"War Pigs"

                                    

                                          
Travesty!
Mockery!
You dare call yourselves bounty hunters?
In the dark of night, two souls stood back to back, surrounded by the shadows’ restless assault. An open field in the middle of nowhere, mud staining their shoes, a dim fire lighting the way. An angel and a devil, black and white, weapons drawn, eyes stuck in the darkness.
A pair of bolas swished by the weary angel’s sight. With a slight hint of elegance and a heap of survival instinct, his body jerked to the side, a friend drawn at the ready.
The mind focused. A finger squeezed the rifle's trigger.
A volley of lead flew into the dark, dispersing the night and revealing the fiends lurking within. Grand, with horns adorning their heavily masked faces, swishing through the fields, circling the boys with movements so burdened, yet light. A hint of decay passed by with each of their violent gestures, whether it be a chained ball toss or a loud screech to their comrades.
“Nachzehrers”, thought the angel. Spend as many years as he did in the Land of Old, you get a knack for the sort of opponent you’re facing.
Wails, screams, all muffled by Vinny's shaky chattering. Like rocks thrown against cobble, it rattled viciously with each shot. Every now and then, a shot would connect, throwing the rampaging ghouls to the ground, pulling a demonic shriek from deep within their lungs.
A certain weight pressed against his back. Seven confidently grasped his blade, preparing for the foe’s certain advance. Eyes, as black as the night itself, digging into the dark, scanning for even the slightest movement, mind ready to submerge itself in the bright, time perception altering liquid yet again. 
A howl!
A squeal!
A rotting devil flew from the dark, clawed arms fully outstretched, aimed right at the boy. Amidst a flurry of lead, a single “Tick!” was heard, leaving the ghoul lunging at nothing but the muddy ground.
His corpse soared through the air, split into two, smashing against the mire’s floor, a single, perpendicular cut severing the decaying body in two.
Andy jumped back, startled by the split meat bag’s sudden appearance. A ghoul lurking in the shadows seized the opportunity, leaping towards the angel with a feral battle cry.
Tock.
A tiny swordsman emerged from nothing, right between the two, sword plunged deep into the decaying’s rotten heart. Andy gave the boy a quick smirk and double tapped the fiend in its horned facade.
The empty cartridge’s clatter was drowned out by the falling body’s thud, followed by wails and screams of agony from the remaining hunters. Were they after the obnoxiously large bounty? Or just looking for a quick, midnight snack?
Shot after shot, magazine after magazine, the rifle kept lighting up the field, bringing down devils, leaving a trail of bodies in its wake. Dancing around the flying steel and living corpses, the two boys kept moving like two well-trained professionals, swaying to the rhythm of La Cumparsita, each gesture in complete coordination with the other, no room for error. A shot over Seven’s shoulder. A stab by Andy’s ear. Standing atop a growing pile of cadavers, their own little audience, death itself playing the notes and conducting their choreography.