The night continues to pass, the both of us turning our attentions outward instead of inward. The crushing insignificance is too consequential. My eyes roam the forests constantly, searching for any sign of life. Any sign of a demon or monster that might attack us, but I find none.

The air is peaceful yet cold as the atmosphere weighs down upon me.

I... can't. I can't do it. A year? A year until the Prime does whatever it takes to become a God? Devil knows what that is, but it will undoubtedly be influential continent-round, possibly earth-shattering.

Sure, it's been barely seven months since I gained my first Sigil, the month slipping into June. Only a little over a week from my birthday. June 18th. It feels weird, knowing that, at best, I am unlikely to have another birthday after this one.

There is no way I will repeat the same feat as before. Five Sigils in seven months was only possible because of the danger and the constant press of death toward my skull. I never rested for more than a single day throughout those many days and nights. Even now, I sit here on guard duty, still partially wounded.

Thinking about doing it all again fills me with fatigue.

Is Autumn right? Should we just give up? Run away to some safe place so far away that nothing can hurt us? Maybe... maybe she's right.

That endless legion of Motherbound... it's so disconcerting that I don't even want to consider it. How are we supposed to fight that? Where are they even from? Why is the Mother Below waking up? What will we do without The Cabin? That vision I had from Dominus was... nigh limitless. Where are all those Motherbound from? Are they in Hell?

Are we just fated to die? Born too late to make a difference? Birthed after the expansion west but right before the subsequent Collapse?

I had grand ambitions, an oath to become a God. But it doesn't seem to be fated. I'm but a child playing in a field where men wage wars. Sitting atop the wagon, I retrieve the Blooming Spider Lily from her holster. The serene sensation of Ether graces my palm with a smile. At least she's got my back.

Perhaps, with her, I can stand against those foes. That is why my father left her for me, right? Lily is a powerful weapon, one even beyond that of Johnny's Lumen. I wonder how he really made her. Is she an artifact or a Colt? Some part of me wants to think that she's a combination of the two.

I trail my thumb over the spiraling flowers on her frame, the cold steel unresponsive to my touch. I can't rely on her, though. No matter how beneficial she may be, Lily comes with severe drawbacks. Every shot fired is years of my life; each another, I won't live. But perhaps... that's the answer. I won't live them anyway; why not feed Lily and give her the power to make a change? To shirk the responsibility to her would be relieving.

A weight off my shoulders that constantly are forced down.

But as I consider this, a low growl comes from my hand, a snarl reacting to my thoughts. It holds no meaning in any language, but I can still understand its meaning despite not being a literal expression.

We live our own lives.

It's a warning. The accord we hold is based on a fragile connection we both harbor; neither of us is willing to be controlled or relinquish our selves.

We live our own lives, indeed.

To rely entirely on Lily would betray this fetal relationship, hung by a cruel past. I have to live my own life. Control my own actions. Be my own person. Even if that means I will die. It will at least mean I die a life I lived.

My thoughts are broken by a loud, piercing noise ringing throughout the forest from afar. I can't discern precisely how distant it is, only that the clangor is deafening, so much to the point that it reaches us miles away. For seconds after it fades, my ears screech, the leftover noise echoing in my head.

I turn toward Autumn, and she shrugs.

"Dunno. Never heard anything like that before. A Banshee is similar, but the wail hangs in the air, not the ear. That was more... bullet-like."

"A bullet?"

I can't help but ask for confirmation; the idea that a gun made that sound far beyond my comprehension. Autumn nods with an edge of uncertainty.

"Yeah... I think so. The single crack that goes and leaves without an effect on the surroundings. Do you--"

She's cut off again, another high-pitched pang throughout the noiseless night, and this time, I also notice how it moves without weight, like the timbre of a gun. Autumn starts up again as she stands, opening her water flask to control the liquid inside.

"I think we found why there is nothing out here tonight. Whatever is around here is attracted by all that noise. We must have entered the range a few minutes ago to hear it."

