* Act 4 *Phantom Rounds

Fonder stood still for a moment, watching as Nadja vanished into thin air with her Escape spell. The air was heavy with the tension of a battle that had suddenly come to a halt. He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he sized up the situation. His eyes darted between Bass and Rin, both clearly regrouping after Nadja’s departure. This was his moment.

With a calculated breath, Fonder shifted his stance, his fingers brushing the smooth surface of Mistress, his black-plated ARM. The subtle hum of its energy surged through his arm, a familiar, reassuring sensation. His weapon wasn’t just a tool—it was an extension of his sinister will. He had no intention of giving Bass or Rin any more time to recover.

A smirk crept across Fonder’s face as he aimed high, squeezing the trigger with practiced precision. The ARM-modified bullet tore through the air, rising rapidly before reaching the apex of its arc. And then it happened—just as he planned. The bullet shattered mid-flight, splintering into smaller projectiles. Each fragment began to rain down on the battlefield below, scattering like a cruel hailstorm.

"Hit dirt!" Rin shouted, already diving to the side as the fragments hissed through the air.

Bass followed suit, his body instinctively hitting the ground. The sharp pieces pelted the earth around them, painful but not deadly. Each impact stung like a brand, slowing them down, forcing them to crawl for better cover behind a crag of rock. Fonder’s strategy had worked—he had bought himself time.

Rin’s curses grew loud, his fury rose as he inspected the damage. The fragments hadn’t just stung—they had torn holes through his precious velour cape. His hand trembled as he brushed at the newly made burns and rips that marred the fabric. His eyes flashed with rage.

"Cape! Is ruined!" Rin shouted, his voice filled with livid disbelief. "Make holes! Again!"

He didn’t care about the stinging in his arm or the danger from Fonder’s looming presence. No, the real crime here was what Fonder’s shrapnel had done to his beloved velour. The gunslinger advanced slowly after rising from cover, but Rin was too enraged to focus on anything but the cape now flapping with torn edges in the breeze.

Fonder, still aiming confidently at them, seemed unaware of the depth of Rin’s anger. But Rin’s mind raced, not with tactics, but with the insult of having his prized cape riddled with holes.

"Not girl," Rin muttered darkly to himself, clutching the shredded cape. "Kill fashion."

Bass, breathing heavily, clutched Peacemaker in his hand. His fingers tightened around the pearl grip, the cold metal a stark reminder of his dwindling resources. He glanced down at the revolving cylinder, flipping it open with a flick of his wrist.

Two bullets.

That was it. Two of the original seven rounds remained. His heart pounded in his chest as the realization set in. His mind raced—how much longer could he hold out? He wasn’t even sure if he had the will to pull the trigger again, let alone if he could make the shot count.

Across the field, Fonder’s voice rang out, taunting. "What’s the matter, Bass? Scared? You runnin’ low?" His drawl was thick with amusement, though there was a dangerous edge to it. "Gonna make them bullets count, kid? Or you wanna just lay down and make this easy?"

Bass gritted his teeth, the frustration bubbling up inside him. His hesitation gnawed at him like a parasite—how could he let himself get into this position? Two bullets and no confidence in his ability to use them. He stared at the barrel of Peacemaker, feeling the weight of failure pressing down.

Fonder, still standing tall, reloaded his ARM slowly, deliberately, knowing full well he had the upper hand. The battlefield was his to control, and every passing second deepened the growing gulf between him and his former companion. He was confident, maybe too much so.

Mary plummeted down the ravine, but rather than fighting the fall, she shifted into a Fast Draw stance mid-air, activating Meteor Dive. The technique allowed her to use gravity to empower her attack, but this time, it served a different purpose—to absorb the brunt of the impact. As she hit the ground with a thud, the force rippled through her legs, but the technique worked, minimizing the damage. Still, the fall had taken a lot out of her, and she lay there for a moment, winded and needing time to collect herself.

Dust settled around her, and she scanned the area, trying to find her bearings. The depths of the ravine were shadowed and silent, and although she had managed to land safely, her muscles protested as she tried to move. She would need a moment before she could even think about climbing back up.

Meanwhile, across the chasm, Zipper sprinted. It wasn't exactly out of fear but more out of instinct. She needed to find something—anything—that could help. Her small feet kicked up dirt as she raced along the narrow path. She wasn't running aimlessly, though; she had a sharp mind, always looking for an option, a way out.

Suddenly, her path brought her face to face with a stranger. He was tall, heavyset, and dressed in a musketeer captain's uniform, though it seemed almost comically undersized for his current build. His sun-tanned skin and confident stance hinted at long years of experience in the harsh environment of Filgaia. A captain's hat sat atop his shaved head, and his outfit, while ornate, was stretched tightly across his protruding belly. His long ARM—a peculiar over-under rifle combined with a chopping falchion-like blade—rested on his shoulder.

