Darkness, all there is darkness. All Jericho can feel through any of his senses is darkness. He can feel himself stumble forward, his body moving against him, trudging further into the ever-consuming darkness. He fights it and fights it, but his body keeps moving forward. Nothing he does can stop him from moving; he feels his muscles actively denying him control of his flesh, a feeling that he can’t stand. He tries and tries, but nothing, then he gets an idea, a stupid idea, but an idea nonetheless. He tries moving his right arm and it works! Oh, by the creator, it works! He reaches to the back of his belt, feeling around, hoping to find his knife and a moment later, he finds the handle. He fights the knife out of its sheathe for what feels like an eternity, struggling against whatever force is driving him forward, but finally, he draws it from its sheathe and holds it up, mentally preparing for what he has to do next.

  “Fuck,” Jericho mutters, immediately feeling himself cringe because he knows his mother hates that kind of language, but right now it’s warranted. He raises his knife and brings it down hard into his right leg, immediately jolting pain through his leg and up his side. He clenches his teeth and lets out a pained growl, but slowly realizing he can feel his legs stopping as he falls to his knees. He punches the ground where he fell, seethingly mad at his situation, but with the dawning realization that he’s not sure where he is, or if he’s alive, given the last few things he remembers.

  Jericho staggers to his feet, swaying but upright, as he takes in his surroundings, or lack thereof in all reality. Everything around is just darkness, with no shapes or outlines, and his eyes are not adjusting to the darkness; everything simply remains darker than a starless night. He searches for what feels like hours until he sees a light in the distance, and having nothing to lose, he begins limping his way towards it. He walks for minutes, minutes turning into hours, hours turning into days, but the light never gets closer. The light is getting brighter, however, and blindingly so, completely beginning to overtake the oppressive darkness of the void around him. But never the less, he keeps walking, walking until the light overtakes him completely.

  Jericho draws a sharp breath, eyes opening suddenly, and finding his mouth full of blood and sand. Coughing, he tries to get it all out before he chokes anymore on it. He tries to sit up, having immense trouble manipulating his left hand, and upon looking at it, he understands why. His left hand, if it can even be called that anymore, is mangled beyond repair. The hand is missing fingers, exposed sections of muscle and bones, and worst of all, it’s almost severed at the wrist. That, however, is not the extent of his injuries, nor the worst of his injuries. He looks further up his arm, realization dawning that his destroyed hand is the least of appendage-based worries. His arm is shredded almost to the bone, only able to move the arm at the shoulder with the elbow being completely immobile. He reaches up to his face and neck with his good hand, feeling warm blood slowly leaking from a massive gash over the left side of his mouth and four smaller gashes covering his neck, luckily missing any vital arteries. His eyes are also intact, which given his current situation, is a nice touch.

  “This is a fucking nightmare, isn’t it” Jericho asked no one but himself as he tries to piece together what led to his current state. While he connected the dots, he took off his shirt and started cutting off pieces to use as makeshift bandages to at least treat his wounds. He wrapped pieces around his neck, slowing the bleeding of the wounds, wrapping the rest of it around his arm, using it like a tourniquet to tie off above his elbow to stem the bloodflow further down his arm. He staggers to his feet, finally finding the strength to do so with only one functioning arm.

  Limping forward like an injured animal, Jericho searches for some kind of shelter, right now, anything would do. He walks and walks, finding a small cave, small enough to be hidden from a distance but big enough for him to fully hide and live out of it. He doesn’t stop moving, he takes a mental note and keeps walking, looking for two specific plants, shadow cypress and yucca. He needs shadow cypress to prevent an infection and yucca to weave the leaves for the medical wrap. It wouldn’t be pretty but it would be effective, which was all Jericho could ask for without getting any extra aid. Today, as it would seem, Fortune had changed her opinion on Jericho and she’d throw him a bone. Within one hundred feet of the cave, a plentiful patch of shadow cypress and a few yucca plants were growing in a shaded grotto that felt much cooler than the rest of the desert in every direction.

  “Something wants me to survive this,” Jericho says, half sarcastic, half hopeful. “Looks like I’ll have enough to keep my wounds covered. Maybe I’ll make it through yet.” Jericho gets to work, grinding down the shadow cypress using a couple of rocks to make a paste and applying it to his wounds, taking some of the yucca and weaving the leaves together to create more effective bandages than the scraps of his shirt he was using to keep his wounds covered. Tossing aside the scraps, he wraps his wounds in the yucca leaves and evaluates how he should handle his arm.

  Looking at the extent of his injuries, “There’s no way I can save my arm. If I tried to make it to the nearest town, I’d probably get some kind of infection and keel over on the way. I hate that my only option is probably removing it, shit.” Jericho begins pacing around the grotto, trying to mentally prepare himself to remove his arm. Rather glad that he’s lost feeling in the lower part of his arm, he pulls his knife back out and takes a deep breath and drives it forward.

