The Monster with No Name

	1831. That was the year. The year of building and creating in the old Wild West. A time where most was desert and dust, of wood and metal, of high rolling hills and cactus fields. The warm sun shone down on the dusty desert plain like a man on a revenge mission. The heat was unbearable. And yet animals still scurried around hunting on the weak, and being hunted by the strong. Tumbleweeds blew across the old horse paths that were made by many travellers. A rattlesnake slithered its way across the path. It's been stalking a mouse for what felt like hours, even days. But the poor dirty grey mouse was at its peak, giving up on giving chase, accepting its fate as the rattlesnake approached it from behind, fangs bore, venom dripping like a broken kitchen tap. The snake shook its tail, as if to taunt the poor rat with its rattle. It was over. Its fate was sealed.

	But fate had other plans.

	The snake was too busy being fixated on the tired mouse to even realize, let alone hear the approaching horse carriage. There was no time to even react as the horses almost seemed to ignore the rattlesnake, a feat in which most horses would freak out about. The large wooden wheels of the carriage ran over the rattlesnakes head in mid lunge, crushing its bones into powder with ease. The dead snake twitched as the second set of wheels ran over its head once again, like a man shooting a bear for a second time to make sure it was dead. The mouse was lucky enough to be sparred, for a time, for nature seemed to have gave it luck for the time being. The carriage continued on its way as if nothing even happened, even though its wheels now had the small blood splatter of a once predatory animal and king. The mouse quickly ran into the bushes once the carriage passed. It didn't want to be out in the open with the many crows flying around. Even though it later died to the exact thing. Such is the circle of life.
	The carriage was a large wooden structure of modern engineering-for its time. Consisted of wooden beams and metal pins and other sorts, it was in fairly good shape. A dark brown canopy hung over the back, covering the load from the harsh bright sunlight that seemed to be smiting the empty land. Two men sat in the front seats, paying no mind to the sobbing and sniffling coming from the back as if they didn't even exist. The sound of old wooden wheels turning and horseshoes hitting the soft dusty ground was loud, but that didn't make the sobbing completely moot. But the men didn't care one bit. The driver-the one with the leather reins in his hands- was mostly enjoying the slow ride than caring about some sobbing from the back. The passenger was too busy playing his harmonica to even think of looking in the back. But they knew what was back there, and it wasn't pretty.

	Monsters of different races -of almost all races if you didn't know them all completely- and only a handful that could be found in the desert wasteland. They were all in the same condition, some more harsh than most; chained arms and legs, a weight ball at the feet, and many many harsh lashes from what seemed like leather. Some had it worse, ad evident to the fact that some still had fresh blood soaked red lashed on their back and front. Their poor low quality drags couldn't hide the many hits and bruises on their bodies. Some even had red tinted blood soaked clothes in where there would be a noticeable gash on. They all had the same expressing, the same look of sorrow and rage. The smaller, younger ones were hugging what looked like the older and experienced monster girls. But they were all just children. From the Lamias, to the Holstaurus and wolfgirls, to even the one Minotaur, there were all roughly the same age. They were all young children.

	"Y'all better be more quiet back there before I come back there and give you some more lashing." The driver grinned and his friend went back to blowing on his harmonica. The sobbing stopped momentarily, but it was still there. No matter how hard they tried to hide it, the pain was fresh, hot, and burning. But the men didn't care how much they got roughed up; what mattered was how good they were sold. They were in the business of slavery of course.

	The early 1800’s were famous for its time of rampant slavery and distribution of monsters to those who seek the "exotic" lifestyle. It was a lawless time, and no one protested to slavery, especially of those who would kill a man of woman without a second thought. Yes, men would purchase those who were fit to be slaves and do their bidding. The buyers were mostly the rich and wealthy, of those that were too lazy to do their own work because they were too rich to even consider doing something known as manual labour. The more popular ones were the Kikimora, since they were the most submissive of the slavery ring and would almost do it for free. But others would rather kill then be sold to some perverted man who wanted to do nothing more that have sex with them.

	Brothels were famous for buying the more exotic ones, the ones with no legs, or bigger breasts, or even the Succubi that would love to get a job of doing nothing more than putting a man's STD ridding member into their STD ridden snatch. Lamia’s were also famous for this as well. The more exotic they were, the higher the price. Though, some protests, mostly of woman, were made in regard to the recent slavery and such. They didn't care what happened to the monster girls, they were just angry that some of their husbands would rather stick their perverted dick into some creature than actually do something progressive to society and have children-human children- with them. It was stupid and no one listened to them, causing the protests to dissipate into nothing after short periods of time.