I nod to her, the thoughts making sense. But as I reply, Johnny's head peaks from the lip of the wagon. He was sleeping underneath us. Evidently, the noise woke him up.

"Any ideas? That noise is loud. Loud enough to attract everything nearby."

I agree as I point out into the distance, the far east, where it's coming from.

"Yeah, we were just discussing that. Autumn thinks it might be a gun and that we just entered the range of its timbre."

Johnny's eyebrows squint, the man having issues fathoming a gun that could do that just as I.

"That's... odd. Well, it's probably a person. Some demons use guns, but if it's something special like that, I reckon it's new. And new means a human made it. It could be a Pygmy creation of some sort, but we aren't in Vallens or the Wide Flats. So, it's likely a person."

The Angel deduces aloud for us to hear as he then offers a proposal for the two of us.

"If you two are willing, you can go and investigate it. Virgil is already awake, his Sigil dropping his slumber to two hours, so he can go, too. I'll keep watch while you're gone."

I glance at Autumn, and she does as I expect, shaking her head negatively. The woman is averse to risks and anything dangerous. I might not understand fully, but I can get where she is coming from. But even with her refusal, I'm still down as long as Virgil is coming.

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It's night. And the shadows belong to the Nightshade.

"I'm up for it if Virgil is. We haven't had an adventure with just the two of us in a long time."

Johnny nods, grabs the edge of the wagon with his hand, and flips himself up to the top effortlessly, the power hidden in his fingers exposing itself. He then speaks to me as he tosses a coin.

"Good. Virgil's below preparing. Take the gold dollar from Silas. He put Weightless into it. Should help you keep up with the speedster down there."

I raise the dollar as I thank Johnny, but I say it loud enough for the wagon's driver to hear, too. And then, I reach behind myself and lean down, opening the box of Reckless. The coin lies softly on the steel as I pull the weapon out, feeling the weight leave in droves. Good. Now I can run with it on my back. Silas really does have some of the most useful stuff figured out.

"Thanks for the help! We'll go right away. What do we do if we can't find our way back?"

The gunslinger's eyes flicker to the wagon behind us, the sickbay on wheels.

"I'll have Bonfire throw fire into the air like a flare. Just look for the light after... let's say, two hours? The gunshot is at most twenty miles away, and you two can make that distance in no time at all."

Nodding, I slide off the wagon, catching myself on the door to the bulkiest wagon with a side entrance. When I enter, I find Virgil sliding his Colt into his holster while Abraham snores, curled up into a ball on the floor.

The Nightshade meets my eyes with a soft smile as he steps over the sleeping man, pointing outside. I instantly know what he means, so I step out and hop off the rolling wagon, landing with a stumble as Virgil follows.

And as the wagons roll past, another 'gunshot' resounds, the timbre a bit noisier than before. It seems we are getting closer. Virgil raises his hand as his body embalms in shadows.

"You ready? Try to keep up. Don't want to be held back by a slowpoke."

Chuckling softly at his dry humor, I bite back with a smile.

"I don't know about that. I've already caught up."

Virgil grins back, retorting as he fades before my sight, leaving a subtle outline for me to see.

"Not for long. And it doesn't count. Your Sigil is cheating. The rest of us move at a snail's pace compared to you."

His silhouette bursts off with extreme speed, forcing me to follow as I, too, turn into a shadow. Ether flows into my Adumbral, which Shadows my body and increases my speed. And this is the first time I've used it at night, making me notice the greater-than-normal boost.

My body waves and wanes as I hurry after Virgil toward the distant sound to investigate it. But even with Shadowed, I'm far too slow. Virgil has four skills enhancing his speed, the bastard! Soundless, Shaded, Night, and Nightwhips all boost his speed, either by improving his body or pushing him forward with tendrils of shadow. At least Night is limited to when the sun's down, that skill giving him the most tremendous boon.

But I won't be left behind. Breakneck flows into my veins as my whole body pushes forward at a grander speed, and not wanting to be left behind, I take it one literal step further. Arbalest firing out an eruption of Ether from my foot sends me many yards forward, catching up to Virgil. The man shakes his head, the muted outline moving to show it as he emits a garbled tone.

