"Matt, you better come take a look at this . . . "

Matt Hawk turned his attention from the patch of land he was inspecting, and pulled the reigns of his horse. He turned the beast and spurned it towards the direction of his riding companion, Captain Jeff Graham. The two had journeyed to just outside the small town of Carthage at the behest of their commanding officer within the Texas rangers, Major James Hawk, who also just happened to be Matt's uncle. They had been sent to the area because of reports of strange circumstances around Carthage within the last several weeks.

First, there had been the lights in the sky. As it turned out, these had not been just a regionalized occurrence, but had affected much of the southern portion of the country. Word had come from as far away as New Orleans that people, nearly two weeks past, throughout the Southeast, had seen a bright flash in the sky, followed by a number of shooting stars. Some witnesses claimed that the stars had flown into a variety of different directions, scattering across the sky, leaving fiery trails in the night sky before disappearing.

It was several days later that an old dirt farmer named Willy Lucas, out of Redwater, claimed that he had seen the lights in the sky while taking his pet hounds out for a walk. Lucas claimed that one of those shooting stars fell from the sky and landed in a patch of trees just inside his property. Willy, along with his rifle and his dogs, went to investigate. He said he found some strange metal contraption that looked similar to a giant cannonball. He said it was dented up real bad and smoking, and was setting several feet into the ground. He also said it smelled something awful. Willy then, apparently, decided to leave the object, and head into town, where he could get a few shots of whiskey at the local tavern, and scare up the local sheriff to come investigate, and to help stake his ownership upon whatever the thing was, just in case it was valuable. Eventually, after several hours and a full bottle of whiskey, Willy convinced the sheriff and several of his men to come back to the spot with him. When they arrived the metal thing was gone, all that remained was a still smoldering hole in the ground. No trace of anything else unusual could be found.

Two days later, the remains of Willy Lucas and all of his dogs were found in the woods about a mile from his home.

Matt Hawk stopped his horse just beside the kneeling form of Captain Jeff Graham, and the atrocity, which lay on the road beside him.

"Jesus . . . " was all that Matt could say as he looked upon the scene, which lay before him. Despite the fact that this was the third such instance they had discovered in the last four days, each sight continued to unnerve him.

"Yeah," said Jeff, pointed to one of the bloody corpses lying in front of him, "looks like the same we already been dealing with here. This was a family, I think. Judging by the clothing that ain't shredded or coated in blood and body, I'd say there was a man, a woman, and a little girl. There are several crosses, and a bible here, so I'd say they were religious folk, maybe a preacher man . . . "

Matt turned away from the grizzly scene. Something had attacked these poor people. It had viciously ripped the family and the entire contents of their wagon to shreds. There were blood and body parts everywhere. It was a horrific scene, worse than anything Matt Hawk had ever seen. Worse than anything Matt Hawk had ever imagined.

"No humans could have done this," commented Jeff Graham, quietly, almost to himself. "They were slashed at and ripped up. Look at the marks upon what is left of that wagon over there. Those look that claw marks . . . "

Matt Hawk went over to the broken wooden chunk and examined it. " . . . too darn big to be a wolf, unless it is some giant one. Grizzly maybe, and a big one at that . . . "

"Maybe," said Graham, standing, "but that don't seem very likely either. Aren't exactly a lot of grizzly bears in these parts, unless one escaped from some traveling circus, and that is usually all over the talk when that happens. Also, this thing seems to be following a rather straight line, a very definite path. Don't know many wild beasts that do that . . . "

"What are we dealing with then," Matt Hawk asked, concerned in his voice, "a devil from Hell? Sure don't seem like nothing I am aware God made. Worse still, it seems to be gaining time on us. These people have been dead several days. Whatever it is, it is moving very, very fast."

