THE HUNTER’S TALE

Feature Writer: batman4

Feature Title: THE HUNTER’S TALE

Published: 20.04.2023

Story Codes: Text

Synopsis: In a time of saloons and six-shooters, good and evil clash

Author’s Notes: This is a long overdue scratch of my creative itches I’ve had for some time now. Erotic horror has always been a favorite genre of mine, and I’m also big into historical fiction, so I figured I’d combine those two into a little something for you all. As for the setting, well, who doesn’t like cowboys? I watched my fair share of westerns back in the day, so I figured it would make an interesting historical backdrop for a story where a lone monster girl hunter (a “man with no name”, if you will) hunts down a succubus in the Wild West. Yes, some of the dialogue is of its time, so please keep in mind that it’s in no way a reflection of today’s values. I merely did my best to be authentic to the era with all its flaws and faults. On a brighter note, I absolutely could not have done this without feedback from: Many-Eyed Hydra, Yshomatsu, and JayAury. Their work with monster girls is outstanding and ranks amongst the best erotica I’ve ever read, period. Definitely check out their stories on the site when you get a chance. I originally wrote this as a proof of concept for myself, but if there is any interest in potentially seeing more of the Hunter’s Tales, please let me know. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Like it, hate it, whatever- just let me know what you think and if you’d like to see more one day. Trust me, I’ll read all comments and respond to all PMs. Thank you so much for reading!

The Hunter’s Tale

They erupted at the perfect crescendo.

She collapsed atop his heaving chest with a pleased purr, and a pussy slick with cum. His and hers.

The man underneath was simply in awe, and for a moment, out of breath.

“My god…you are…out of this world.” But words would eventually come to mind.

“Toldja I knew a few things.” Her disarming giggle tickled against his neck as they both came down from their mutual orgasmic peak.

“…that you do. That you…whew, I ain’t met a girl quite like you.”

“Ain’t many girls like me, pretty boy,” she cooed atop his panting torso, one naked body draped over the other.

His throbbing extension of manhood was still buried deep within her womb, keeping their youthful forms tethered to one another in lingering, lustful harmony.

Only the pale moon above watched the two lovers under its lunar stare.

“Amen to that!” Staring out at the brightly shining stars with eyes still in disbelief of what they saw, he told the slim woman laying on top of him, “Gawd, I wouldn’t mind another go at this soon. Maybe when you’re free again?”

“I’m always free, pretty boy.” Her voice tinged with sensual promise.

“That’s good. That’s…ah hell, you rode me sore. I think I might need a minute.”

“I don’t.” A seductive squeeze of her warm and wet pussy against his still captured cock was plenty indication of that.

“You…you this eager with all the other guys?”

“Darling, you have no idea.”

“Oh, okay.” He proceeded to take the opportunity to catch his breath while the woman slowly peeled off his chest, bracing her palms against his pectoral muscles. “This- this made my damn week.”

Her hands massaged his chest. “Yeah baby?”

“As God as my witness, hell yeah,” he smiled up at her, settling into the post-orgasmic bliss for a moment more.

Mid-massage, her expression changed.

“I wanna go again,” she told him firmly.

Looking up at the naked perfection above him, he was reluctant to say no. Very reluctant.

“And I’d love to go with ya, but…” He gave a sigh of sudden exhaustion, “…I think I’ve given you my best tonight. Don’t think I have another run in me.”

“No.” She shook her head, dark tendrils of hair concealing a dark smile. “You haven’t given me what I want yet.”

He chuckled some. “Listen, I like you and all, but I’m not fixin’ for fatherhood right now, alright? Hell, I don’t even know your name.”

“Silly man-thing.” Flashing him a brighter smile that lit up a mischievous face, she playfully traced one finger down his lip, teasing down to the center of his chest. “I don’t just want your seed. I want your soul.”

He laughed again. “Come again?”

She wasn’t laughing with him.

Rather, she was looking at him like a predator fixed on prey. “I’m hungry, pretty boy. So…damn…hungry.”

The feelings of warmth and sexual satisfaction dissolved in thin air, replaced by an unnerving coldness creeping up his spine. “I-I don’t think I understand.”

“You’re not supposed to,” she smiled down at him before diving down and kissing under his neck and chin.

At the same time, her hips slammed down on his manhood!

He moaned- and moaned again as she began to ride him anew.

“Yes…fill me back up, baby.” She whispered wantonly against his ear while pressing her body back against his.

There was no fatigue or falter in her flourishes.