  In only a moment, the air was filling with the sickening sound of a knife tearing flesh, of muffled screams of pain held back only by the sheer tenacity of the victim. Then silence, only broken by the sound of flesh hitting sand and rock followed by the breathless pants of a man who has done the unthinkable. The panting continues as Jericho quickly holds his good hand over the freshly amputated stump with a small blue glow. “If I could, I’d thank Momma for this little trick”, Jericho mutters, the pain slowly subsiding as he keeps the glow up. “Momma sure had a knack for healing magic, she could’ve removed the arm and kept any kind of pain from popping up. Lord, I wish I was as good at it as her. I’m glad she took the time to teach me as much as she did.” He keeps his hand there, healing the stump until the wound fully heals closed. He reminisces as he does, a sad and nostalgic smile appearing on his face.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  With his arm removed, Jericho begins digging through his bag, looking for the spare shirt he keeps on him in case he needs one. Taking the shirt out of the bag, he puts it on like he always does, struggling with the buttons as he tries to adjust to the feeling of his missing limb and greatly reduced motor skills. Cursing silently, Jericho takes the shirt off to roll up the sleeves, realizing that he can't do the right sleeve without a left hand. He finishes with the sleeves and puts the shirt back on, slowly buttoning the buttons, doing his best not to get frustrated. He sighs deeply as he leans against the wall of the grotto, taking in the fading light above him. As he does so, he finishes assembling the day's events and how he got to where he is now. He closes his eyes to visualize everything.

  Ten hours earlier:

  Jericho was going about his normal day, looking over some medical texts trying to master a few new ideas for medical magics that he’d seen his mother do in the past. He was a mighty fine doctor of the nonmagical variety, but as it stood, learning the medical magics could do nothing but boost his skills, which any extra benefit could be a big help to saving a life. As usual, he was surrounded by diagrams of local plants with medical and mystical properties trying to make sense of what little his mother left behind for him to learn in the wake of her passing. She had taught him everything that he knows, but she never finished teaching him. Setting down his book to give his eyes a break and stretch a bit, he starts walking down the hall from the study room, grabbing his shirt, hat, and bag, ready to go out and walk around town for a bit. Walking out the house, he takes his usual path walking through the middle of town, minding his own business.

  Despite the town's small size, there was usually some kind of activity—sometimes a group of kids playing, sometimes a couple walking the streets—but for once, the streets were completely silent. This was an odd and uncomfortable silence, one that had no presence in this town before this point. Jericho walked through the silent streets of the early morning, hoping to find someone, anyone to break this dreadful silence. Looking around, feeling his panic building as fog began rolling in, a strange sign that only had one explanation. Only three people could create this kind of fog, and only one had a high opinion of Jericho. The problem being, she had left for a month-long trip.

  “Shit,” Jericho says quietly, more out of hope that they don’t already know where he is. His hope is rather misplaced, and he knows this, he knows he either needs to start running or try to hide, because there is no way in hell he can survive whatever they have planned for him.

  He decides to cut his losses and try running, praying that he doesn’t get cornered while escaping. He turns on his heel and starts running down a set of side streets, staying out of sight. Now, Jericho is a physically fit man, there’s no doubt about it, but even being fit won’t help against a mob of angry people wanting you dead. Still moving, Jericho tries to take an alley, but he sees instantly that it’s been blocked by a few men with pistols. Trying to keep away, he turns fast, but the direction he came from is blocked as well. With both sides closing in, Jericho finds himself between not one rock, but two.

  Jericho is grabbed by two large men, his arms held down to his sides as they carry him outside of the town. As they drag him out of town, they rough him up, laughing as they do so, taking pleasure in causing him pain. Jericho cries out in pain, but every sound falls on consciously deaf ears, ears that are waiting their turns to cause him pain. He’s thrown to the dirt as a shadow looms over him. Jericho looks up at the figure casting the shadow.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing Redd! When Morgan finds out he’ll–” Jericho gets cut off.

  “Morgan is dead, you bastard. Of course, your lying ass would know what happened to him, wouldn’t you,” Redd asks almost condescendingly, as if he knows Jericho is going to start floundering after this revelation.

  “What the hell do you mean that Morgan is dead, what the hell happened, Redd. Why wasn’t I told so I could examine the body?”

  “Well, it's almost like the killer should know what happened to his victim. You can stop lying, Jericho, just admit you did it and we’ll let you live the rest of your days in jail.” Redd responds, crouching down to Jericho’s level. He looks Jericho in the eyes and takes the hat off of his head and places it on his own.

  “Go fuck yourself you bastard” Jericho snaps back, looking for an opportunity to escape and get his hat back.

  “Always defiant, even at the end. Oh well, mercy can only go so far, and I can only be so nice. Boys, take it away” Redd snaps, ordering the mob to kill Jericho. Jericho tries to raise his voice in protest, before he can even speak, his vision goes black.

  Current time 6:00 pm

  Jericho opens his eyes and looks to the sky, every piece fully in place, and a plan forming in his mind. Jericho wants justice for what happened to him, he wants to clear his name and set the record straight. He wants to stop whatever Redd is planning, and maybe fix the issues facing the town’s rather rocky treatment of people who didn’t originate from the town. This plan is going to take a lot of logistical support and resources, and Jericho already knows that he can’t do this by himself. Leaning back against the rock wall, Jericho closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep, hoping to make more sense of this in the morning.