"Okay, that's enough. No need to go any faster. We'll be there in twenty minutes at this pace. So don't exhaust yourself before we even arrive. I can go faster too, but we can have a competition another time."

Agreeing, I try to hold him onto that. It sounds like it could be fun.

"You promise? Me versus you?"

Virgil speaks again, his voice slightly less distorted.

"Yes. Could be good training for both of us. Doesn't just have to be speed, either. I think we are reasonably close in overall power. I do recommend, however, that you experiment with your Absolutions more. Mine has had unexpected depth, and I'm sure yours do too."

I nod to him with understanding as we continue. There is still so much I don't know. And even as I shoot forward, I realize that the technique used in Arbalest can also be used on my hands. That could be the return of Bloodhound's Step, the skill inspired by Edmund falling off once I lost an arm. If I can burst forward from my palm, using it to jump or maneuver more unexpectedly, that would make up for only having one arm.

And even further, that means it could be used with Strugglers Gasp, enhancing the potency of an Explosion or Blast. That would be... crazy. The power of an Explosion is already enough to break my limbs. Even with my Virtue... I think the next level would make me lose a limb. Although my durability does increase the more wounded I am... so... could I use it near death?

Maybe. What an act of retribution it would be to detonate a bomb of Ether from my hand on Death's door. Damn. That's what I'm calling it. I haven't used it yet, but it will be Retribution when I do. If I can only use it heavily wounded, it fits.

But as I think, I sprint through the dark forest. And as I hustle in the dark, another ear-piercing noise resounds, leaving a ringing in my ear.

It appears we're getting close. Wonder what's there.

************

Earl Garner

As I sit at my makeshift workshop, a small table perched precariously on this moving wagon, I diligently work to create more bullet shells for my creation as the world around me goes mad. The rhythmic clinking of tools against metal resonates as gunshots and plumes of noxious gas fill the surroundings, yet nothing disturbs my concentration. If it does, the bullet is ruined.

The forest around us seems to pulse with life, its creations coming for our lives, either for hunger or annoyance. My bullet yesterday attracted so many creatures that we are still being swarmed. Only a few moments of peace have come during the past day. Yet, my focus remains unyielding, my hands steady despite the jostling of the wagon as it navigates the uneven terrain and the panicked bullets fired by Elizabeth as she moves the wagon. The wagon's horses only move as Primrose does something to them, drugging them with her skills to make them ignore the danger.

The urgency drives me forward, pushing me to craft more and more bullets to be fired as fast as possible. And in the corner of my eye, I spot a furred creature with a spark of light around its front as a roar fills the air.

Suddenly, a thunderous crash shakes the very foundation of my existence. The world around me trembles as an immense force collides with the wagon, sending it spiraling out of control. The chaotic symphony of splintering wood and panicked shouts fills the air, drowning out all other sounds.

My heart races as I brace myself against the upheaval, desperately clinging to my work and the fragile remnants of stability. And then, I catch a glimpse of it—a Yakwawiak, a rare beast of the forest, more significant in size than a bear, slamming into the side of the wagon with its flaming tusks illuminating the darkness.

Time seems to slow as the Yakwawiak's immense form joins its tusks in crashing into the wagon, sending it tumbling and overturning in a violent whirlwind. Frantically, I flow Ether for Reshuffle and Adrenaline Surge to try and reduce my chances of being hurt as I grab what I can and curl into a ball. But instead, the world becomes a blur of chaos and destruction, and the once-familiar surroundings transform into a nightmarish scene.

Amidst the chaos, my thoughts race as everything tumbles madly, turning over and over. I feel my bones tense and an impact upon my tailbone, but after a crash onto my stomach, hitting my jaw and tearing up my eyes, I land. Looking forward, I find my prized creation, my fragile work, lying scattered and broken amidst the wreckage. Bullets lie all over the ground as the wagon lies on its side. Luckily, or as expected, I land unhurt while Elizabeth crawls from the wreckage, firing toward the stalking demons in the forest. Meanwhile, Primrose shrugs aside her wounds and strikes toward the Yakwawiak, which is soon joined by half a dozen more.