Zipper skidded to a stop, her eyes wide. The musketeer captain marched toward her, his gait steady and deliberate. There was no hesitation in his approach, only an air of authority as if he had encountered this sort of thing a thousand times.

With a deep, booming voice, he addressed her, "You seem a bit lost, young miss. Might I offer you some assistance?"

Zipper blinked up at him, her mind racing. The scene was unexpected, but she didn’t know whether this stranger was friend or foe.

Captain Iggidig tipped his hat as he approached, his massive frame casting a shadow over Zipper. "Captain Iggidig of the Adlehyde Musketeers," he said with a flourish, his deep voice warm but commanding. "On patrol, investigating the explosion I heard from my guard post up the way." His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings before settling on Zipper. "And who might you be, young miss?"

Zipper, ever cheerful despite the chaos around her, flashed him a bright smile. "I’m Zipper!" She pointed proudly to the stamps attached to her coat, as if that explained everything. But then, as the urgency of her situation hit her, her smile faded, and her voice took on a more serious tone. "There’s trouble—big trouble. My postal carrier is being attacked. They need help!"

Captain Iggidig’s eyes widened just slightly as he stroked his chin, considering the oddity of the situation. "Attacked, you say?" He glanced around again, hand resting on the massive ARM weapon slung across his back—a rifle with twin barrels, ending in a curved, blade-like bayonet. "Have you seen anyone else, anything out of the ordinary? And..." He gave her a quizzical look. "You’re out here by yourself? Where’s your home, child?"

Zipper didn’t miss a beat, her pride undimmed. She pointed again at the stamps. "I’m the mail!" she declared, her grin returning. "The postal carrier delivering me is being attacked back at the gorge!"

Captain Iggidig raised a skeptical eyebrow but didn’t press the issue. He had encountered stranger things on his patrols. Instead, he nodded and hefted his enormous ARM, the weight seemingly no burden to him. "Which way?" he asked, his voice steady and authoritative.

Zipper pointed back the way she had come, toward the distant gorge. "That way!"

Without hesitation, Captain Iggidig adjusted his hat, his expression hardening as he set off at a brisk pace. "Stay close," he instructed. "I’ll handle this." Zipper scampered after him, her small legs working furiously to keep up with his long strides.

As they hurried along the rocky path, Captain Iggidig’s senses remained sharp, constantly scanning for any signs of danger. The explosion had set him on edge, but now the situation was even more peculiar—a child being "mailed," a postal carrier under attack. It was strange, even by Filgaia’s standards. But Captain Iggidig was not one to shy away from his duty. Whoever had the audacity to interfere with an Adlehyde postal delivery would soon face the business end of his Bayonet ARM.

Zipper kept pace as best she could, her small form dwarfed by the imposing figure of Captain Iggidig. Together, they made their way toward the gorge, where an uncertain fate awaited. Whatever was happening there, Captain Iggidig was ready for it.

Captain Iggidig mulled over Zipper’s strange explanation as they moved quickly along the rocky path. He had heard of the law allowing children to be mailed—an odd but accepted practice in certain parts of Filgaia—but it was still a rare sight. Most children were sent to nearby settlements, their journeys short and well within the bounds of safety.

But this? This was different.

Why would a child be out here, so far from a safe delivery point? And more importantly, where was she being delivered to? The gorge was a long way from any major town, and the harsh terrain wasn’t exactly conducive to a typical postal route.

“Who were you being delivered to, anyway?” Iggidig asked, glancing down at her as they hurried along.

Zipper’s cheerful expression didn’t falter as she replied, “The President! President Henry!”

Captain Iggidig stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in shock. “The President?” he repeated, incredulous. “You mean the President Henry? Why would a little girl like you be sent to him?”

Zipper shrugged innocently, clearly unconcerned by the enormity of her statement. “It’s kind of important. But I can only tell the President.”

Captain Iggidig’s brow furrowed as they resumed their pace. The stakes had just been raised considerably. If this child really was on a delivery to President Henry, then this attack wasn’t just some random act of banditry. There was something much bigger at play.

He clenched his teeth and gripped his Bayonet ARM tighter. Whatever this was, whoever was responsible, they would regret getting in the way of the Adlehyde Musketeers. And they would certainly regret endangering a child en route to the most important man in Filgaia.

Phalanx trudged across the barren landscape, her cloak dragging behind her, scuffing up the dust. She couldn’t believe she had lost them—or worse, possibly killed them before they could summon a Guardian for her to infect with the power of the Kuiper Belt. The thought gnawed at her. Maybe, just maybe, she had gone a bit overboard with the destruction. But they had made fun of her! Mocking the Harbinger of Destruction was an unforgivable sin, and anyone foolish enough to do so deserved to suffer the wrath of an alien cosmos raining down upon their heads.