“Shit…shit slow down. I said I was done,” he grunted out, but she kept going.

“You’re done when I get what I want,” she growled, driving her powerful pussy down on his somehow still hard shaft.

“God…stop…stop, damn it!” Now he was starting to panic.

And she was just settling into a new rhythm. Faster. Harder.

He couldn’t keep up. He was gasping, wheezing for air.

“Please…stop…”

She didn’t stop. She just smiled. And kept fucking him.

“Enjoy oblivion, sweet thing,” she giggled into his ear, coming down harder than before and then squeezing.

“Fuck…gonna…oh fu-”

---

The young man died with a smile on his face.

His eyes were open but sunken. His cheeks hollowed and devoid of expression.

And yet his lips remained curled in an eternal grin, as the rest of his withered body lay exposed under the fresh morning sun.

He was a blacksmith once, with the build becoming of a metal welder.

It was once his life’s calling, but life had long since abandoned his body.

Now, he was as his smile indicated.

Happily deceased.

“God save his soul.”

A lawman tipped his hat at the already decaying corpse.

His face was weathered, a thick mustache lining his lips and sympathy in his eyes.

A distinctive yellow star clung to his brown jacket, a gold chain hanging down from the vest he wore underneath it.

He wore pants of a similar color, brown boots completing the look of the town sheriff.

In his hands, he clutched a double-barrel shotgun, with a grip that was fearfully tight.

“It’s not up to Him now.”‘

The man of the law turned to the side. “Hell you mean by that?”

Across from him, another man examined the youth’s discarded cadaver with a noticeably different twinkle in his eyes.

Not a glint of sympathy, but rather, sullen, sobering familiarity.

They were in a wheat field, a lone windmill towering next to them while the concerned farmhands who first discovered the body watched from a wary distance.

“Maybe it’s better you don’t know,” was his ominous response.

Unfortunately, he did know of the young man’s true fate. And it was something not easily digested by the uninitiated.

Taking his reply for what it was, the sheriff turned back to the withered body. “He was a good kid, this one. Never run afoul of the badge, never done nothing to upset nobody. And to just leave him like this? We put people on the noose for crimes against humanity. This is a crime against nature itself. You’re gonna find the devil-whore who did this, right?”

“I’m following some leads.”

“That ain’t good enough.” The lawman turned to him fully, his growling words barely suppressing the building fury. “She’s been doing this for too goddamn long. People are scared, fearing for their lives. It’s only a matter of time before it hits the national papers.”

“It won’t get that far.”

The young man continued to smile on the ground between them, his gaunt face forever frozen in grinning rigor mortis.

“As you say. So what the hell am I supposed to tell folks huh? To keep them from packing up and taking the Transcontinental back north?”

“Tell them it ends tonight.”

“See that it does. You’ve got a reputation to uphold, I reckon.”

“I’ve handled her kind before. She’s no different than the rest.”

“She’ll go down like the others?”

“…as I said, it ends tonight.”

---

“What’d you say her name was again? Suc-hew-bis?”

“Succubus.”

The farmer in the straw hat gave a whistle at that. “God damn. You sure she ain’t European? With a name like that, she must be a foreigner.”

“Not in the way you think.”

“Huh. Anyways, getting back to your question, yeah I’ve seen her ’round here before.”

“Where?”

“She don’t stay in one place for long. Sometimes she’s down by the stables, sometimes by the saloon. Every time I’m in town to sell my chickens, I see her with a new man. Never the same fellow twice. That learned me up real good about her true intentions, if you catch my drift.”

“Has she taken anyone you knew?”

“Yeah.” His voice grew solemn. “Jeremiah. He was one of my best hands. Boy could herd cattle like nobody’s business. One day when I’m hauling crops over to market, there they are, just enjoying each other’s company. I go off to warn him, but it’s too late. They’re already on his horse, riding off into the sunset. And that’s the last I ever seen him.”

“Anyone else in town ever get a good look at her?”

---

“Sí señor, I’ve seen her.”

“What did she look like?”

“Muy bonita,” one of the Mexican farmhands interjected with a knowing nod before the main Latino provided more details, “She got the devil in her, señor. I saw it in her eyes, too.”

“What did you see in her eyes?”

“Death, señor. Nothing but black death. Ojos del diablo.”

---

“So there I was. Wind on my back. Rifle on my shoulder. Hell, piss running down my leg. We were scared soaked, but there wasn’t no chance in hell we’d let the Yanks cross the river. The general had us dug in good, too. We woulda held out to the last man, let me tell you.”

