Welcome to Ghostliness & Nerfherders Presents: East of West, Issue #25 – “Cast Out All Unbelievers”! In the previous installment, Erza Orion is a fucking creep who tattoos messages on people’s backs and then tears the flesh off their backs and sends them as scrolls to his Chosen friends. There will be “one last” gathering.

The three Horsemen begin their rebirths, which involve boiling vats of beef stew.

Death’s two friends bail on him to do Chosen things.

Bel Solomon’s friend wants to go to the Chosen ceremony so that he can do bullets at all of them.

Things are heating up! And I’ve said that for the last 20 issues. But for real this time, things are heating up! I mean it, folks.

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East of West, Issue #25 [April, 2016]
Written by: Jonathan Hickman
“Cast Out All Unbelievers”

“I have come to abuse the skeptics, and set fire to the unwashed.“

The Machine City of the Endless Nation, which has that giant, terrifying head-shaped building, is basked in the glow of the evening, uh… moon. Narsimha, the Head Chief of the Machine City Chiefs football team, he’s tossing and turning in his sleep. Grimacing and sweating. “Wake up, Narsimha. The moon is waxing… and the time is nigh… It’s time for you to choose. Are you a chief who sacrifices himself for his people… or a boy without grit – fearing the great game?”

Surely, this is certainly something to lose sleep over. Chief vs. Boy. Not only that, but Chief vs. Boy Without Grit. This ain’t no ordinary boy.

You may remember Nihnootheit, Chief Narsimha’s bird skull godlike buddy that he visited in the dang ol’ Sea of Boney Bones. He’s taunting Sleepy Chief right now, using the moon as ammunition for his insecurities. Waxing moon, indeed.

Nihnootheit clenches his hand into a menacing fist. “Each cost much, Narsimha,” he says, referring to the whole Man vs. Boy thing (hold the grit), “Come and pay… Come and pay.”

Yes, yes, the Call Girl Code. Come and Pay. Very classy.

Narsimha wakes from his awful slumber gasping and panting while a nude woman (with titties) snoozes in the bed beside him. Panting and huffing and wheezing, he looks like he hates that he has to make a choice that costs a lot. Plus he’s being nudged very hard to come and pay. That’s annoying.

So annoying, in fact, that Narsimha takes a ride in the middle of the night to the Sea of Bones to give this Nihnootheit, a name that I have to copy and paste, a piece of his mind. A generous chunk of his mind, no doubt. “Huaark!” says the bird skull god of dream invasion, waiting patiently. Then he does some god voodoo hoodoo juju that knocks Narsimha off of his speeding robot horse. “You fell off your machine, little chief. Scraped up your knee. Hurt your pride.”

Narsimha is positively foaming with terrified rage. He pulls out a gun, aims it at Nihnootheit so that, what, he can kill him? Are you kidding? Kill a god with a gun? Motherfucker, you need runes and herbs and Chaos Emeralds for that task. You gotta beat all the other bosses first.

Do you know why Narsimha is so mad? The Endless Nation is forbidden to talk the dead lands! Bird Man just knocked him onto the Sea of Bones! He has touched the Bones! This is the gravest of sins! And, thus, the gun.

“Superstitions aside,” speaks an approaching voice, “attempting to understand Nihnootheit and his kind is a foolish undertaking at best. But, if I was feeling bold and willing to wager a guess… I’d bet he’s teaching you to stand on your own two feet. Again.”

Narsimha cannot believe his eyes nor his eyes! It’s Sotuknang! Known better to you and I as Wolf! Eek! Crow is there too in her bird form, and they both look quite angry.

“That’s not my name anymore, Uncle. I am The Wolf… and tonight I am hunting chiefs.”

And he’s all out of bubblegum.

♪ ♫ ♬ In touch with the ground/I’m on the hunt I’m after you/Smell like I sound, I’m lost in a crowd/And I’m hungry like the woooolllllff! ♬♪ ♫ ♬

Would you look at that! Pretty apt there, Duran².

“My disciples are legion.”

Well, well, well. If it isn’t everyone’s favorite barkeep! Ol’ One-Eye. You may remember him from the very first issue getting the bejeebus scared out of him! You’re all in for a treat. Death is back and ready to scare the bejeebus out of him again! This will be the third time.

There’s a very large crash, but I can’t tell at all what it actually is. It doesn’t seem important.

“Damned indeed why all are… and it surely is his doin’,” Death says, glaring madly at the barkeep after his meek little “Goddamnit” outburst. “Me? I find my refuge in the Blue, of which I’ll have three.”