"Yeah," said Jeff, frowning at the situation. "Guess we had better make it quick then. We had better check through the items that aren't destroyed, and try to find these poor souls identities. You do that, and I'll get my shovel off of Fury and start digging them a hole so they can have a proper burial. Our path looks like it is going to lead us to Mineral Rock, and we can see if anybody knew them there."

The three slowly made their way up to the bar, where a greasy looking short man - with graying hair and an eye patch - was wiping out glasses with a rag that looked filthier than any of the glasses could have possibly been. He spat a large chunk of tobacco in his spatoon before raising his attention to the three new patrons.

"We don't allow no damn savages in . . . " began the man. Then, as he looked upon the face of the white man, and recognition seem to set in upon him. He quickly changed his tune.

"We don't want no damn trouble here . . . " proclaimed the bartender, spitting again. This time he missed his target, but didn't seem to mind.

"Then we won't start any . . . " proclaimed the young woman as she pointed towards a bottle of whiskey sitting behind the man. The bartender grabbed the bottle and several glasses. He began what appeared to be the pouring of shots, but the young woman grabbed the bottle, throwing several coins on the table, and walked away, with her two companions in tow. The three found themselves an empty table near the back of the saloon, and proceeded to make themselves comfortable.

"Are you sure he is here?" asked the young woman - born Jeanne Walker, better known as the female gunslinger Madame .44 - to her Caucasian companion.

"Well," said Jonathan Tane, known throughout the country as Johnny Thunder, fastest gunfighter in the West, "that is his latest horse, Ace, tethered outside. Also, that young fella at the stable told us that this was the best place to get a game of cards, and you know Bartholomew, where the games are, he is."

"I don't see anybody playing any cards in this room . . . " proclaimed Jeanne, as she popped the cork on the bottle and took and swig.

"There is another room," announced the native, a man known only as Scalphunter, "the door lies there against the west wall. It is meant to look like the wall, but is poorly disguised . . . "

Suddenly their conversation was broken as four men pushed their chairs away noisily, stood, and made their way to the table. All four were less than pleasant looking, and the smell of stale sweat and whiskey coming from them was almost overpowering.

"Well, looky here boys," said the lead man, making his way to the table first, "I think we got ourselves a famous man in our ranks. If I ain't mistaken, this here is one Johnny Thunder, the fastest gun in the whole durn country. Whatcha' doin here Mr. Fast Gun, hanging out which'er lady friend and that there injun . . . "

"Jesus, you can't be serious . . . " mumbled Jeanne, as she took another swig from the bottle.

"Now men," said John, his voice full of calm and reason, "My friends and I just came in to have a simple drink and look for a friend of ours. We don't want any trouble . . . "

"Trouble?" said the man, his friends behind him all chuckling, "Now, what gave you the impression me and the boys were lookin' fer any kind of trouble. I just thought that maybe that fine little filly there might fancy a dance with my brutha Scully here. He is a real lonely fella, and could use a bit of good luvin . . . "

"In a pig's eye, mongrel," grumbled Jeanne, setting the bottle upon the table. She noticed Scalphunter's hand slowly moving under the table, clutching one the knives which he carried.

"That was mighty disrespectful, young lady," announced the lead thug, "guess we are gonna hafta teach you a lesson in manners . . . "

Things moved in blur, before another word could be uttered. The table, which the three companions sat at, suddenly flew up and forward into the lead man. A knife flew from the hand of Scalphunter, piercing the hand of one the men as he went for his pistols. Johnny Thunder had shot another in the shoulder before he had even managed to unclip the button of his gun's holster.

The lead thug lay upon the ground, his face bleeding from the table, which had slammed into his face. Another of his men lay shot, and Scully sat upon the ground, clutching his bleeding hand. The fight was over, almost before it had started.

"Hey," bellowed the bartender, a shotgun in his hand, "there will be no damn fighting in my bar. Take your bottle and get the Hell out . . . "

"About our friend . . . " said John, eyeing the bartender, as the gang of thugs backed away.