“Must’ve been quite the feeling. The few of you against all of them Union boys.” A woman responded to him, her tone southern and sweet.

“Please.” With a derisive scoff, the bearded man slammed his mug down on the wooden counter.

The container was already near empty. For the fifth or sixth time.

He wiped at his lip while smoothing out his slightly faded gray coat- a coat with various military honors stitched to the left sleeve.

“Those government lackeys couldn’t do shit if they didn’t have the numbers. We sent them running damn near every time. Only problem with being so good at shooting though is you run out of bullets to shoot folks with, which is what happened. That’s all that fucking happened, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Mr. Johnson. Would you care for a refill?”

“Fill her up.” Passing the emptied mug down, the grizzled war veteran continued his story, “Anyways, we ended up losing the town- Vicksburg, if memory serves. Lotta good men died for the cause that week, y’know. Real good friends of mine.”

The double doors of the saloon swung open, a new pair of footsteps coming in from the dirt outside to the wooden floorboards inside.

Leather boots sauntered through the gathering of local men either playing cards, getting drunk, or more likely a mixture of both.

At some tables, a few of them would dare to glance up at the passing presence.

Those same individuals would quickly return to their previous activity upon receiving confirmation of who it was.

All except one.

“We lost a bunch other towns, too. Matter of fact, I ended up taking shrapnel from cannonfire from when we held steady in Atlanta.” Mr. Johnson rubbed a spot just below his collarbone, the presumed spot of his battlefield wound before continuing, “All that blood we spilled, and our leadership bent the goddamn knee to Grant anyways.”

“That must’ve been frustrating for you.”

“Ain’t even the half of it. I come back after three years fighting for my country, and everything done gone to shit. Wife gone and left me for my brother. We was gonna start a family, see? Me and him ain’t never got along much anyways, so fuck him once and fuck her twice. Not to mention Lincoln went and set all my property free.”

His mug of freshly replenished whiskey was passed back over the counter. “Your property?”

“The blacks,” the bearded man growled at her with sustained bitterness. “While I was waiting to be released from my fighting duties, a bunch of feds came to my farm where all my slaves were still doing their God-given jobs. Read off some fancy paper about emancipation, whatever the hell that means, then sent them ungrateful sons of bitches running right off their leashes. You know I paid top dollar for them Negros. Bought them at auction in Savannah, yes I did. Got a good deal considering one of them was real lame in the head. But he picked the cotton just like the others so we ain’t never had a problem. Hell, looking back, maybe I shoulda saved my coin up and paid for a more faithful wife instead.”

A man took a seat at the bar counter next to the venting veteran.

“You shouldn’t live your life with regrets, Mr. Johnson.”

“I know, I know.” Scratching at his scraggly chin, he continued, “Once I lost all my hard labor, the farm was damn near useless. I mean, I wasn’t gonna break my back swinging the plow. Sure as hell weren’t gonna pay them black bastards to come work the fields again neither. So I packed my bags, got on a train, and here I fucking am. Drinking myself half to death in this damn town.”

He took another resentful swig of his alcoholic beverage.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Johnson.”

He put it down with a scoff. “Yeah. Anyways, you got something stronger back there, ma’am? Talking about the war usually brings back the kind of memories that won’t go away so easy.”

“Of course.” Her tone was a swoon of understanding. “Be just one minute, dear.”

Footsteps led into a swinging of double doors leading to the supply room.

The veteran put the mug aside, drunkenly trying to organize his thoughts together.

Finding little success in that endeavor, he turned to the man sitting next to him. “So what’s your story, friend?”

“…too long to get into,” was his curt response.

Mr. Johnson shrugged. “Hell, I got time. That’s about all I got these days.”

“You got your life. That’s more than can be said for most people.”

“I’ll drink to that.” The veteran turned to face the stranger fully.

Weary and worn would be the two words best befitting the man in question.

He had on a black jacket concealing his undershirt, and a black hat with a wide brim mostly concealing his face.

Strapped to his waist was a silver belt with a leather holster, the polished handle of a revolver clear in sight.

Below that, he had on black pants and boots with what looked like dried crimson stained against the leather.

Even in his inebriated state, the veteran could look into his eyes, and see, perhaps, a kindred spirit. “You in the war?”

The man in black replied without looking, “No.”

