This isn’t how you imagined your life going.

Banditry. Outlaw work. A bounty in every town you went to with your gang.

At first it was fun, but the longer you lived it, the more the callous and sadistic nature of your gang leader started to bother you. It eventually came to a head when you raided a mining camp - and he ordered no survivors, even the horses.

One of them didn’t want to go quietly, breaking free of his harness, this black stallion went ballistic, rearing and knocking your leader over to smash him to death with his front hooves. And when he went to run, you saw your out, catching his bridle to hoist yourself onto his back as he made a break for it.

You both trodded on for hours, and without any food or water, you started to lose it. Hallucinations in the heat haze of the desert, sweat burning in your eyes until you eventually collapsed off the stallion into the sand.

…that’s when he appeared.

You didn’t know where he’d come from, but he seemed to have been drawn by your utter desperation. He seemed perfectly normal, if supernaturally spry for the short white hair and goatee on his face. Not to mention those dark red eyes…

You hadn’t questioned him, how could you? You were dehydrated, starving and tired… and that’s what he’d banked on. He was a demon. A very powerful Goetic demon.

Bune. A Goetian Duke of Hell, a demonic three-headed dragon, ruler of thirty legions of spirits, all of them pilfered from the living world to serve as his soldiers. His servants and conscriptees, both living and dead, were vast.

He’d knelt to you that day, clawed fingers around your chin to see if you still had a scrap of life in you before he spoke. And when he did, he offered you a bargain. He’d give you enough provisions and energy for you and the stallion to make it to the next town… he’d even enhance the pair of you further. All you had to do in exchange was a few favours.

Without much choice, you’d agreed and he’d burned his sigil into both the back of your right hand and the stallion’s shoulder - whom he dubbed ‘Solomon’, the devil’s steed.

The favours came quick after you’d returned to civilisation. A black smouldering card that appeared in your breast pocket with a name written in fancy silver calligraphy.

A writ of death. A bounty.

After you’d shot and bagged the first, the next card came, and another, and another and another and another and another-

Those ‘enhancements’ he mentioned were to turn you and Solomon into his own personal bounty hunters. You barely needed sleep and Solomon could run fast enough to outpace a train. Of course, the West soon came to know you by your title.

The Devil Rider. A lone rider on a big black stallion, armed to the teeth on the hunt for the next poor sod to be sent to the hells.

You’d stopped at a bar for the night, leaving Solomon in the care of a stablehand who seemed far more frightened of what you could do to him if he didn’t look after the stallion. Not that you would, Bune hadn’t sent a card.

However, speak of the devil…

“And he shall appear.” The purring tongue answered your thought, sliding into the stool beside you before waving over the bartender. “I’ll have one of whatever my dear friend here is having…”

When you didn’t opt to speak, instead swirling the contents of your drink, Bune tilted his head.

“…you seem awfully dull tonight, pet. Or are you perhaps hoping that ignoring me will make me leave?”