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It's five o'clock in the valley, and a stone's throw from the Super Seven Roadsman's Rest, Sister Lilith Jean is whispering her morning prayers on the wind.
The catechism curls around the barrel of her rifle, breath on black metal in the Southewest sun. One Hail Mary, one Salve Regina, and one Our Mother, as the light flicks on in the window framed by her crosshairs.
Sister Lilith Jean has never seen a demon save for those illustrations the convent permits and stories of exorcisms performed with the bullet and cross from the Elder Sisters. She sees one now, with its curiously broad body, coarse hair growing across its cheeks and jaw, and the look of a thing carved from hard angles and corded muscle. She knows the demons' names, in all their Hellish sting on the lips.
"Legion," she whispers, her gaze sweeping over the dirty sand below, with the skitter of a thousand ants, down to the shaded valley of the desert below.
"Abaddon."
Taking a deep breath, Sister Lilith Jean gazes at the demon, remembering the words of her Sisters, naming the most monstrous of the Devil's creatures.
"Man."
It's five o'clock in the valley, and a stone's throw from the Super Seven Roadsman's Rest, Sherrif Lockwood steals through the shadow of the Joshua trees, bringing the law of Man down on the Sister of the Valley.
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