	The slavery wasn't always bad. Some men bought the girls for an extra hand around the farm. The Holstaurus were the more popular in that regard. Some were still disgusted that some even sold their milk on the market, but when your Holstaurus made prize winning milk, you tend to boast. Other men purchased the creatures as just a help in pretty much anything. From hunting, to getting wood, to even just company, they were purchased. Some even went so far as to even marry some-a sign of love they would call it- saying it was love at first sight. But interspecies relationships were taboo, and were even known as a sign of being a heretic. People were executed for even thinking of marrying one, and even their 'bride to be' was killed as well. Pregnancy did not hinder the execution. The Old Paladin Order stressed it.

	The paladin Order was an old Order, as evident to the name, coming from the early knight days. How they survived is a mystery, but their hatred and rage for monsters still was high. High enough that bounties on monster girls were higher than even a normal bounty on a normal person. Such is why monster girl slavery was such a high paying industry, no matter how wrong and how disgusting it was. High risk, high reward, as they would say. But that didn't mean that everyone was OK with it. For tension still rose for those who were against slavery and distribution of monster girls on the black market.

	"Shit!"

	The horses screamed in fear as a massive creature broke through the dry dirt like a whale breaching the ocean surface. A massive brown armored worm; a thing of beauty that's rarely seen due to the fact that they lived underground. The horror that has the name; The Sandworm. Three massive red eyes were on opposing sides of the massive creature, near the massive toothed maw that roared in the air like a bear claiming dominance. Spit and mucus flew out of its massive mouth as it looked down at the horrified men. But the driver knew better than to stare in fear at the monster that looked like it could eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. So he did what the horses were doing to the carriage

	Go around it.

	The large wooden carriage almost flipped onto its side as the frightened horses ran around the beast in fear. The screams in fear came from the back of the wooden carriage as it struggled to go around. The frantic horses were making it hard to control. The Sandworm hissed, its eyes scanning the carriage as it passed, its large maw salivating. The other man- the passenger- quickly dropped his harmonica and reached for his repeater that sat behind him. But he wasn't fast enough. The Sandworm was already on him before the carriage could make it around its massive form. Its large maw enveloped half of the man, pulling him out of his seat and into the air. The many slave passengers in the back watched as the massive worm shook its hear left and right, left and right, over and over again. The Sandworms were a simple minded race. And it was pretty simple what the creature was trying to do, even after it swallowed the man down its jugular, then spitting out the man with what seemed to be a completely snapped neck. The older ones quickly covered the younger ones eyes. They were too young to see something like that, even though they've seen worse. But it wasn't over.

	The carriage seemed to have slowed to a stop, as if the pull and momentum from the horses seemed non-resistant, like it was removed. The Sandworm seemed to have gone back underground as if nothing happened. The girls looked around in fear, wondering what just happened. Were they free? Where they just being hijacked by a bunch of other slave traders? Were they going to get raped? Many questions went around in their mind, worry and fear gripping them like a vice grip from a crab. They didn't even notice the faint sound of a man being stabbed in the heart by something, or someone.

	The group screamed when the dark tarp that hung overhead was pulled off. The bright sun shone down on them as harsh as it could. It was hotter than it seemed, but at least it wasn't as stuffy. A group of dark figures stood around the carriage. The girls could barely see what they even looked like, but they knew that it probably meant trouble. They began to cower in fear, hugging the young as they squinted and blocked the light with their hands. They didn't know who they were, they didn't know what they wanted, what their motives where, why they even seemed to have killed both the passengers without a second thought, but the only emotion that came up was the only one they felt.

	Fear.

	And yet, a warm and sensual voice spoke up. A voice than only a child would recognize. A motherly voice. Fear almost seemed to wash off the frightened monster girls like mud as the woman's warm voice spoke out. The feeling of safety, of protection, of love, replaced their fear without a second thought. The tallest one of them all, the one who spoke, the one that stood in the centre-right in front of the entrance to the back of the carriage- held out a hand to the nearest damaged and hurt monster girl. The young Minotaur looked at the shadowy figure, brushing away some of her long dark brown hair out of her face. Stained blood seemed to have come from her right eye that was covered by her hair. Her green eyes looked at the figure with mixed expressions. A thinkers eyes-like a person trying to debate is someone was trustworthy or not.

