Empire Of The BattleLord

 Jermic felt certain of his invisibility as he sought to maintain the requisite level of readiness.  He ignores the continuous drips of rain that spill through the concealing limbs and twigs of the bitter plum thicket that veils his presence.  His only movements come from the constant scan of his eyes as he waits for the appearance of his foe.  "Soon," he thought silently.  "It must come soon or I will have failed."

   Unseen behind the thickly overcast sky, the ruby sun would inevitably be lost, hidden by the horizon.  Fully aware of the dangers that a poorly placed shot would entail, Jermic steels his resolve to end his vigil at twilight, regardless of the success or failure of his mission.

   The most insignificant flicker of motion brings his senses to full alert, adrenalin coursing through his veins.  He averts his eyes, using only his peripheral vision to track the beast, as it sinuously courses its way over the lip of the draw and down the far side.

   The creature's intelligence, coupled with its vicious nature and powerful size, made it a formidable enemy.  Combined with the miraculous ability to recover from injury, the beast threatened the very way of life that Jermic's people sought to establish on this remote outpost of the universe.

   As the demon slipped from sight, fleetingly hidden by a crease in the terrain, Jermic silently drew his weapon from within the oilskin coverings that he hopes has protected its charge of powder from the invasive moisture.  Carefully positioning the rifle, he aims not where he expects the beast to reappear, but at the depression he believes it will seek out as shelter for the night.

   "Yes!" he thinks in satisfaction as the predator enters the hollow and slowly spins about for three turns, seeking comfort from the natural elements.  "Now if it only gives me a path to its vitals," he beseeches, knowing that failure to kill on the first attempt will likely doom his own life.

   As the beast dropped into its lair, fear mingled with disappointment floods through Jermic's awareness.  Its placement does not allow a clean, clear shot.  "Wait," he calms his nerves.

   With a small shift the creature adjusts its position slightly, bringing into sight the entrance to a single ear canal.

   Without seeming to have moved, his fingers slip the last protective covering free of the priming pan, flicks back the brass cover, and spills the precious grains of fine, dry powder into its chamber.  With a sure touch, he inspects the hammer's flint and gently pulls it back to click home.  Jermic slits his eyes and holds his breath, hoping that this single, out of place, metallic sound will not signal the end of his life.

   Slightly adjusting the aim of the long, heavy, octagonal barrel, he finally allows his index finger to curl lovingly around his weapon's trigger.  Emptying his lungs of their load of stale breath, then slowly refilling them, he pauses; the moment of truth has arrived.

   A gentle, almost unconscious stroke, immediately followed by a sharp click, a shower of white-hot sparks, and the butt of the longrifle crashes into the cradle of his shoulder, his vision obscured by a cloud of blue-gray smoke swirling about his head and slowly drifting towards his feet.

   Jermic immediately set aside his rifle and drew forth the heavy revolver that has rested securely beneath his body, protected from the elements during his long vigil.  With extreme luck, it offered a last chance of survival if his first shot had failed to kill.

   Brushing the sting of sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand, Jermic strove to pierce the gloom of dusk, seeking out his adversary.

   Gone!  The beast no longer occupied the slight depression.  No sign remained that it had ever been there.  Had his rifle's inherent delay between ignition of its charge and expulsion of its bullet given the beast time to escape?  Was it even now circling behind to pounce where he lay trapped in the false security of the thorn bush?