five to ten thousand people—but that didn’t mean regular folk weren’t enhanced as well. Regular people could do things like fly, similar to the two Killbillies that had flown at him earlier. These normal people could also exhibit superhuman strength or endurance, like the Killbilly he’d shot up who had taken several bullets in stride. They also had Resolve, just like Sterling, which meant they could heal to some degree. Regular folks were granted the same kind of game system that Sterling was privy to, and they were able to increase their XP, level up, and assign Stat or Technique Points once they were rewarded—the whole nine yards, as it were.