"Let me guess," said the bartender, spitting again, "he was a tall fella, dressed in all black, with a real big mouth on him, just like yer lady friend . . . "

"Yes," said John, "that was probably him . . . "

"Figures," said the man, "Yer friend was in here last night. He bragged too much, won too many times. He was found to be a cheat, holding extra cards and all that. Got his ass dragged over to the jail . . . "

"Damned fool Bart . . . " mumbled Jeanne, under her breath, as she put her pistols in their holster, and grabbed the bottle. Then the three began to walk towards the door. As they were about to leave, John threw a handful of gold coins upon the bar. Then the three companions walked from the saloon.

"We stand here today," proclaimed the white man, better known as Gregory Sanders, "to honor the last wishes of our departed friend, and ally, Robert Vale. Robert was one of the finest men I had ever known. His life had been a hard one, as he was preceded into the valley of death by wife and two children. Bob can join them in heaven now, their blood avenged, and his last years spent upon this planet helping those who could not help themselves. He righted many the wrong, saved many the life, and now he shall rest in peace. God speed on your journey, Black Diamond, God speed."

With the last words said, Gregory pulled the vase from his chest and turned it upside down, its contents of ash flowing into the wind, and slowly scattering into the valley below. Then he took the cards, all of the black diamond suite, and threw them into the wind as well. Then Gregory turned to his friend behind him, and with a nod, the two began to walk away.

"That was right and finely said, Gregory," spoke the black man, Samuel Brand, as the two made their way to their horses. "You done him just as proper as any preacher man would have done."

Gregory just nodded, his face twisted in sadness and anger. "That old bastard done saved my life more times than I could count. His life weren't nothing but hardship, yet he spent most of his days giving all his time for the well-being of others. I meant what I said, I hope God is takin' good care of him up there, cause if he ain't, when I am done with my work here on this world, I'll come up there and make sure He does . . . "

"Yeah well," said Samuel, "let's worry about that 'work on this world' first here, okay. What do you think it was that kill him and those poor folks at that farmhouse? Seems a little gruesome for even a renegade Indian war party . . . "

"That wasn't no Indians," said Gregory, as he climbed upon his horse, "I have seen plenty of Indian killings in my time, and while some have been as gruesome as they come, no Indian I ever seen done nothing that horrid. That was some kind of crazed beast, a savage animal, and I swear upon my life that I will hunt down that thing and kill it. Even if it takes until my last breath . . . "

"Well," said Samuel, mounting his horse as well, "it shouldn't be all that hard to track that beast, or beasts. Something that kills as bloody as that is bound to cut a real seeable path. Still, if we had never left him . . . "

"Now, don't start that," announced Gregory, spurring his horse in the direction of the farmhouse where the accident had occurred. "There was no way of knowing that this was gonna happen. When we left Robert to chase those Copper Boys into Thunder Gulch, he was in fine shape. That shot to his leg wasn't anything. We could've never known that whatever attacked them did. Hell, we might now be dead as well. But we are still alive, and we are gonna find whatever it was that killed him and that poor family, and we are gonna kill it."

"Amen to that," mumbled Samuel, as he spurred his horse on faster, "Amen to that . . . "

The beast sniffed the air. He smelt something nearby and crept closer towards the scents. As he placed one of his front arms upon the ground, he let out a tortured yelp and quickly lifted back upon his back legs. The explosion, which had destroyed their penal ship, and sent the six other prisoner pods, along with his, crashing into this miserable planet, had wounded him. His arm was now broken, and there was so far nothing he had seen which could aid in his healing. All he could do now was run. Run towards the humming in his head. The humming that rang like a homing beacon to where the others were meeting, a beacon that would reunite them, and from there they could plot a plan. As far as he had seen, this world was filled with frail humanoids. Humanoids that broke easy and were still in the primitive stages of technology. They were ripe for conquest, and with all of his fellow brethren gathered, they would rule this miserable planet.