Eli Gates

A wretched one, damned by his own hands, now bound to a purpose crueler than death. The gunslinger rides, no longer upon flesh and bone, but astride a nightmare forged in hellfire. Its hooves spark of damnation against soot and soil. The stench of brimstone heralds his coming.

He was an outlaw once. The sort who'd trade life for a fist full of dollars. His name, long since spat upon and buried, is now spoken only in fearful gratitude by those who bar their doors at night. For beyond the gates, where the dark festers and the unspeakable stirs, he walks with a purpose.

Not redemption. Such a mercy is denied to him. So let it be his usefulness instead which grants him acceptance in the flickering light of hopes rekindling. If only for now~