That idea, ridiculous as it was, suddenly seemed hilarious to her. Phalanx broke out into a fit of laughter, clutching her sides as the sound echoed across the empty wasteland. Her cackles rang out for so long, it felt as though the ground itself might tremble in fear—or so she imagined.

As her laughter subsided, she glanced around the desolate area. Nothing was moving. Nothing, except a weird-looking lizard sunning itself lazily on a nearby rock. She narrowed her eyes at it, suddenly affronted by its lack of reverence. The lizard tilted its head and, with the same disinterested gaze, licked its own eyeball.

"Pathetic," Phalanx declared, pointing at the small creature as if pronouncing its doom. "You’re beneath me, lizard! I could obliterate you with a thought!"

The lizard blinked, completely unmoved by her threat. This only irritated her more.

Bass squinted against the harsh sunlight, sweat beading on his brow as he peered over the jagged rock he was using for cover. His heart raced in his chest, the weight of the Peacemaker heavier than usual in his hand. Not far away, out in the open, Fonder paced confidently, no longer bothering to stay behind cover. His movements were slow, deliberate, and mocking. He wasn’t worried—he had all the advantage.

“Come on, Bass,” Fonder taunted, his voice carrying over the rocky expanse. “You gonna shoot me with that purdy lil’ gun o’ yours or just look pretty with it?” He chuckled to himself, lifting Mistress, his black-plated revolver, casually aiming it in Rin’s direction.

Bass clenched his teeth, his fingers trembling as he adjusted his aim. This was his chance. He could end it right here if he landed a clean shot. Fonder wasn’t even trying to hide. But that was part of the problem—his sheer confidence threw Bass off, making him second-guess every twitch of his finger. Sweat dripped down into his eyes, and he wiped it away with his sleeve.

“Just shoot the jerk,” he muttered to himself, lining up the sight with Fonder’s broad back. His hands shook despite his efforts to steady them. The pressure was suffocating.

Before he could second-guess himself any further, he squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out, echoing through the gorge, but Bass’s aim was off. Way off. The bullet whizzed past Fonder and ricocheted harmlessly off the rocks far behind him.

Fonder didn’t even flinch. Instead, he spun around with a grin, looking toward Bass with a mocking expression plastered across his face. “Well, well, well. Look at that. Kid’s finally pulling the trigger. But what’s the point if you can’t hit a damn thing?”

Bass’s stomach dropped, the cold reality of his miss sinking in. He had one bullet left. One shot to make everything count.

But Fonder wasn’t going to give him that chance. With a smooth motion, Fonder shifted his attention to Rin. “You know, I reckon it's time I did something about that magic of yours, Rin. Got any fight left in you, turncoat?”

Rin, still reeling from earlier, slid another Crest Graph into his hand, its faint glow barely visible from Bass’s position. The symbols etched onto it shimmered, and Rin muttered something under his breath. The wind around him picked up, swirling as an invisible force lifted him off the ground. Air Screen.

Fonder narrowed his eyes as Rin began to float, a shimmering wind barrier forming around him. “Oh, so now you’re gonna get all graceful, huh?” he drawled, raising his black-plated shotgun ARM, Mistress. The weapon hummed ominously as it shifted in Fonder’s grip, its barrel widening. He squeezed the trigger, and a spread of shot exploded from the weapon, arcing toward Rin in a deadly spray.

Rin twisted in midair, his wind-enhanced movements allowing him to dodge the brunt of the blast. But even with his enhanced speed, a few of the pellets struck him. Rin let out a sharp cry, his body jerking as the shot peppered his side. He tumbled in the air, the barrier flickering, and then collapsed to the ground, clutching his side in pain.

Bass’s breath caught in his throat. Rin was down. Fonder threw his head back and laughed, his voice booming through the gorge.

“See that, Bass?” Fonder yelled. “Fashion must be dead now! I’ve got bullets to spare, and look what they can do!” He gestured to Rin, who writhed on the ground, groaning in pain. “Now what about you? You got any more ammo, kid? Think you can hit me this time?”

Bass didn’t answer. His mind was racing. He was down to his last bullet. One shot left. Fonder’s mocking voice only made the weight of the Peacemaker feel heavier. One shot to take down the man who had a lifetime more experience in a gunfight. Bass had to win.

But could he do it?

Fonder started walking toward Rin, his attention momentarily off Bass. “You ain’t so tough now, are you, Rin? All that magic crap, but in the end, it’s still bullets that do the real talking.” He cocked his ARM again, the sound echoing like a death knell.