“Oh, now I’m gonna have to call bullshit on that, friend. Them eyes of yours, they’ve seen some shit. Trust me, I know.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“The fuck you just say to-?” The veteran stood up in an indignant huff but faltered short of finishing the sentence as he soon found himself staring down the barrel of that same gun.

A six-shooter Colt revolver in the ready hand of the man in black, who had it pointed right under his chin.

Finger on the hammer. Finger on the trigger.

He stammered in an apologetic tone, “N-now hold up just a second, friend. I-I didn’t mean to offend-”

“Leave. I got business to conduct here.” The man finally turned to face him, the swinging light of the hanging lantern from above illuminating his determined face with hazel eyes glaring at him.

Stretching down his cheek was a visible scar. “I’m doing you a favor, you understand?”

“…yeah, yeah I’ll just…” Taking the cue well enough, the veteran backed away and kept backing, nearly bumping into a table before ultimately stumbling out of the saloon.

There were words engraved on the side of the barrel. Words of Latin.

Sighing, the man slipped the gun back in his holster, and resumed what he was previously doing.

Waiting.

Until finally…

“I got something fresh from the tap just for…” The woman returned, noting the veteran’s sudden absence. “Pity.”

She gingerly placed a filled mug on the countertop, a creamy foam at the top.

The man’s gaze lifted against the brim of his hat, meeting her eyes.

Her very flirty eyes. “Why hello there, mister. Haven’t seen your handsome face around here. You must be new.”

“I’ve been around.”

“Fair enough. What’ll it be tonight?”

“I don’t want a drink. I want to talk.”

“Can’t we do both?”

“No.” He took off his hat, revealing his unkempt raven black locks. “Just talk.”

The woman crossed her arms.

She was of course the saloon bartender, wearing a corseted dress that covered her body almost entirely with an apron down the front.

Her blonde hair was done up in a bun, and her eyes were ocean blue.

But almost no man would even notice any of those things at first.

It was her chest, instead, that captivated the male attention.

Her breasts could rival the size of full-grown melons, their proportions nigh impossible to reconcile with her relatively slim and slender frame.

Simply put, she possessed beauty so natural it almost seemed unnatural.

With her smile alone, she could leave an impression on one far greater than a full night with the average painted lady.

And that was exactly why the man teased one finger against his pistol handle.

“What’s your name, handsome?” she asked him with a slight smirk, her voice ripe with honey and intrigue.

“You know my name.” His answer was stoic and steadfast.

The woman chuckled. “Sweetheart, I’m afraid I’ve never seen you a day in my life.”

“You know who I am, and I know what you are,” he told her with a clear, cutting conviction.

The woman continued to smile, but there was a subtle change in her eyes.

A change that was all too familiar to him.

When she spoke next, it was without the facade. “You’re one of them, then? A Hunter?”

“I’m the best of them,” he corrected her grimly.

“Such arrogance.” Her voice would change, from sympathetic and sweet to sneering and contemptible.

“I think I’ve killed enough of your kind to earn some respect, don’t you think…cow?” the Hunter replied with cool confidence.

Her lips would curl in a disdainful sneer for a second before she quickly regained her composure with a distracting smile. “My my, I do apologize for forgetting my manners. How may I be of service, mister?”

“Information.” He laid out the simple, one-word request. “That’s what I need from you. Nothing but.”

“Well…” She slid the mug over in front of him with one finger. “If it is knowledge you seek, perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

“I know where your farm is, cow. I’m not here for you and yours.” Ignoring the proffered beverage, he continued, “I’m looking for a succubus.”

The blonde woman’s smile dropped for a fleeting moment as the name resonated with her.

She knew.

“Tell me where she is.” And the Hunter knew that she knew.

But that didn’t necessarily mean she would part ways with such valued information. “You ask me to betray my own race, dear.”

“She’d sell you out without a second thought,” he pointed out.

To that, she gave him a teasing smirk, “And you know of this how, exactly?”

“A demon knows no loyalty, only survival. I learned that lesson a long time ago,” he told her.

Her smile lingered. “Indeed. And who was it that taught you that lesson, I wonder?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m alive, and she isn’t. The same’s gonna be said for you if you don’t get to talking.”

She cooed, almost out of respect. “You are an accomplished slayer, then. No wonder you talk with such brazen disregard for your own life.”

Click.

His ears perked to the all too familiar sound leveled at the back of his head.

The sound of a loaded gun.

He cursed under his breath.

“Then again, the last slayer I encountered was a little more observant of his surroundings,” she purred, resting her palms on the countertop and leaning forward.