Yes sir! Right away, sir! Please don’t death me, sir! I don’t want to death, sir! “I don’t want no trouble,” the barkeep trembles, also not wanting death.

Well it’s trouble you got, you Shit. Seems this guy is friends with the Hunter, which I may or may not have already known (doesn’t matter anyway, it’s a “may not” in the here and now). And that’s not the good stuff for this guy. Not the good stuff at all.

Shaky barkeep DOESN’T WANT ANY TROUBLE! What the fuck? Get out of here! No one wants you! Heh, sorry.

“You askin’ if we’re even?” Death takes a swig intimidatingly and slams the shot glass on the counter with a TOK. “We are not even.”

Ok, fine. What do you want? Diamonds? Gold? Doubloons? Trinkets? Girl scout cookies? Pussy?? Everyone likes pussy! Want some pussy?

Death doesn’t want any pussy! Not today and not ever! He makes a point to mention that the bar looks pretty spotless. Funny, considering Wolf and Crow tore this place up beyond recognition. Must have been hard work putting it all back in order, eh?

Then Death slurps back the second glass and TOKs that sucker on the bar.

Barkeep says that the local law enforcement guys swept through and shut the bar down “‘til they cleared things up”, after which he spent nearly all his money refurbishing the place. Didn’t matter anyway, business sucks ass since a few weirdo supernatural beings tore the place up and murdered a whole bunch of Union army men.

Death slurps his final glass and TOKs it real good. “Place don’t look empty.”
“That’s because of what I did with the little remaining money I had. See, I invested it.”
“In what?” asks Death, gritting his teeth in a grotesque snarl the likes of which I haven’t seen yet! This barkeep’s gonna die.

Or maybe not? He invested his money in mercenaries, which the whole bar is filled with, ready to make short work of Death for showing his face ‘round these parts again’.

Death predictably finds this challenge to be not very challenging at all. He punches and kicks and grabs knives while swearing at the barkeep that he’ll be coming for him after he’s done here. The barkeep is rallying his crew to “KILL HIM!”, and that’s not very smart. Because they’re the ones being killed, which should have been an obvious outcome here, and now the barkeep is nervously ducking under his bar…

“Shit.”

He musters up a kernal of confidence and strength. “Fine,” he says, grabbing a shotgun from under the bar, “I’ll do it myself.”

CHIK CHAK! Gun noises!

“LOOK AT ME, DEATH!” he yells maniacally, “LOOK AT ME NOW!”

How cute.

The mercenaries are all dead. Death’s white suit is stained with blood up to his thighs. Barkeep is standing on the bar, wind suddenly out of his sails, looking down on the Grim Reaper himself! Ol’ Bonesy. Angel of Whatsits. Death sees “a little man with a big gun. One who just might be smart enough to know what to do next.”

There must be a good reason why Death keeps this guy around. He should’ve been killed nineteen times over, and he has pushed his luck quite blatantly.

“…why are you even here?” Barkeep Hunter One-Eye asks meekly, “What do you want with me?”

YES, I hope we all get the answer to this!

Death wants to hire him.

…

Well, sure. Ok. Let me just get my bright orange vest and my Buck Gardner 6-in-1 duck whistle and– WHAT?!

“You want me to track someone?” the beer-selling Hunter asks, finally letting his guard down now that he knows he’s not going to be pulverized today.”
“Yeah,” Death answers congenially.
“And if I do… that’ll make us square? Settle things once and all between us?”
“Nope,” Death glares, “It won’t even come close.”

SEA OF BONES, SEA OF BONES, THANK GOD ALMIGHTY, WE ARE AT THE SEA OF BONES. Wolf and Narsimha are catching up like old times.

Narsimha doesn’t like to be pushed around, controlled, feeling like he’s not the boss. HE’S the boss! Not some other boss who thinks he’s the boss. *points toward Nihnootheit who is just chilling cross-legged on a pile, perhaps a sea, of bones.

Yeah, well, bad news, Sensei. EVERYONE is being played and controlled. You’re not special, you narcissistic, insignificant speck of dust on God’s taint.

Uncle Salty doesn’t really want Wolf around to start proselytizing about his weird Chosen bullshit. Wolf says it’s not his intention to convince him (but it would likely be a positive by-product). Maybe a skeptic partner would help Wolf stay grounded. That sounds fun! “Truth be told, I am ill-equipped to handle what happens next,” Wolf admits.

Yeah yeah yeah, you’re not being very forthright. Narsimha can see it in his mascara-tattooed eyes. What really brings the great and wonder Wolf over to grace the Chief with his shining presence?