	And yet she took the woman's hand. It was warm, like a motherly embrace shrunk down into the palm of someone hand. The Minotaur slowly stepped out of the carriage and onto the dirt road. She hissed. Gravity was beginning to take its course, beating down on the harmed and injured young girl like a hammer. The slight burn from the lashes seemed amplified, by the burning sun in the sky, like they were freshly made or freshly done. But then they seemed to almost disappear, as if they were removed as the figure hugged the young child in its embrace. The warmth, the love and safe feeling washed over the Minotaur like a child under a blanket. And even when the figure began to stroke her hair and patting her on the head like a mother, the Minotaur got teary eyed. It reminded her of her mother. Of her long lost mother. She didn't even realize she was crying into the figured waist, bawling her eyes out. Tears and sniffles. Snot and mucus. Completely ignored by the shadowy figure. She just kept saying the same phrase over and over again.
	"It’s OK now. You're safe. You're safe."



	1843. Twenty two years later. Things have been significantly different than it previously was all those years ago. After a large fallout, or what some would call the second great monster war, the way of things were changed. Monster girls and woman were considered "free", though it was currently debatable. The war was dwarfed by the famous Great Monster War, one that was fabled to last over 200 years with many casualties on both sides, but it was a war nonetheless. The main reason why it was smaller scale was the monsters themselves; consisted of refugee's, slaves, and liberators. Most would've thought of it as a simple skirmish if it didn't last a full 15 years with many dead on both sides. it was a violent war, one that painted the dusty sandy dirty ground with crimson, but it wasn't as full scale. Though, the message was clear in the end.

	Let the monsters be free.

	And they were. Slavery, although still something that happened in the black market, was considered dead. Things were still being discussed- i.e. marriage- but monster woman were considered part of the urban society of the old west. Though it came with repercussions. After the war, there were a lot of bounties created for both sides; Wives enraged and swearing revenge, lawmen hunting down some of the monster girls who too their "freedom' to an extreme, to even monsters wanting revenge of their fallen friends and family that were killed during, or even before the war. Bounty hunting was a thriving business. It was almost as thriving as monster hunting in general, but that seemed to be in a decline. Fame and fortune was a guarantee in the bounty hunting business, emphasis on the fame. But sometimes too much fame can get you killed.

	The jazzy piano tune could be heard from outside of the large wooden bar. The building was two floors tall, serving as both a comfy bar and a hotel of sorts. The questionably dressed Holstaurus' in maid outifts being the sorts. It was a hot day in the small town, the bright sun shining down on the wooden town with no sign of even granting it mercy. Horse carriages and people walking around the dirty roads, heading to the market or heading off from the city. Many signs hung from the many two story buildings, ranging from doctors, to markets, to bars, to even a blacksmith. The town had a lot for a place with not a lot of people. Though, with the newly installed iron rail road that was at the northern edge of the city, it was popular enough. The town was friendly enough, as evident to the 'how do you do?' and 'hellos' that seemed to be the norm in the town. But, other from the mixed Holstaurus and human girls in the bar/brothel, it had very little to no monsters.

	The bar people were loud, mostly socializing with themselves than with the whores that stood around flashing their stuff. Some entertained the demons, but most were doing what most did in a bar; drink. The Barkeeper scanned the large room, cleaning a glass mug with his towel. Each table in the bar was consisted of what most would think were outlaws. Which wasn't far from the truth in reality; Grizzled men who looked like they've seen war, elders that looked like they could go all day talking about their past, and men who just came to entertain the ladies. It was a normal bar alright. One that looked like a ticking bomb just ready to blow up at any moment. The barkeep looked at one of the men that sat at the counter. He took a bottle of scotch from under the table and filled up his shot glass for him. The thank you almost threw him off guard.