Just enough that he could see the jutting allure of her ample breasts.

“In this establishment, I don’t appreciate being threatened. Such conduct by my patrons is seldom tolerated. Isn’t that so, my bull?”

There was an agreeing grunt from behind him.

“Please relieve this gentleman of his weapon, if you would be so kind,” she instructed him.

The Hunter remained still (for now) as the man removed his revolver from the holster and laid it out on the flat countertop, disarming him.

“Now…” Smiling from ear to ear, she clapped her hands together happily. “Where were we?”

“You were telling me where the succubus was?” he prompted her, his tone unwavering even with the possibility of a swift and immediate death only a finger-squeeze away.

She chuckled at him, an amused melancholy. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Nngghh!” The Hunter suddenly growled out as the man grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, yanking him off his seat.

“It appears you traveled a long way to find her, handsome. I can only imagine the journey you’ve been on. Goodness, you must be absolutely parched. Doesn’t he look a bit in need of refreshment, my darling?”

“Need…drink,” came the grunting response of her thrall.

“Mmmmm. Perhaps a little warmth in your belly would do you some good, handsome. This one’s on the house.”

Before the slayer could object, the man slammed him facefirst into the counter, momentarily dazing him upon impact.

“Careful now. Not a drop on the floor, or else you’ll be cleaning it up with your tongue.” Her reprimanding tone called out to the right of him.

“Yes…mistress.”

The Hunter was suddenly turned over on his back facing the ceiling, but more importantly the snarling face of her enthralled acolyte.

Slipping his gun in his belt, he wrapped one hand around the throat of the Hunter while reaching with the other- reaching and grabbing the mug handle.

Immediately, he felt the tightening squeeze of five meaty fingers closing around his windpipe.

“You were right to assume I hold no love for the winged whores that our Father adores so much. But, unfortunately, human, you were wrong to think I would ever cater to the whims of insignificant mortal specks like yourself,” she taunted him, her smiling face now upside-down as she leered over his struggling grimace.

“Open.” The enthralled man growled at him while hovering the jug just over the Hunter’s defiantly sealed lips.

She continued to smugly muse aloud. “A demon does have her pride, after all.”

The man squeezed and squeezed harder against his throat, while the slayer found himself scarce of options.

Except the obvious.

“Ugh!” A knee directly between the legs, stunning the man.

And then a forearm to the face that sent him staggering, forcing a separation from the two but not without consequence.

The glass spilled over to the floor as the bartender let out a great sigh of disappointment.

Now standing the slayer regained his bearings as the man righted himself mid-stumble and went for his gun.

Click.

Click.

Bang!

The Hunter shot first, the swift bark of a bullet shooting through the air commanding the attention of every inhabitant in sight.

In one trained hand, he expertly wielded a smaller revolver he pulled from an ankle holster, drawing it a splitsecond faster than his opponent.

His opponent who now cried and collapsed to the floor clutching at his shoulder.

It was a Derringer single-shot. Only one bullet in the chamber.

That’s all he needed.

One round. One hit.

A nonlethal one, of course.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.

“Another lesson I learned a long time ago, cow.” Turning around, he holstered that weapon and retrieved his regular revolver from the counter.

With a casual confidence, he told her, “Always carry a spare.”

She pursed her lips, obviously displeased with this new development.

Ignoring the man’s anguished grunts and groans behind him, the Hunter continued their prior conversation. “We done playing games?”

Taking a breath, she finally came clean. “Fine. That little bitch has been encroaching on our territory anyways. You’d be doing us a great service sending her back to the abyss, handsome.”

“I should send you with her,” he growled.

“But only I know where she is, slayer. And a succubus is notoriously difficult to track through mere human means, aren’t they? Especially this time of night-”

“I’ve done it before,” he told her, reluctantly conceding, “But it takes time, and I don’t have time. But I do have you.”

“Mmmmm, that you do,” she crooned. “Yes, I do know the whereabouts of the baby demon that you seek. And I’d be happy to divulge that location, if there’s certain assurances in it for yours truly.”

“Tell me where she is, and I’ll leave to kill you another day. That’s your assurance,” he provided the terms.

She almost laughed. “Your negotiating skills need work, mister.”

“I don’t negotiate with demons; I slay them. I’m only postponing you so I can handle a more pressing matter,” he pointed out.

“So then I have your word that after I tell you what I know you won’t just take that pretty gun and put one right between my eyes, or…” Her finger teased down her neckline, stopping at the crease between her jutting breasts. “Right here?”

