The rocky countryside of southern Arizona was home to many abandoned towns by the 1930s, most for a specific reason. These were towns centered around silver, coal, and gold. All of them built around the mines of the 19th century. When the veins dried up, the townspeople left for brighter futures. All that remained of these towns were the hollow structures and derelict mineshafts. Silence blanketed one such town, its name lost to history. The sun bleached the rotting wood of the shacks and shops, and only the desert critters called those places home.

  The mine’s entrance remained as it had decades ago, carved into the side of the mountain. Deep within that mine, where the light of the Sun had never touched, the earth shifted and groaned. Rocks fell away from a chamber deep within, revealing a mass of midnight black coal. The coal stirred, guided by unnatural forces. Dust and chunks of it fell away, revealing the shape of a man with his arms spread wide, as if crucified in the coal. The figure slipped off of the wall, falling on hands and knees amid a cloud of black dust. No soul was near enough to overhear this unholy rebirth.

  Two eyes of smoldering coal pierced the pitch dark of the mine as the figure picked himself up. The mine entrance belched with a gust of coal dust, the cloud billowing out and painting the sandy earth black. The figure emerged from the mine, taking on the shape of a gunslinger, wide black hat and trail duster made of coal. Looking around, the figure began to whistle a tune.

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  The coal began to morph into cloth, leather, cotton and skin. Within seconds, the figure appeared as a tall, dusty Six-Gun. He looked at his palm, still whistling. It was flesh, he remembered the feeling. A grin spread across his face, eyes still burning bright yellow.

  He began to sing. “You load nine-to-ten tons, what do you get?” He turned his hand over to see the twisting yellow mark across the top of his hand and wrist.

  “Another day older and deeper in debt.” He chuckled.

  The mark began to burn and blaze yellow. His whole body seized with the oncoming magic. He closed his eyes and breathed out, his breath a black cloud.

  “Yes, my King…” He clenched, “The boy.”

  The magic coursing through him withdrew into the glowing yellow mark. He felt relief, reaching instinctively to the pistol on his hip. It was Gellerite, with a sickly yellow tint in the metal. He smiled at his weapon, a Six-Gun’s weapon. With the speed only the School of the Viper could teach, he twirled the weapon back and forth, testing his reflexes.

  A gecko darted between rocks, fleeing from the newcomer. It was fast and blended well with the rocks and sand. Without even looking he swiped the pistol sideways and fired off a round. A cloud of burning coal shot from the barrel, as did the deadly round. The gecko was obliterated on the spot. Satisfied, he slid the pistol back into the holster smoothly.

  The Coal Man started down the path to a crossroads, still whistling. He stopped and looked at his hand again with a fiendish grin.

  “Saint Peter don’t you call me cause I can’t go,” He continued his lonely song, “I owe my soul to the company store.”

  He turned on his boot heel and headed East, spurs clinking with his steady footfalls.