	The saloon grew silent as the large batwing doors swung open. A tall figure walked into the silent bar, its weight causing the floor to strain and creak under it. The figure wore a pair of baggy pint striped pants, the bottom of which was covered in dust and dirt. A patch was on its right knee. a Lasso hung from the left side next to a satchel and a hunting knife. One revolver sat in the holster on its right, the belt adorned with many bullets. A large light brown duster hung over the small grey and black vest that was under it. A red scarf was tied onto its right arm; an Ushi Oni stash. Stitched rips and cuts were all along the old duster coat; evidence to how used it is. A cattleman hat sat on the tall figures head. The dark brown hat looked worn and torn, even though a fresh feather was stuck on the tight stash. A pair of black leather gloves covered the figures hands. A set of large horns stuck out from the sides of the hat. One had visible damage to it, while the other was cleanly cut low, almost broken off. This stranger wasn't just a tall, almost intimidating person.

	But was also a monster.

	The Minotaur walked over towards the bar table, ignoring the many looks coming from the patrons. Her hat covered her emerald green eye, the other in which was covered by an eye patch. Her medium lengthen brunette hard covered the eye patch. A large scar was across her face, starting from the top of her left eyebrow going across her nose and to her right cheek. She didn't say a word when she took a seat on one of the bar chairs. The Bartender didn't know what to do, but her beckon made it obvious what her purpose was. She wanted a drink, and it has his duty -his job- to be of service. The man walked over to the woman, almost hesitantly so. He didn't know who she was, but if the Ushi Oni stash she has on her arm, the only way in which getting is defeating/killing an Ushi Oni, she was someone you didn't want to get on the end of the revolver.

	"Scotch." Her voice was low, almost husky. She sounded aggressive just by her thick western accent alone. But the Bartender didn't even hesitate when he obeyed her order. He quickly poured a shot of the liquor and- "Leave the bottle." left the bottle with the Minotaur.

	She gulped down the hard liquor in the shot glass in one go without even a flinch. The alcohol burned as it went down her throat, but she didn't even waver. It was nothing to her- nothing but water. She filled herself another shot and took it again in one go. She knew she was being watched- the air felt musty and the feeling were strong. Her right ear flickered at the sound of footsteps; A man, someone who looked like they were in their 20's. He walked over to her right side. The woman looked at the mirror that was along the back of the bar behind the barkeeper. The man was being watched by his friends, the woman took it. He didn't know what his motives were, but judging by the pleading look of the bartender, he was asking for trouble. Not that the Minotaur minded. It made things interesting.

	"Well ain't you just the finest ass to walk in this bar." The man said, grinning like a mad man. “Oh, but I don't remember this being a monster bar. I mean, it ain't on the sign." The Minotaur said nothing. She just looked down into her drink. He was an idiot for showing his face.

	"Uhh, can you hear me, buttercup?" The man chuckled. "Aw, don't tell me you're hard of vision AND hard of hearing." The Minotaur heard the group of men sitting at their table chuckle under their breath. "But let's cut to the chase, shall we? Why don't you scurry on out of here before my fella's and I show you what a real man's capable of." The man’s hot breath smelled of alcohol as he neared her ear. "But you'd like that, wouldn't you?" The Minotaur glanced at the Bartender. He sighed to himself.

	"Son, can't you see she doesn't want any trouble?" The man laughed.

	"A Holstaurus walks into a bar and they don't want any trouble!?" The man bellowed. "Those sluts only come in here for two things: either to sell you their milk, or a rough hard DICKING!" The man looked at the 'holstaurus'' chest. "And judging by how she ain't so well in doubt in the chest, I'd say she came here for some dick. Or as we call it honey, some SEX!" The bar erupted into cheers and laugher. The Bartender didn't know what to do- they were bullies, and obviously much stronger than his frail form. The Minotaur smirked.

	"So you're Roger .J. Rodger, also known as The Big R." The Minotaur's voice alone made the bar go back into its silence. "I've been lookin' all over for you." The man raised an eyebrow.

	"What are you talking about, cow?" The woman reached into her jacket. She took out a small folded piece of paper and unfolded it. She stuck it in his face. The man squinted as he read the paper. There was a picture of him right on the front.

	Wanted: Roger .J. Rodger "The Big R"
	Wanted for: Disorderly conduct, Sexual assault, ten counts of murder, Destruction of property, Assault on an officer, Robbery, and Extortion
	Reward: $500 alive. $450 dead. Bonus $100 for each gang member

	The man looked at the woman with a smirk. He chuckled into a laugh, patting his hand on the bar table as he laughed. The woman said nothing as she folded the paper and placed it back insider her inner breast pocket. The Man wiped away a tear from his eyes and chuckled, holding onto his sides. He sniffled and looked back at the woman, who took another shot of her scotch. He couldn't believe it. he couldn't believe what was going on in front of him. A Holstaurus, one that looked like she bought everything that looked cool from a tailor, came all the way over here to act all cool and threaten him-HIM- with a bounty that he didn't care was on his head since every bounty hunter that came after him died the same way.

	"You know, I am impressed!" The man took the Scotch bottle from the Minotaur and took a long swig. "I can't believe you came 'ere lookin' all spiffy like a bounty hunter, when in truth you came here for sex. That-" He burped. "That is some kinky role play right 'ere." The man's voice became low, to almost a whisper. "But you're a pretty stupid cow to be comin' here all alone. Because I don't think you could entertain all of us."

	The Minotaur looked up at the mirror. The group of men that were sitting at a table finally got up. She counted the group; six total. A small gang, she thought, but it made things easier for her. She didn't want to get overwhelmed, even though in truth it would be much more fun, but by the looks of some of the men, it could get pretty violent really fast if they began to join in. A fire fight would alert the lawmen, which was good in a way since it would make the transport much easier. But considering this town had no sheriff, it was pretty much moot. Civilian casualty didn't worry her; if they were in the way, it was their fault. Though, the bartender seemed nice.

	She glanced at the man next to her. Roger seemed like he was getting tipsy, but his hand was hovering over his gun. She got up slowly, an indication that she was complying. The man grinned. The rest of the men began to converse on her, their lust filled eyes, their perverted smiled, their belts being loosened. The Minotaur looked over to the bartender once more, as if like a child asking their parents if doing something was OK with them. The Bartender seemed defeated. He was as frail as he looked. She frowned. It was too bad she had to ruin the bar for him.

	"Alright bitch, time for you to bend over." Roger said with a grin. "Now, it's a damn shame a Holstaurus like you doesn't have any milkbags, but an ass is fi-"

	The movement was swift, the mark hit. The Minotaur quickly smashed the tip of the shot glass onto the bar table and swung her right arm in a fatal vertical arc. The jagged glass racked across the man's neck, slicing it open in many different places, crimson spraying out like a fountain, skin flying into different directions. The Man clutched his sliced open neck, his eyes wide in fear, shock, and terror. but the Minotaur didn't care about it one bit. As quickly as she slashed his neck, she reached for her revolver with her left hand. The gang didn't even have time to react when bullets were shot. The Minotaur fired five shots, five shots for five men. The sixth man looked at the woman in fear, staring down the barrel of the smoking revolver. She looked the man dead in the eyes, her green eyes burning into his skull, the intensity almost making him cringe in fear. She smiled and aimed down and fired, right into his crotch.

	The woman holstered her gun and sighed, ignoring the screams of pain from the now penis-less man. She looked down at the man named Roger, who was reaching for his gun in pain. She didn't hesitate when she stomped onto his crotch, causing him to gargle a scream and drop his gun. She looked to the bartender, who was peeking over the counter and watching her in fear. She smirked. The Minotaur placed a bill on the table and picked up the bleeding man by the back of his jacket neck. she ignored the many bystanders that were watching; they were going to part like the red sea anyway. She walked over to the lawmen, the only lawmen in the town and the ones that hired her, body in hand. With a soft grunt, she tossed the body to their feet.

	"How many?"

	"You heard the shots." The Minotaur said. One of the lawmen, the boss it seemed, whispered to the other man. The other Lawman ran passed the woman and into the bar. He quickly came out with a nod.

	"You're really good at this job." The man said. He reached into his pocket and gave the woman her pay: $1050. Before he could say another word, the Minotaur took the money and went to her hitched horse. The horse snorted at the monster girl’s weight, getting a soft kick in the side. Without another word, she was off, as if she was never even there. The Bartender ran out of his bar, watching her ride off, and her hair blowing in the wind.

	"Who was that?" He asked. The Lawman chuckled.

	"She doesn’t have a name, well, she doesn’t go by one.” The Lawman said. “Some call her Mad Cow, others call her One Eyed Bitch.”

	“And you?” The Lawman looked at the young bartender. He smirked and watched the Minotaur ride off.

	“The Monster with No Name.”