He was hardly tempted. “I’m a man of my word. You tell me where she is, and you’ll live to see the sun rise on your godforsaken farm. At least for one more day.”

“So…arrogant,” she breathed, almost in awe of his confidence. “Oh, you really are the man for this job.”

His patience had run thin. “Location. Now.”

Crossing her arms, she finally confessed. “About three miles south of here, there’s an old church. Built by the Spanish back when they were teaching the natives about the goodness of their God. For all the good that did them.”

The Hunter took that in, lamenting a moment later, “Sounds about right.”

“Blasphemous little whore, isn’t she?” the barmaid purred at him. “Disrespecting the holy and righteous temple with her…perversions.”

“You could talk,” came his retort.

She only smirked. “Better run now, slayer. Why, she’s probably halfway through her next meal by now. Maybe you could catch who she’s having for dessert.”

He narrowed his eyes. “If you’re lying to me-”

“I have no reason to, handsome,” the bartender explained herself. “She’s been hoarding a great many of our potential livestock for some time now. Gorging herself on their weak, simple little bodies like the greedy slut she is. This is for your benefit just as much as it’s for mine.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If she’s so bad for business, why haven’t you sent one of your mules to kill her already?”

Predictably, she gave a great, guffawing laugh at that suggestion. “And risk having her cunt mother bring all kinds of vengeance back to my people? Come now darling, the kind of risk is far too great for the reward. No, that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

“Right.” He scoffed at that, taking up his hat and then turning to leave.

“May you find the death you so crave, slayer. Hers, or yours,” she called after him in a sinister swoon.

“Just hers,” he answered her, walking through the shocked gathering of men who stepped aside to let him through.

Without looking back, he left the saloon…

“Hell of a ruckus you left in there.”

… nearly passing by the lawman with the long rifle leaning against one of the wooden beams holding up the building.

Stopping, the Hunter tipped his hat at him in a small but significant gesture. “Deputy.”

Cradling the weapon under his arm, the officer of the law inquired. “You didn’t kill anybody in there, did you?”

“Didn’t have to. She told me what I needed to know,” the slayer said, stepping into the dirt once more.

“Alright, so where is this devil-woman then?” the law enforcement officer asked him.

“Out. The holstaur says she’s holding up at the abandoned Catholic church down south.”

“Holstaur? The hell kinda name is that?”

“She’s a demon, too.” Walking over to a nearby building, the Hunter patted the hide of his transportation. “Oh, I wouldn’t recommend getting a drink there anytime soon.”

And the horse would neigh back, its brown skin as thick as leather.

The lawman flicked his eyes at the saloon before turning back to the slayer, “She ain’t the man-eating type, is she?”

“Worse.” Bracing his boot against the stirrup on the side, he hoisted himself up and over the stallion in a swift mount.

“I’ll have to take your word for it then.”

Settling atop the saddle, he turned back to the deputy. “Give me about thirty minutes to handle this. Then tell the sheriff to send his men to get the bodies. Give them a proper burial.”

“What about hers?”

“Burn it,” was his blunt answer. “Then bury the ashes deep.”

“Sure you don’t want backup? I ain’t a bad shot,” the lawman offered.

“I work alone,” came the Hunter’s stoic reply.

Taking hold of the reins, he firmly pulled on them to prompt the horse into action.

Neighing softly, the stallion started slow but ultimately broke into a gallop.

“Goodspeed then, sir.” The deputy watched the Hunter and his horse race through the town and into the wild unknown.

---

She was young.

The younger ones were always the most careless.

Doesn’t make them any less dangerous though.

A succubus that’s been on this planet for only a century or two can end your existence just as easily as one can who’s preyed on mankind for the last millennia.

“Come on!” He hastened his horse to go faster. And faster.

There was nothing but acres of flat desert ahead of them, and acres of flat desert behind them.

Decorating the terrain was a seemingly never-ending supply of tumbleweeds and occasional patches of tall grass.

The wind beat at his face, but it did not break his determined scowl.

For there would be nothing that would stop the Hunter from finishing the hunt.

Nothing natural or supernatural for that matter.

His horse shared a similar philosophy.

Beating its hooves against the hard ground, the majestic beast carried them both through the rough, unpaved frontier land.

Meter after meter, mile after mile…

“Slow.” He gradually pulled on the reins, prompting the horse to trot at a more leisurely pace as they crested a sloping hill.

The cross of Christ was unmistakable from any distance.