I take a short break for a deep breath as I lean against the broken wagon, the crushed wheel beside me. The broken makeshift workshop inside hurts far more than the aching in my lungs from the constant exertion, the pounding of the tail-end of my spine from the fall, or the tears running down my face from my aching jaw.

Panting while being screamed at, I frantically load another heavy shell into the chamber of Coil. The gun is so searing from the constant use of the coils inside that I'm wearing gloves just to use it, a topic I overlooked while making it. I've gone back and forth from shooting to building, but I'll soon have to stop. The heat is approaching the melting point of copper. And when the copper melts...

"Hurry the fuck up, you dumbass! Shoot the damn things!"

Primrose is positively fuming. Literally, poisonous gas exhales out her mouth as she breathes out a wave of the fumes at a flock of Yakwawiak, large bear-like creatures with tusks and brutal teeth. Oh, and they have Sigils. Awful, Sigils that ignite their tusks with flame and attract other animals.

While she does that, Elizabeth repeatedly fires the lever action she got from Edward at a duo of demons. I can't quite tell what they are, but they are some kind of stealthy Sigil, that's for sure. They've stayed on the edges for the past few hours, waiting for us to tire.

And we are.

It's late into the evening, the moonless night making it difficult to aim or fight, and it doesn't help that Primrose is still hurt. She's healed quite a bit, but some burns remain along her flesh. She also fights with a limp, her movements hindered by the lingering injuries. Even though she tries to hide it, Elizabeth and I still see it. At least Elizabeth's rifle has four Sigils, the Repeater, it's called. Each bullet, upon making contact with flesh, ricochets toward the closest creature. Dangerous for the shooter up close, dangerous for the enemy far away.

Roars from the Yakwawiak, quite a mouthful, to be honest, fill the air. And to finally shut one of them up, I finish reloading Coil, the high heat making it harder to fix the coils. Then, putting my back against the wagon, I lift my hand as the heat burns into my gloves with a wince.

I am at the largest one in the dark, the gas from Primrose slowing and damaging the beasts while also making it hard to see them by dampening the fire on their tusks. Squinting to make out its figure through the smoke that assails them and trying to ensure I don't friendly-fire the skirmishing Primrose, I pull the trigger.

A high-pitched squeal eats at my eardrums as the coils struggle to carry the current alongside the exploding shell deep within Coil. Recoil pushes my hands backward, slamming me against the overturned wagon's bottom as a roar screeches through the air. With the higher heat, it seems less recoil is dissipated. I wonder why.

But I have no time to think as this roar is different. It comes not from a beast, man, or demon. Instead, it comes from the marriage of steel, gunpowder, and the next era: lightning.

A stream of light courses through the air for an infinitesimally short period, the projectile fired from my Coil, opening a hole in the smoke and leaving a blasted open corpse. I've learned recently that the shell expands upon impact, like a flower, when it hits a large enough target.

Thankfully, I've seen enough death and gore to not puke upon the sight as I turn and scramble, attempting to salvage a dropped shell from the crash of the carriage. My hands push aside debris, dust, and scraps of my gloves that fall off from the high heat as I try to find another bullet, a flicker of movement by my side.

The skill I keep on at all times when I'm doing dangerous things, the usage only a small tug on my saturation tries to save me. Instinct blares like a town hall bell in my mind as I twist around to find one of the demons darting toward me. The dagger in the humanoid's hand is only two feet from me as I see it, the glint shining to my eye.

But just before it hits, another boom resounds. A flicker of movement and a shadow appears between us the moment before I'm stabbed in the neck. Awestruck, I see the blade sink into the flesh of a man's arm, but it only enters a half-inch before stopping.

Then, the figure laughs as their arm reaches forces against the demon's movement, overpowering the two hands with one as he throws the demon back. The demon retreats hurriedly into the darkness as the figure turns, revealing a disheveled young face with black hair.

"Earl? Where are your glasses?"