A deafening bang rang out through the warehouse and punched a hole through Maxwell's side, drawing a loud curse from him and a splatter of blood.

I suppose it's time I finally stop playing coy about what my weapon is.

A long time ago, right after the Mountainhomes of the Dwarves were first invaded by the Hikaano Empire, the dwarves experimented with a novel form of non-magical weapon, consisting of an iron tube that was sealed at one end, with a charge of explosive powder and a heavy projectile inside it. The powder was lit, went boom, and the projectile, taking the path of least resistance, flew out the barrel at obscene speeds- faster than any ordinary arrow, and hitting hard enough to punch through the tall, thin stone walls that typified Hikaano fortifications of the time.

Despite the dwarves now having a weapon that could break castles in the course of a few hours when scaled up, and slaughter an armored man in a single shot when scaled down, they still weren't able to win; the weapon was still primitive, the supply lines weren't mature or stable, and it simply could not be used enough to defeat the Hikaano Empire's endless legions of heavy infantry.

And so, the weapon was relegated to the dustbin of history- a curiosity, a sort of distant precursor to the steam-driven piston engine, and maybe a symbol of dwarven nationalism, although the hammer was a far, far more common symbol.

Maybe, deep in the Mountainhomes, a hidden resistance group is cursing my name for having the same idea they did and not keeping it a secret until the dwarven people were ready to win their independence from the Hikaano. Or maybe they haven't figured it out yet. But I had found a way to take these guns of centuries past and turn them into a viable weapon.

Step one: replace the powder with a blasting hammer.

Another bang echoed out, tearing through the side of Maxwell's chest, just below the armpit, likely shattering ribs.

Step two: find a way to load lead bullets into the firing chamber. Anything that was better than stuffing it down the barrel backwards with a ram-rod. For my part, I'd found a way to do it that let me just hold down the trigger and continuously fire bullets until the spatially-expanded magazine finally ran out of bullets- which would not be anytime soon.

Step three...

I lept backwards as Maxwell swung a glowing shortsword through where my midsection had previously been.

"Fine!" Maxwell yelled as he charged me. "Fuck me for trying to play nice, then! I'll just play dirty like I should've from the start!" He screamed as he caught a third bullet, this one through the stomach.

...put it in the hands of an Elven Mage-Knight.

I shot once more, finally missing him and shattering a vase that was probably of goblin make, or in imitation of their style. I'd caught Maxwell by surprise with the first two shots, but that was over now, and the fact I hadn't managed to shoot him in the head yet meant I was unlikely to manage that anytime soon.

He duck and wove through the withering hail of bullets like an absolute champion, moving with a fluid, unnatural grace that even my father would be impressed by. Once he was within arm's reach, I pulled my gun back, as he came up with his sword in hand...

...and was then blasted straight into the air with an overcharged force bolt, putting him into a predictable arc that let me nail him with two more bullets before he hit the ground- although I still couldn't quite manage to hit that little pissweasel's head. But, well... I'd put, what, five slugs of lead through his body by this point? There was no way he was in any shape to keep fighting-

"YEARGH!" I screamed, as his blade rammed through my kidney, coming out the other side covered in blood and piss and everything in-between.

"You think it's gonna be that easy to take me down?" Maxwell whispered, as the illusory double disappeared. Didn't know he could do that... "Bitch, please. Now, if you could just give up the fight like a good little knife-ear-"

I was dead certain that Maxwell Tenpenny's real body was, in fact, right behind me. I'd checked with mage sight, and I could feel his vital essence humming behind me, holding a magic sword.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

So I channeled everything I had into the most hideously lethal spell I'd learned: Ariel's Wrathful Lightning Bolt.

Maxwell was thrown off his feet, as lightning traced a path down from his head down to his feet, ignoring every path of lesser resistance that didn't involve human flesh. Smoke wafted off of him, his sweat flash-fried by the heat of the bolt.

With a grunt of pain, I pulled the shortsword out and snapped it in half over my knee. Dad had given me a primal amulet that'd let me slowly regenerate from my wounds like a cave troll, and I could already feel it working on my kidney... but it was slow, and I'd likely only be back in top fighting shape after the fight was already over.

Okay. So there's a difference in combat effectiveness between John Courser the Thieves' Guild apprentice and Maxwell Tenpenny the King of Thieves. Could've stood to learn that in a way that hurt less, but... what's happened has happened. Time to deal with the present and the future.

Maxwell grunted as he clambered to his feet, golden light washing over his wounds. Not for the first time, I found myself wishing that I had some kind of healing magic I could cast, but nope, I had to get stuck with a talent for the arcane, and a complete inability to connect to the primal. Not that I'd be able to heal myself right now- I had, after all, burned all my magicka on a killshot that hadn't even disabled him.

"You are... a real pain in the ass... aren't you?" Maxwell said, breathing heavily as he produced a new weapon from somewhere on his person.

"Even the King of Thieves is barely a match for the greenest of Knights," I said, leveling my gun at him once more. If magic wasn't an option, then fine- I'd shoot his dumb ass to death and decorate my house with his corpse.

Maxwell, for his part, went straight back to ducking and weaving, dodging the spray of bullets without issue. Note to self for the next version of this: develop a kind of ammunition that sprays even more so that it can't be dodged by someone as nimble as the King of Thieves. A golden glow manifested in Maxwell's hands, and I bolted for cover, but it was too late to hide from his wrath- a blast of holy fire erupted before me, flinging me back with its sheer force, and setting my hair and clothes alight in the process. I hurriedly put it out with a quick roll, but that gave Maxwell all the time he needed to cast another spell, this time a pillar of earth that shot up beneath me, kicking me in the ribs hard enough to launch me into the wall of the warehouse.

I groaned as I slumped down, losing my grip on my gun. Fuck. Fuck. Everything hurt so fucking bad...

"Well, now you're cooperative," Maxwell muttered darkly, stalking towards me with heavy footfalls. "Let me explain how things are going to go now, boy." He lifted my chin with the tip of his sword. "You're going to go in a dark closet with a succubus, and she is going to ruin your life. And once she's done with you, I'm going to take what's left, and live forever as the immortal King of Thieves. And you are going to die in the gutter, as nothing more than a footnote in my legacy."

"Big words... little man..." I hacked out, before he kicked me in the stomach, driving the breath from me. Fuck, that hurt. But if I was gonna die here... at least I could make sure he couldn't enjoy it.

"You're going into this closet," Maxwell said, repeating himself, as an invisible force picked me up and threw me through an open doorway. "And you're not coming out until that succubus is done with you." He lifted the reliquary that was now back in his off hand, which began to glow with a sickly purple, and tossed it into the closet with me. "Have fun while you can, boy."

The door slammed shut as the reliquary bounced off my chest, and rattled to the floor. From the end with the chain, purple smoke began to leak out, pooling and coalescing into the silhouette of a woman.

The smoke began to solidify, until, at last, a beautiful woman in a downright indecent dress stood before me, looking me over with black eyes whose centers burned like candlelight.

I closed my eyes and went limp, hoping that if I played dead, she'd lose interest. After all, she was a succubus- a demon, sure, but also a creature of occult magic.

"Mother, please protect your wayward son," I prayed in my head. "Give him the strength to make this right."

As with all my prayers, though… this one went unanswered.

She sighed wearily, and with the sharp clicks of a woman wearing hard-soled dress-shoes walking on tile, she came to kneel beside me, putting one hand on my wrist to check my pulse. I sighed, admitted defeat, and opened my eyes, to find her gaze meeting my own. All that was left now was... facing my doom with some level of grace.

"...Not again," she said, rolling her eyes.

Well. Wasn't expecting that.