Rain fell upon desert sand.

Far to the west of the continent of Vairekhor, a storm had formed over the Demon Wastes for the first time in millennia. Only a dark ritual of great power could cause such a disruption in the natural world.

A single castle sat in the center of this rain-drenched desert, and the sound of battle rang out for miles in all directions. Spells crashed into unsuspecting victims, blade crashed against blade, and the frantic staccato of rapid gunfire filled the air.

Standing on the high castle walls above the battle, I was engaged in pitched combat against Primera, the Sorceress of Veltruse and First General of Octavian’s Army. We had fought before, and our current duel was going just as poorly for me as the last one.

My revolver barked like a hound sent by the god of thunder, and the flash from the barrel periodically lit Primera’s lithe elven form. In the space of a few seconds, I fired three bullets, emptying the cylinder of my first revolver. The first shot missed its mark, but the next two hit their targets and burrowed into Primera’s hardened flesh. The Sorceress’s nature made my bullet’s less effective than they should have been, but they still drew blood. Unlike her boss, Octavian, she was not completely immune to mortal weapons.

Blood began to drip from Primera’s mouth as she faltered backward. For a moment, I dared to hope that she would fall from the high wall, but she caught herself after a step.

“Oh my,” Primera said in a voice dripping with Enchantment magic that I had long learned to resist. A malicious giggle escaped her mouth, providing a brief glimpse into the true monster underneath the surface. “You should learn to respect your betters, boy!”

Primera pointed her staff toward me and shouted the incantation for her spell. It was a spell that I knew well. The many War Mages I had met on my travels used this spell frequently. My familiarity with the spell didn’t mean it would hurt any less.

“Perurē!”

I tried to dodge the coming attack, but I was not fast enough. Unlike my companion, Slader, I was never able to completely dodge such spells. A bolt of lightning shot out of Primera’s staff and raked my flank. Tendrils of electricity arced across the leather armor I wore on my chest and the long black overcoat I wore over my shoulders. The attack almost knocked me off my feet, but I was able to remain standing with grit and willpower.

My second revolver flew to my free hand, and I fired three more shots at Primera. She seemed to have finally tired of my projectiles piercing her skin, so she raised a hand, and a shimmering barrier of energy interposed itself between us. As the first two shots slammed into the barrier, I couldn’t stop the malevolent smile from coloring my expression.

The third shot of my second revolver struck Primera’s shield, and the glittering elven magic motivating that barrier contorted like soft clay in the hands of an infant. She barely had enough time to notice that something was wrong before she was infected through the arcane link she shared with her spell. Her own body began to twist and crack as she began to scream.

Primera fell to the ground, contorted by the magical backlash coursing through her body. She let out a shrill scream of pain like a dying animal and writhed wordlessly on the ground, trying to understand what had just happened. The glamour covering her whole body disappeared, and I could see the dark red skin and curled horns of her true form.

I had known of her true form for a long time, but this was the first time I had seen it. Primera was a half-demon, the unholy offspring of an Incubus and a human woman. Such creatures were almost always evil, and I had found that a preliminary strike was usually called for when they were involved.

“What did you do to me!?” Primera demanded as I replaced the cylinder of my first revolver with one that was fully loaded.

“That was a Mage-Hunter bullet. It twists magic until the latent mana present in the caster also begins to rebound. I learned from our last fight, and I knew that we had no chance against your organization in a fair fight. Too many powerful mages. An idea struck me, however, when you guys released the Spellblight back in Drazheim. What would happen if I put the Spellblight in a bullet?”

A look of terror and disgust covered Primera’s face. With great effort, she rose to her feet and drew a scimitar. “You infected me with the Spellblight? I’ll kill you, Vinzadir Koravin!"

In the time it took her to cross the distance between us, I holstered my second revolver and drew a razor-sharp dueling knife from my belt. Primera swung at me with all the force she could muster, but I easily parried the blow. In spite of my preference for firearms, I was still a Fighter. I wouldn’t lose to a Mage in a hand-to-hand fight.

Primera’s close proximity to me made me grateful that I wasn’t a Mage. The Spellblight coursing through her veins was contagious, and it would spread to any nearby spellcaster.

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Three more shots punched into Primera’s midsection, and she stumbled back. She faltered but would not fall, causing me to clench my teeth in frustration. My window to get into position was running out quickly, and I only had a few seconds left to kill her.

My muscles tensed, and the release of lactic acid caused my body to burn as I activated my ability [Adrenaline Surge]. For a few seconds, my entire body entered a state of anaerobic strain. Three gunshots filled the air with such alacrity that they sounded like a single drawn-out bang.