Wolf answers by immediately spewing mention of the Message, which Narsimha rolls his eyes about like Jeremy Duncan from everyone’s favorite American newspaper comic strip Zits! Ezra Orion sent Wolf a message on a gross piece of some dude’s back that said “Only you can save your people, and only then if you are Chosen.” Funny thing is, the message also said that he would find Narsimha at the Sea of Bones, that Bird Skull over there was going to give you a talking-to, and that joining Wolf on his path would be beneficial to both of them for, you know, reasons and etc. The chance of success would be greater that way. Success in what is uncertain. Finding the Hookshot to enter the Forest Temple?

Pish posh. This sounds dumb. Narsimha is a RULER of a LAND. What are you, Wolf? You seem like a BUZZING in Narsimha’s EAR.

No way, Bob Bummer. Wolf is the Son of Cheveyo. Cheveyo, who gave Narsimha and endless parade of noogies when they were growing up. Cheveyo, who RULED and LAND then LEFT and YOU took it FROM HIM like it was EARNED, like, AT ALL. MAN.

Step up. Take Cheveyo’s place again for better reasons, you dig? “Will you help me save our people?” Wolf asks him, throwing a whole slew of that Catholic-type guilt all over his uncle. Narsimha is frowning like it’s his job to frown. Which it probably is.

I think we’ve hit our limit with the Endless Nation, ironically. I wanna see what my favorite buddy, Archibald, is up to right now! He and his niece Constance are hovering about the Southern Gate in the Confederacy’s boxy Air Force One aircraft. Archibald enjoys a cigar. I’ve never seen him without one.

A large crowd gathers directly below. Constance believes they are headed in the same direction. Archibald is not worried about such a crowd, for they are pilgrims making a pilgrimage to, probably, that big stupid Armistice. “You might remember learning that they are a seasonal irritant,” Archibald snorts, likening these people to hay fever or bees. Or football. Or pumpkin spice.

Come to think of it, though, now that Ezra Orion is a loose canon gallivanting around town freely, perhaps these pilgrims are seeking him out personally. Just like they are, funnily enough. So yes, to confirm your suspicions, they are headed in the same direction! Sorry that Archibald said that in many, many, many more words.

Constance asks if they seek Ezra Orion so that these sheep can be told how to think and feel and act and shit. Archibald calls her jaded. But also, yes.

“I’m not jaded, Mr. President,” Constance says coyly, “I got here on my own and I’m exactly who I want to be.”

The way Archibald really sees it, pilgrims do the pilgrimage thing for two reasons: 1) They want to give their mundane lives some real meaning since they can’t find it within themselves. They think they deserve something better than their current position. 2) They have accepted who they are and they want to finalize that acceptance with a contribution to the cause. AKA, blowing shit up and destroying heathens in the name of whatever it is they are doing that kind of fucked up shit for. “Fear the martyrs, my dear. Not only are they gambling with house money, but they always bet it all.”

Noted, sir. Poker analogies, gotcha. Even Constance isn’t this cynical, but Archibald reminds her that she is lacking in the kind of experience that comes with age! You see, when a man loves a woman, he–

Whoops, wrong talk! Here, Constance, don’t forget that you’re here because even Archibald, with his wits and his complete lack of scruples, isn’t able to keep everything straight. This tangled web of deceit and political maneuvering requires your giant nerd math brain. Time for you to “learn all the variables”, as it were, to be fully prepared! Even the ones that will fuck with your left-brained nerd math brain left-brained bean counter brain sensibilities, nerd.

Variables like what? Oh, nothing really, just the irrational, fervent passion of evangelical worshippers of stupid nonsense and ghouly ghosts in the sky. Evangelical worshippers like your uncle, heh heh. Sur-priiiiise.

Constance is surprised. How the hell does someone like Archibald become a believer in ANYTHING but himself?

“Next I suppose you’re going to tell me about finding Christ and deliverance from all of Hell’s demons,” she says snidely.

“Well, I don’t know anything about the former…” he responds, revealing what awaits in the chamber they are entering, “But I assure you my dear, I am well-versed in the latter.”

She gasps at the giant smiling Hell Demon, surrounded by the frowning seriousness of Orion, Wolf, and Narsimha.

Final Thoughts

The gathering of the Chosen who give a shit commences! Who will show up next? John Freeman 8? Xiaolian Mao? A Horseman or two? Karl Malone?

All this and more in the next thrilling issue!

The post East of West, Issue #25 – “Cast Out All Unbelievers” first appeared on Tom Writes About Stuff.