“Bring together the five fragments of the GOD GUN.
Unite them in in your most desperate age
And bring salvation to us all…”
* The Holy Book of Resolution, Midland Age Translation
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A voice crafted by created souls, a purposeful tone to touch the very fundamental aspects of the human psyche. The single word forces attention away from everything, an entire universe coming to fall against the One that stands at the very edge of the sidewalk.
The child just exists, a mental process perhaps classifying him as a maximum of ten standard years of age.
Black hair darker than the featureless night sky above, impossibly blue eyes staring at the very strings of reality. A human face, the dead expression drawn across pale skin immediately calling to fundamental instincts of protectiveness.
Clothing taken from across a world between four holy walls, the bandolier of clear vials and abyssal black cylinders hung across his faded leather vest heralding an ancient arcane implication to their divine craftsmanship. No armor upon a traveler’s wear, protection found instead in the simple innocence of youth.
Humanity is forced to forget, grips upon weapons suddenly loosened in the presence of the individual.
Seconds of silence, the voice of March returning slowly to the void of sound. The bustle of distant traffic and criminal gunfire creeping into the ancient city, an ambience simply the natural state of the world.
The Five just stare back at him, souls unable to speak up at the directness nor origination of the single worded order. A link between each of them, five souls begging for resolution, of an answer towards the unknowable thing.
The most ancient: Judge Murphy, a child of humanity’s own creation, is the first to break the silence with a harsh order. “Get out of here son.”
A directionness stare shifts towards him, two lifeless orbs painted a bright blue answering the statement with one word. One word crafted with unbelievable power, calm yet filled with an absolute surety of itself. “No.”
Madeline speaks up, her tone a scoff against a perceived young form. “Seriously! Scram kiddo!”
She is next, the gaze moving towards the Bandit’s own position.
A repeated word with the same tone, crafted ever so differently towards another target. “No.”
Alto relaxes slightly as he slowly begins to move towards the child, hands moving away from the weapon at his hip. “Ok, what’s your na…”
Quantum processes interrupted by prediction, senses tuned into the very leylines of the world in reaction to an incoming force. A command spoken deep within the wells of the city, words reverberating across the entire world for those who listen.
An order of death and retrieval.
The next sentence is spoken of in warning, only enough to inform the predicament of incoming. “There is a group of twenty seven individuals approaching from the north, on foot and within vehicles. They’ve been sent to kill you and retrieve the fragments in your possession.”
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The city once again hears its voice fill the gap, the reaction of the Five utter confusion to the sudden shift in conversation.
Madeline lowers her weapon in confusion, a break in tone from sarcasm. “What?!”
A literal to the language, the One repeating his statement. “There is a group of twenty seven individuals approaching from the north. They’ve been…”
“I know what you said.” The Bandit informs with a dismissing groan. “What’s wrong with you kid?! We’re in the middle of something here!”
He continues to coldly insist, a prophetic vision fast approaching within his own perception. “They will arrive in thirty five point three standard seconds from this moment. You will need to be ready to survive.”
Five souls against one another, turned against the true alien within their midst.
One of the twins speaks, an augmented mind suppressing a bored tone within the selected words. “Is this an attempt at humor?”
“No.”
They make the connection, the unsurprised look upon the one betraying an actualization of thought towards the young male mage. There is no time for reaction, Samuel feeling the thing crawl into him, through him, another mind scratching at the very pillar of his consciousness through a brain ripped by silicon and machinery.
Eyes flash blue, an incomplete, imperfect augmentation process suddenly revealing itself through a small sampling of knowledge spiked into active memory. In just a single second he is convinced; the only soul who realizes the incoming storm closing upon their position.
Alto Carrin, a wanderer of the dying world, speaks as he witnesses the glow fade from Samuel's eyes. A heresy to a land beneath five gods and one savior, an impossible creation beneath gods. Voice raised in realization, pale green irises wide in disbelief. “Gods he’s A MAGE!”
The statement itself held without context, Samuel readying his own position as he becomes the medium of the one. “They are coming from approximate north, it is required that we prepare positions.”
Still strung from the previous implications, the Judge takes from historical precedence in his cold response. “Impossible.”
“A male augmentorum…” Alto begins as he shakes. “Gods… Armin… what is…”
The augmented male interrupts. “That is irrelevant. He is correct, there is an incoming force.”
His sibling objects, detecting the irregularity in his behavior. “Were you not suspicious of this individual previously?”
“I am convinced of the truth of his statement.”
“I do not agree.” The girl replies coldly.
“His words contain the truth.”
Alto Carrin still processes it, an apocalyptic soul standing before him nothing more than a test of faith. A mission placed by divines above through scripture passed through three thousand years and the lips of her in the exchange of love, a terror spoken of in an ocean of sand suddenly presenting a perfect path forward for salvation. The false god taking the form of the most innocent of lives, able to corrupt the very fundamentals of the human soul with but a single glance.
In the midst of the confusion the Gunslinger draws his weapon, a movement beyond souls incomprehensible to all except the One. The boy mage stands there unable to process a single reaction, the barrel of the weapon suddenly apparating right upon his form from nothingness.
There is no death, the faithful breaking against scripture and prophecy as his finger rests upon the trigger. Time resumes, souls forced back into the continuous chronology of the universe. Two reactions later, the anti-material rifle suddenly pressed further towards him while the voice of Madeline McCormik yells out towards the Gunslinger. A soul witnessing the act, desperation in the words. A multi barreled weapon raised, charismatic voice barking out the order. “ARE YOU CRAZY HE’S JUST A KID ALTO!”
“He’s the losethi…” Alto screams in anguish. “He’s the apocaly…”
“SHUT UP!” Madeline shifts positions to stand between the weapon and the boy. “GODS what are you doing?!”
“You don’t understand he’s…!”
The One interrupts the conflict. A dead voice resounding through the world as he simply stands upon the sidewalk. Blue eyes through the walls from a Garden beyond staring northward towards the glowing leyline tower, the information given boiled down to just two words: one contraction, one location identifier. “They’re here.”