Three bullets struck Primera in the neck with almost pinpoint accuracy. Blood splattered into the masonry surrounding us, and she fell from the wall. The half-demon’s corpse fell more than thirty feet before disappearing into the dark shadow cast by that castle wall.

I returned my empty revolver to its holster. With a sigh, I said, “I just wish I was able to make more than two of these.”

From the bandolier around my belt, I withdrew a single cartridge made for a rifle. In my hand, I held the only Mage-Hunter round left in existence. It was our secret weapon against Octavian.

Beneath the tall castle wall I stood upon, two mercenaries clashed against a man dressed in a white toga. The two mercenaries were my companions: Slader the wood elf Assassin and Elstine the half-elven Paladin. The man they fought was Octavian, the leader of the Lords of Desolation and devil from the deepest ring of the Seven Hells. Octavian had worn the skin of a human for so long that he had forgotten his original form.

The Fifth General of the Lords of Desolation, Quintus, already laid dead on the steps leading up to Octavian. The silver flames still smoldering across his body told me that Elstine had slain him with the power of her god.

Steadying my aim against a nearby parapet, I chambered the remaining Mage-Hunter round in my repeating rifle and leveled my sights on Octavian’s head wreathed in golden laurels. The three warriors clashed several times, but I did not see an opportunity to take my shot.

My bullets had no chance of piercing Octavian’s skin. He was immune to all mundane weapons, but the magic blades held by Slader and Elstine would cut him just like anyone else. Despite this, I knew an opportunity would arise soon, so I waited there with my rifle pointed at the demon.

With a sword held in each hand, Slader struck at Octavian, who dodged both attacks with the grace of a trained fighter. Octavian struck back at the wood elf with a rippling blade of energy. The blade cut through the stone beneath them like a hot knife through butter, and Slader was barely able to dodge the attack at the last second.

Elstine charged forward and brought her greatsword down with great force. As that zweihander flew through the air, it ignited with radiant flame. The blow would have struck Octavian’s neck, but a shimmering field of energy appeared, causing the attack to crash to the ground harmlessly.

There it was. My opportunity was revealed, and I wouldn’t let this hard-bought opening pass by in vain. My finger smoothly pulled the trigger back, and my rifle fired. An enchanted iron bullet through the air, arcing for more than a hundred feet, striking Octavian’s barrier directly in the center.

Hearing the bang of my rifle and seeing the disturbance in Octavian’s Shield, Elstine frantically retreated from the location of impact. A look of confusion passed over Octavian’s face a moment before his body began to twist and writhe.

In an instant, Octavian’s true form was revealed: a tiger-headed demon with reversed hands. The rippling blade came apart at the seams, and Octavian was struck by the backlash. Before the demon was able to react or comprehend his present situation, Slader charged him.

Screaming at the top of his lungs, Slader brought both of his swords into Octavian’s chest. The twin blades pierced deep into Octavian’s body, and something deep within the demon snapped. Slowly, Octavian began to crumble to dust, and he collapsed into a gray pile of undifferentiated ash.

Slader let out a roar of victory, and I leaned back and let out a sigh of relief. It was real. It was finally over.

Octavian’s host of demons fled in fear when they learnt that their leader had been slain, and a cheer went up among the allied forces of Vairekhor. Slowly, in an attempt to not exacerbate my existing wounds, I made my way off the castle wall and approached my two companions.

“Hell yeah!” Slader shouted in joy.

“I can’t believe we actually did it,” Elstine said with tears in her eyes.

“It’s real,” I said with a smile. “He’s dead. After a hundred years of war, we’ll finally be able to see an era of peace.”

Slader grabbed both my and Elstine’s shoulders with his hands. His excitement was infectious, and I found myself grinning like an idiot.

“I think I’ll call it there.”

Suddenly, I was no longer standing in the courtyard of a massive castle. I was sitting in the basement of an old academic building alongside three other college students.

Where Slader had stood a moment before, there was Carlos, a computer science major and basketball fanatic. The thick aviators he wore everywhere did nothing to conceal the excitement he felt.

Where Elstine had been a moment before, there was Elizabeth, a biology major and the only woman in the RPG club who would put up with the off-color jokes told by Carlos and myself. Though Elstine was a physically-imposing presence that stood at about the same height as Vinzadir and Slader, Liz was just barely five feet tall.

I was no longer Vinzadir Koravin. Once more, I was Vincent Blackwell, third-year law student and man with an unfortunate penchant for Hawaiian shirts. In my defense, the designs were cool.

Standing behind a thick paper DM’s screen was John, a religious studies major and man who was tasked with corralling the chaos of our group. He was the one who had just spoken, pulling me back to reality.

I tried to keep the disappointment out of my expression. The triumph of Vinzadir Koravin was over, and it would soon be time for me to return to my normal life.