Now at the peak, he could look down and see the rest of the building.

Standing out amongst the barren midwestern land, the church was once a beacon of sanctity and holy devotion.

But now, it was just four walls and a roof giving sanctuary to the most unholy creature that’s ever tainted this earthly plane.

“I’ll take it from here.” The Hunter dismounted from his faithful steed and touched down on the ground.

His past experiences with the succubi were…traumatic, to say the very least.

But in this line of work, trauma is necessary to harden the soul, and strengthen the body.

Out in the open, he allowed himself a moment to breathe.

To acknowledge the fear that’s never left.

After all, this could be his last night alive. It could be.

But it won’t be.

Reaching into the saddle pack, he pulled out a rifle from the side-holster.

Winchester.

There were many guns he possessed that could get the job done, but this gun he preferred more than most.

Hefting the walnut stock against his shoulder, the Hunter reached into his jacket and produced the ammunition to feed this particular beast.

One by one, he loaded bullets into the open chamber.

Not just any rounds, though.

With iron tipped caps, these bullets were specially made to kill anything of the demonic variety.

Eventually, he filled the cartridge capacity.

From there, it was routine to double-check the rest of his arsenal.

His sidearm, check.

Knife, check.

Second sidearm, check.

Reaching back into the pack, he pulled out a circular canteen and tucked it inside his jacket too.

Now he was ready.

“I’ll be back,” he told his horse, who merely grunted in acknowledgment.

After all, he’d said it enough times, the stallion apparently learned to take his word for it.

Patting the animal lightly on the snout, he marched forward downhill.

Working the action on the lever to load a fresh round into the chamber, he stalked towards the church resolved and ready.

No hesitation. No deliberation.

He knew what he had to do.

The manner of monster girl inside the building was hardly a deterrent to his drive.

Lamias, harpies, nymphs, he’s killed them all.

The formula may change depending on the occasion, but in the end, the result is always the same.

Some of them went down easy, but most usually put up a fight.

He expected no less from this hellspawn.

Going up the wooden steps of the entrance, veteran experience dictated he moved with caution and so he did.

Silently and swiftly, he came up to the double doors that led inside.

Leaning against the frame, he pressed one ear against the painted wood, and listened.

Instantly, he heard a sound.

Unfortunately, it was one he was more than accustomed to hearing.

Squeezing the door handle, he took a deep breath…

“Here we go.”

… and entered.

Bringing in the moonlight with him, the Hunter stepped foot inside the church to see (and smell) the two things that always followed in the wake of the succubus.

Sex and death.

His rifle was up and ready as he did an initial sweep of the vicinity with the weapon.

On his left and on his right, there were rows of pews. Dusted, cobwebbed pews that hadn’t been filled in some time.

At least not by the living.

For as the Hunter advanced further inwards, he saw that they were indeed occupied.

In either direction, he saw the deceased corpses of the condemned.

Sitting and slumped up together on the wooden benches, they were all dried and drained husks with lifeless eyes and ghastly smiles.

Naked but for scraps of clothing here and there, their penises were still out, flaccid and blackened from exposure to the elements.

He’d seen this before too many times.

“Ohhhhhh….”

Heard that too many times before.

Remaining vigilant with the rifle, he moved through the pews to see what the congregation of corpses were all looking at.

There was a man laying at the altar, and then there was what appeared to be a woman on top of him.

He seemed a good stone’s throw away from death, and she unsurprisingly was the cause of it.

Straddling the writhing, withered man whose once physique was a literal shell of what once was, she was beauty personified.

Bare-bodied and beautiful as an angel, she was a slender, sexual masterpiece in motion.

Her skin pale white and hair as black as a raven, she rocked her hips and grinded her chest against his while ‘exhibiting’ her hellcraft to the captive audience.

The obvious observation was that he was still inside of her.

Breasts full and plump as they rubbed against his bare sternum, she squeezed and slammed and ultimately sucked at his manhood as it throbbed for God’s mercy between her shapely thighs.

A cruel irony given where they were.

The naked man was panting underneath as she rode his erect pole.

Not panting for breath but panting for life.

Lastly, the Hunter noted her wings and tail.

The greatest indication of age was the mere appearance of the former and the length of the latter.

Her wings, shaped like bats, were not quite fully developed, but were visibly unfurled against the shoulderblades.

And her tail, protruding naturally from the tailbone, had curled around his trembling leg with its tip ending in an arrow-shaped spade made of flesh.

