At Old Fort Sumner, a violent tremor shook the ground. The cage protecting Billy the Kid's grave, a testament to years of frustrated souvenir hunters, erupted in a shower of twisted metal. Within the grave itself, a scene unfolded that defied the laws of life and death.
The skeletal remains of Billy the Kid, long-decayed and weathered, began a horrifying reconstruction. Gnarled bone fused with unseen force, while wisps of green energy, the echoes of tormented souls, danced around the skeletal frame.
Inch by agonizing inch, a sickly pale flesh knitted itself over the reassembled bones. This wasn't a healthy resurrection – the dark magic fueling the process left Billy's skin devoid of any life-giving blood, granting him an unsettling pallor.
His form continued to take shape, tendon and muscle knitting themselves together in a grotesque mockery of life. Soon, Billy the Kid stood once more, no different in appearance from any other man – except for the unnatural pallor of his skin and the faint green glow emanating from his vacant eyes.
Gone were the needs for blood and breath, replaced by the cold, dark magic coursing through his reanimated veins.
Maria witnessed the entire scene unfold, rushing to Daniel's side to protect him. She remained on guard, unsheathing her dagger and preparing to attack the newly raised undead if it showed any sign of hostility. Maria knew from experience that newly resurrected undead, especially higher-level ones like wights and the living dead, didn't always obey the commands of their resurrecter.
As Billy's eyes snapped open, he let out a groan and clutched his head, a sign of the headache that often accompanied such events. He glanced around, his gaze landing on Daniel, who stood before him with a hint of bewilderment still lingering from what had transpired. Beside Daniel stood Maria, her gaze sharp and focused, ready to act at the slightest hint of danger from the resurrected Billy.
Pain etched a grimace on Billy's face as he rasped, "You're the one who brought me back?" A fresh wave of agony tore through him, and he slammed his fist against his skull, a guttural curse erupting from his lips. "F*cl! My Head! It hurt like hell!"
"Yes, Mr. McCarthy," Daniel confirmed, a flicker of unease flickering in his eyes. Before another word could be exchanged, Billy crumpled, dropping to one knee with a strangled cry that echoed through the desolate graveyard.
"No!" Billy roared, defiance flickering in his tormented eyes. "I'm a free man! I'll never be a prisoner again!" The raw agony in his voice sent chills down Daniel's spine. Billy thrashed and writhed on the ground, as if an unseen hand squeezed the very life from him. His screams escalated into banshee-like wails, each one a desperate plea against the invisible force binding him.
Panic clawed at Daniel's throat. This had never happened before. Every creature he'd actualized with the card has always been absolutely loyal to him. Now, for the first time, he witnessed rebellion.
Uncertainty etched itself onto his face as he watched, paralyzed by the unexpected turn of events. The commotion had attracted unwanted attention. Soldiers appear in the distance, their gazes locked on the horrifying spectacle unfolding before them.
Maria, however, a blur of preternatural reflexes, danced through the hail of makeshift bullets, transforming into mist just before each one whistled past.
"Is that all you've got, corpse-spawn?" Maria taunted, her voice laced with a predator's amusement. But Billy's smirk remained, a predator of a different kind recognizing a quarry blundering into his trap.
A chorus of resounding "Bams!" shattered the air. Maria, momentarily distracted by her taunt, whipped around to witness an impossible sight. The rogue magic bullets, the ones that had missed their initial mark, were curving through the air, homing in on her like heat-seeking missiles. They slammed into her back with bone-jarring force, propelling her body through the crumbling wall.
Coughing and sputtering, Maria rose from the debris, fury burning in her crimson eyes. Twice she'd been outsmarted, humiliated in front of Daniel. "Alright, maggot-ridden meatbag!" she snarled, fangs bared. "Time to turn you back into the carrion you were!" Pure, unadulterated rage fueled her movements as she prepared to unleash her full vampiric fury.
But before she could charge, a calming voice sliced through the tension. "Maria, that's enough. It seems Mr. McCarthy requires a more... personal touch to believe our intentions," Daniel said, his voice a soothing balm to her raging spirit.
"It's okay, Maria. It seems that Mr. McCarthy wouldn't be convinced of the misunderstanding unless I show some sincerity," Daniel said, his voice calming Maria's raging heart.
Maria then walked unhurriedly toward the group of soldiers who had been watching the spectacle, but not before glaring at Billy and secretly giving him the middle finger, unbeknownst to Daniel.
"Feisty one, that vampire," Billy drawled, his thick Western accent returning. He pointed toward Maria with a hint of amusement, a stark contrast to his earlier rage. "Your turn to try me, partner?"
A semblance of Billy the Kid's usual swagger flickered back into his eyes, though a defiant glint remained as he locked gazes with Daniel. "Alright, Mr. McCarty," Daniel conceded. "I'll tell you the truth."
Daniel, sensing a shift in Billy's demeanor, paused to let the gunslinger settle. "First off," he began, "controlling you was never the intention. The whole ordeal was a colossal misunderstanding, an experiment gone awry. Luckily, I possess spells that can bring you back... exactly like this." With a flourish, Daniel produced a mirror from his trench coat pocket and tossed it towards Billy.
Catching the mirror with practiced ease, Billy eyed it warily before finally relenting and looking into it. His gaze locked onto his own reflection, a sight that defied logic.
His face, devoid of any rot, maggots, or the passage of time, appeared as youthful and vibrant as the day he died. The only telltale sign of his undead state was the unnatural pallor of his skin, a stark contrast to the healthy flush of life. It was as if he'd been resurrected by a divine hand, if not for the unsettling absence of blood.