John Marston’s story

He came from the dark with a g*n in his hand, No warning, no sound, just b***d in the sand. Didn’t smile, didn’t pray, didn’t blink at the d**d, Just kept on walking where others fled. The law wrote his name, the dirt wrote his tale, The weak found a grave, the strong went pale. Mercy was gone, long buried and burned— He gave no second chances, and none were earned. The boy was the only thing left unscarred, A quiet piece of light behind barbed guard. John taught him silence, taught him steel, Taught him what’s fake and taught him what’s real. Not with hugs, not with grace, but with time bought dear, Every mile soaked in sweat, smoke, and fear. He didn’t say love — he carved it in stone, Built him a future, tore down his own. Now cross that b***d, and the sky goes black. He’ll tear out the stars just to bring Jack back. He’d walk through fire with ice in his chest, Ruthless, relentless, a father possessed. He’d drag heaven’s choir into the dirt, Smiling slow through the echo of hurt. No soul, no devil, no god could stand— When Marston rides with death in his hand.