She was indeed a lesser of her species.

And she was now staring right at him.

With eyes that enthralled with a bottomless pitch black to them, the demonic being seemingly now acknowledged his presence.

“Mmmmm, howdy,” she purred with a voice that sang a relaxing euphoria into both his ears.

She spoke with the southern twang of the locals, a subtle pick-up to blend in with the general populace.

His grip on the gun did not loosen.

Peeling off the man’s chest with breasts that defied the feminine frame, she grinned at him so brightly it could light up a mine shaft.

She had small horns curling from the forehead, barely an inch long but still, yet another reminder of her inhumanity.

Licking her lips with a long tongue that was forked at the end, she spoke to him with seductive confidence, “Come to confess your sins?”

“No.” And then he pressed the trigger.

The rifle barked in its hands, hitting its busty, beautiful target right in the upper body.

Shrieking out in an otherworldly cry that reflected her true nature, the bullet swiftly knocked her off the man.

In an instant, she was writhing and growling like a wounded animal, both hands clutching at her shoulder.

“I came to cleanse yours.” He pushed the lever down and then back up, loading a fresh round in the chamber.

“You hurt me,” she wailed, in complete disbelief.

“Gonna do more than that.” Bracing the stock against his shoulder, he fired again.

“Ahhh!!” A sharp cry rang out as another round slammed into her unholy body.

Hot metal met even hotter flesh once again, forcing out a cry that was caught between pleasure and pain at the same time.

Nothing he’d not heard before.

Racking the lever again, he fired-

“Shit!” But missed as she suddenly dashed in front of him in a pale blur of motion.

One hand grabbed the muzzle of his gun the exact splitsecond his finger squeezed the trigger again, knocking it away to cause the bullet to pierce the nearby wall instead.

She was now standing in front of him, the gunshot wound on her shoulder blotching otherwise perfect and pristine skin.

“That wasn’t very nice,” she growled, grabbing him by the throat with the other hand.

Grimacing, he went for his sidearm only to yell out as she hurled him backwards with just the one arm.

Launched through the air, the Hunter landed on his shoulders and slid across the floor until finally coming to a stop, his hat falling off in the process.

Instinctively, he went for his rifle…which wasn’t in his hand.

“Such a crude weapon.” It was in hers.

Retaining control over the Winchester repeater, she ‘admired’ the firearm with those abyssal pools she called eyes.

“Mother says you man-things once fought with honor. Guess not anymore, huh?” she pouted, throwing it aside.

Pushing off the ground, he got to his feet, meeting her devilish gaze with a determined glare of his own.

Her initial chagrin soon melted as she cocked one hip to the side and whipped her hair back over one shoulder, a perfect pose for the perfect ‘woman’.

She was naked as all can be, and he didn’t give a damn.

Her bare feet sauntered down the steps that led up to the elevated platform, bringing her down to his level.

Man to monster.

“Why you trying to hurt me, stranger? I ain’t done anything to you,” she said, so sweet and so innocent yet so manipulative all at once.

“You’re here. That’s reason enough,” he replied matter-of-factly, his right hand inching towards the revolver.

“How’d you know I was here anyways?” the lesser succubus cooed, stretching her toned arms out.

“I’m good at my job,” he answered her, keeping some cards to himself.

The demon snickered, “If that was true, you woulda found me a long time ago.”

“I was busy killing other abominations. Now, you got my full attention,” he stated stoically, marking his next target in his head.

She smirked back, “Well, I will admit you have some lousy timing, stranger. Mighty rude of you to interrupt a lady while she’s enjoying a fine meal and not even have the decency to introduce yourself first.”

“You want my name, tell me yours first,” he retorted.

“…oh, you are good.” She paced some to the left, and he followed her cautiously. Carefully.

His thumb on the handle, he didn’t take her eyes off her. Not for a second.

“I almost fell for it, too. You tried that before, haven’t you?” she teased him.

He declined to reply.

Clicking her lips, she continued her initial assessment of him, “Man of few words, I admire that.”

“You’re gonna admire the next bullet I put in you,” he snarled.

“Oh, so angry. You got something against me, don’t you stranger? Let me guess, one of my sisters took someone from you once, right? Someone you cared about?” she prodded, possibly picking up on something.

He remained stoic.

She grinned even wider, the malevolent curl of her lips stretching beyond what was humanly possible. “And now, you’re on this vendetta to kill pretty little things like me, right?”

“You’ve killed innocent people,” he reminded her.