Sam Gets a Shooting Lesson for Once

This is the next installment in The ShambElla Saga, wrapping up the companions' time with Damien Daimon, the Unwilling Antichrist, and the gifts and lessons he has for them before they tackle the final leg of their journey.

Table of Contents:

Previous chapter:

“The first thing to understand about these magnificent weapons,” Damien said, “is that they channel the energy of the bearer, and from the first time you fire one, it’s yours forever. No one else can pick it up and use it against ya! It will be tuned to you and you alone!”

He handed Sam his. “Look ‘em over, Sam! Tell us what ya see!”

Sam strapped on the belts, crosswise on his hips, and lifted one of the guns in his right hand. “It looks like a toy gun, carved from some sort of wood, but the wood is smooth as a laminated tabletop, and heavy as steel. It has a trigger guard but no trigger! It has the appearance of a barrel, but no hole! No chamber for bullets! What the Hell!”

“What the Hell, indeed, my friend! Now, tell us what you feel!” Damien said.

“It thrums in my hand, like it wants me to point and shoot, but not just at anything. At the right thing at the right time.” Sam looked perplexed. “I don’t get it. It’s like it’s in my head. No. No, it’s in my heart. It wants to protect innocence.”

“That’s it, friend! These guns were carved from an ancient wood which ain’t grown on this planet since before you hairless apes stumbled into your fretful existence! It was once called the World Tree, but the world changed, and some vicious bastard cut it down! That vicious bastard was me!

I made all kinds of bad stuff outta that tree back when I was a monster, but a chunk o’ trunk survived till the present day, hidden away in a special place only I knew.

I took the last of the World Tree and made these guns in anticipation of your arrival. This is my atonement for all the bad things I done. I can’t take ‘em back, and I ain’t ever again gonna excuse myself by sayin’ I was just followin’ orders—so I gotta pay it forward. Sam, think fast!”

Damien pointed to the sky, and a horrific screeching snake with wings appeared out of nowhere.

Sam fired on instinct, without thinking, and a beam of purple light shot out of his gun, incinerating the creature before it had a chance to dive on the companions.

“What the fuck, dude?” Sam said.

“It was never gonna get ya, Sam. I wouldn’t let it, but really, were you worried?”

Sam grinned. He had to admit it felt good to shoot something worth killing. “Nah, I suppose not. But why is the light purple?”

“First off cuz the gun knows what it means to you! And cuz you’re a king, Sam, and purple is a regal color!” Damien winked. “Ella’s is red for the passion, the fire that alights from her spark! Siris will shoot a pure blue, cuz your friendship and love has calmed the raging waters of his heart. Now strap ‘em on! Siris! Ella!” He handed each their arms as he said their names.

After Sam expanded on his previous lessons and taught his two friends the basics of drawing and sharpshooting, Damien conjured more moving targets.

Hideous, deformed creatures, unlike any they’d ever seen, jumped out at them from unexpected places.

The pupils logged a few misses, but Sam cleaned them up.

Some creatures were giant. They had to scatter and fire from different sides to take them down, filling them with holes and leading them to stumble and fall to a hard death.

Some creatures were tiny and more difficult to hit, but could be zapped in one shot, like bugs flying into a flame.

Sam didn’t miss a shot. His old eyes were still keen, his heart as true as ever.

Ella was a close second. She’d trained with Sam longer than Siris, and was a better shot, but Siris, who’d learned to shoot as a boy, was still no slouch.

“Will we encounter creatures like this on our journey?” Ella asked.

“Far worse, I’m afraid,” Damien said.

“Can’t you come help us?” Siris asked.

“Ah, yes! The ol’ plot hole!” Damien chuckled. “Ya got some super powerful being that could end it all with a wink of an eye, but it just makes a cameo and wanders outta the story.”

Damien narrowed his eyes, listening for some snarky comment from the Narrator, but after his previous rebuke, the Narrator refused to give the old goat the pleasure of another.

“As well ya should!” he said. The companions looked on, again confused by the sudden pause.

Damien laughed out loud, grabbing his prodigious belly.

“Anyway, folks, I can’t help cuz there’re rules. My pop and I can’t fight each other and the creatures you encounter will be his conjurations, not mine. When evil as old as me chooses good, we can only help the less powerful make their way. Don’t ask me why. Some-a this shit is a mystery, even ta me! But that’s why I stopped here. Pop’s realm of influence starts just down the road, so this is where my own’s gotta end.”

“Any last words of advice?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Damien replied. “Don’t get back on 65. Take that road into the forest there, and camp in the woods. Doose’ll have somethin’ to say before ya turn in for the night. Then, when ya get out on the other side, the world will be different. Way different. You’ll be in Pop’s realm.”

“Hell?” Siris gulped.

“A version of it, yup. There’re many Hells, my friend, some personal and some professional. This motherfucker’s for real. But it’s ya destiny. Don’t shirk it, and you’ll find Heaven on the other side.”

***** * *****

Next chapter: