Husker (Buckshot Roulette Au)

The air in the back room of the "Golden Scarab" casino was thick with smoke, desperation, and the faint, coppery tang of old blood. It wasn't the kind of place you found by accident. You had to know a guy, owe a guy, or be a guy who was down to his last soul and looking for a miracle. The door was unmarked, a slab of black iron that blended into the grimy wall of the casino’s service corridor.

Inside, the room was stark. A single, bare lightbulb buzzed overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow on a worn wooden table. On the table sat a twelve-gauge, pump-action shotgun, its blued steel gleaming dully under the light. Behind the table, in a threadbare armchair that had seen better centuries, sat Husk.

He was a far cry from the bartender who might have found a semblance of peace at the Hazbin Hotel. This Husk was leaner, meaner, his red fur matted and unkempt. His wings were folded tight against his back, and his trademark bottle of cheap booze was replaced by a flask of something infinitely stronger. A perpetual, cynical scowl was etched onto his face. He was the house, and the house always won.

The demon across from him was a wispy, nervous thing named Vex, a low-level grifter who’d been skimming from the casino's tills. He had a desperate, hungry look in his eyes, the look of a man who was all out of bad options. He’d heard the rumors: a game of chance, a single round, a soul on the line. Win, and you walk away with a golden token worth more than most demons would see in a millennium. Lose, and Husk owned you.

"You know the rules, Vex," Husk rumbled, his voice a gravelly rasp. He slid a worn, leather-bound contract across the table. "Your soul. Your shot. The gun's got one shell in it. I spin the chamber. You pull the trigger. If it clicks, you're rich. If it BOOMS..." He let the word hang in the air, a grim smile playing on his lips. "You're mine."

Vex's hand trembled as he signed the contract with a claw. He was betting on the odds. A one-in-six chance of a hole in his head versus the promise of a fortune. He saw the golden token glinting in the dim light, a symbol of escape from his pathetic existence.

Husk took the shotgun, broke it open, and slid a single, red shell into the chamber. He snapped it shut with a satisfying clack. He didn't spin the chamber in a flourish. He did it with a slow, deliberate, and terrifyingly random motion, the cylinder spinning with a series of clicks that sounded like a death rattle. He placed the gun back on the table, the butt facing Vex.

Vex picked it up. It felt heavy and cold, a promise of either salvation or damnation. He pressed the muzzle against his temple, his eyes screwed shut. The room was silent. Husk just sat back, took a long swig from his flask, and waited. He’d seen it all before. The bravado, the prayers, the last-minute protests.

Click.

The sound was as loud as a gunshot in the silence. Vex gasped, his eyes flying open. A wave of euphoria washed over him. He’d done it! He was rich! He looked at Husk, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. Husk just chuckled, a low, dry sound.

"Good for you, kid. Now, you know the next part."

Vex's grin faltered. "Next part? I won. I get the token."

Husk shook his head slowly, his yellow eyes glittering with amusement. "The contract says you get a chance at the token. The game's not over 'til I say it's over." He reached out and slapped a small, silver bell on the table. It rang with a clear, sharp tone. "Rule number two. You don't die. The gun is a 'Soul-Puller,' not a killer. Win or lose, you sit back up. Then you decide if you wanna go again. A lot of folks, when they hear that click, they get cocky. They think they got the devil's own luck."

Vex's joy curdled into icy dread. "No... the deal was..."

"The deal is what's on the paper, Vex," Husk said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "You played. You pulled the trigger. Your soul is now on the table. You can walk away with nothing, your soul still your own, my time wasted. Or... you can try again. The pot doubles. You win, you get two tokens. You lose, I get two souls' worth of yours. The stake goes up every time. The game of Buckshot Roulette isn't about winning. It's about knowing when to quit."

Vex stared at the shotgun, the realization dawning on him. It wasn't a game of chance. It was a game of greed. He’d just had the biggest scare of his afterlife. A free pass. All he had to do was get up and leave. But the golden token was right there. One was good. Two were better.

"I... I'll go again," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Husk shrugged. "Your funeral. Well, not literally. But it will be painful." He took the gun, broke it open, and slid in another shell. He spun the chamber again, slower this time, letting the suspense build. He handed it back to Vex.

Vex’s hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold the gun. This time, he didn't press it to his temple. He put the muzzle under his chin, looking up at the bulb as if pleading with a god that wasn't listening. He pulled the trigger.

BOOM.

The sound was deafening in the small room. A plume of red smoke and gore erupted from the top of Vex's head. His body jerked and slumped forward, the shotgun clattering to the floor. A thin, wispy tendril of blue light, his very essence, was siphoned from his smoking skull and coiled around Husk's wrist like a contented serpent. Husk absorbed it with a sigh, feeling the familiar, hollow power fill his empty chest.

But as promised, Vex's body didn't stay dead. His bones crunched and re-knit themselves, the flesh sizzling and re-forming. The demon coughed, spitting out a glob of blood and buckshot, and sat bolt upright, screaming. His eyes were wide with terror, his entire body a raw nerve. He could still feel the lead tearing through his brain, the fire and the sudden, absolute nothingness.

The pain was exquisite, and it was only the beginning.

Husk watched him, his expression utterly dispassionate. "Well, Vex? Feeling lucky? The pot is now four tokens."

Vex, his mind shattered from the experience, could only see the shimmering pile of gold that had appeared on the table. Four tokens. Enough to buy a lordship in Wrath, enough to never have to steal again. All he had to do was risk that feeling again. A 5-in-6 chance he wouldn't. An 83% chance of salvation.

He reached for the gun.

Husk smiled, a predator's smile. This was his favorite part. The click, the boom, it was all just the overture. The real meat was the torture of the mind, watching a soul fragment itself in a desperate, hopeless bid for more. He fed their greed and their pride, a bottomless pit of need that he could always fill with a little more pain.

He became an artist of suffering, and his medium was the 12-gauge.

The cycle repeated. Vex survived the next shot. He was giddy, invincible. The pot was now eight tokens. The odds were getting better. He was a genius! He'd cracked the code!

The next shot didn't click. BOOM. This time, the shotgun tore a ragged hole through his chest, the buckshot shredding his heart. He slumped over, gasping, only to be jolted back to life moments later, the phantom pain of his exploded heart making him clutch his chest. Husk absorbed another wisp of his soul.

Now he was running on fumes, his once-white fur now matted with his own filth and blood. But the pot... the pot was a mountain of gold. Sixteen golden tokens. He could hear the coins clinking, a siren's song of avarice.

"A true gambler," Husk cooed, his voice dripping with mock admiration. "You are an inspiration. Ready for the next round? The stakes are... substantial."

Vex was broken. A ragdoll of a demon fueled by pure, animalistic greed. He was no longer making a decision. He was obeying an instinct. He picked up the gun.

Click.

The sound was a victory bell. He was in the clear. He could end it. He won! He could take the 16 tokens and leave a king.

But he didn't. He couldn't. He was in too deep. "Deal me another," he rasped, his voice a faint whisper.

Husk was beaming. He loved this part. The part where the prospect of walking away was more terrifying than the prospect of dying. He loaded the shell, spun the chamber, and presented the weapon.

Vex put the barrel in his mouth, his lips closing around the cold steel, and pulled the trigger.

The boom was somehow louder, wetter. The back of his skull exploded in a shower of bone and brain matter. His body was thrown from the chair, landing in a heap on the floor. This time, the soul that was drawn out was huge, a massive, multi-faceted chunk of Vex's entire being. It was his pride, his fear, his greed, all of it ripped away in one final, violent act.

The demon twitched, the damaged cells fighting to repair. The process was slower now. The soul was so depleted. He sat up, his head lopsided as his jaw fused back into place. He was a hollow-eyed, utterly terrified husk of a demon, incapable of speech, only of a low, animal keening.

Husk stood up, the mountain of golden tokens shimmering before him. He scooped them up in a flash of red light, pocketing the fortune. Then he looked down at the ruin he had created. Vex was a limp, mewling creature, his eternal life reduced to a state of agonized confusion.

"Looks like the house always wins," Husk said, his voice devoid of any emotion. He nudged Vex with his foot. "Get up. Get out. I'm done with you for tonight."

He was a soul-collector and a torturer, all in one. He was the master of Buckshot Roulette, the deadliest game in Hell. He checked the chamber of the shotgun. Empty. He pulled a fresh box of red shells from a drawer in his desk. Vex was just the first of the night. Then he saw you, pulling up to the table.