Bass knew he had to act, but every fiber of his being screamed at him to wait. He had to be sure this time. No more missing. No more hesitation. He gripped the Peacemaker tightly, feeling the cool metal against his palm, the last bullet nestled in the chamber like a cruel reminder.

Fonder raised his gun, pointing it directly at Rin’s head. “Any last words?”

Rin groaned, his hand pressing against his wounded side, but he managed to spit out, “Shirt ruined.”

Fonder blinked, momentarily thrown off by the comment. The smirk wavered as he glanced down at Rin’s tattered, blood-stained clothing. But before he could pull the trigger, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed across the rocky terrain.

“Hey!” Zipper’s voice rang out, high-pitched and full of urgency. Bass’s eyes widened in surprise as the Elw girl came barreling back into view, running ahead of a large, sweating figure in a blue and gold uniform. Captain Iggidig, the Adlehyde musketeer, was lumbering behind her, struggling to keep up as he wiped sweat from his brow.

Fonder let out an exasperated groan. “Great. Just great. Now the law’s gettin’ involved.” He muttered under his breath, his irritation palpable. “Well, ain’t the first lawman I’ve put down with Mistress.”

Captain Iggidig finally caught up, breathing heavily as he raised his oversized ARM Bayonet, the twin-barrel rifle with a blade attached, and scanned the area. “Which one’s the bad guy, kid?” he asked, slightly out of breath.

Zipper didn’t hesitate, pointing directly at Fonder. “The guy all in black!” she said, her voice filled with confidence. “He’s the one causing all the trouble!”

Iggidig straightened his back, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. He took a deep breath, eyeing the distance between himself and Fonder. The gorge was wide, at least 100 feet across, and his weapon wasn’t exactly made for long-range precision. Still, his duty was to protect, and he wasn’t about to back down now.

Fonder chuckled, his voice dripping with condescension. “You really think you can make that shot, big guy? That’s a hell of a distance for a weapon like that. You might as well put that thing down before you embarrass yourself.”

Iggidig’s grip tightened on his ARM, his jaw clenching. He wasn’t about to be belittled by some outlaw. With a sharp exhale, he raised the rifle, squinting through the haze of heat and dust as he took aim at Fonder’s smug face.

Bass held his breath. This was it. A single shot that could change everything.

The musketeer fired.

The shot cracked through the air, and for a moment, it seemed like the impossible had happened. Fonder flinched as the bullet grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. His grin disappeared, replaced by a look of shocked disbelief.

Fonder’s hand shot up to his cheek, wiping away the blood with his thumb. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He glanced at his blood-stained thumb and then back at Iggidig, who stood wide-eyed with surprise. “Looks like you got some fight in you after all.”

But before anyone could react further, Fonder lunged toward Rin, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him up like a rag doll. Rin groaned in pain, still disoriented from the earlier blast, as Fonder used him as a human shield. Backing up, Fonder positioned himself so that Rin’s body was squarely between him and both Iggidig and Bass, making it nearly impossible for either of them to get a clean shot.

Mistress, now back in its original revolver form, was pressed firmly against Rin’s temple. The cold, black barrel glinted menacingly in the sunlight.

“Alright, fun’s over,” Fonder growled, his tone low and dangerous. “You wanna shoot me, huh? Go ahead. But first, you’re gonna have to put your weapons down. All of ‘em.”

Bass’s heart pounded in his chest. He could see Rin struggling weakly in Fonder’s grip, but there was nothing he could do. If he took the shot now, Rin would pay the price.

Iggidig, still catching his breath from the shot, hesitated, his ARM wavering slightly in his hands. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Zipper stood frozen, her wide eyes darting between Fonder, Rin, and Bass. “Resonate, Bass.” she whispered, the hope evident in her voice.

Bass gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He still had one bullet left. One shot that could either save Rin or doom them all. But with Fonder using Rin as a shield, there was no way he could fire without risking his friend’s life.

Fonder’s grin returned, his voice slick with satisfaction. “What’s it gonna be, kid? You really think you can save him? Or are you just gonna stand there with that gun and pray I don’t put a hole in your friend’s head?”

Bass stared down the barrel of his gun, his hands shaking. He had to think. He had to find a way out of this. But time was running out.

And Fonder was waiting.

"Just... resonate with your ARM already," Zipper hollered, her small voice barely cutting through the tension hanging in the air.

Resonate. Bass clenched his jaw, his thoughts racing back over the last couple of days. He’d seen so much—done so much—more than he ever thought possible. And in the last few moments, he'd seen how Fonder had adjusted his own ARM. Mistress had transformed—twice now—firing a spread of ammunition that had showered down like rain. It had been brutal, but effective. Fonder had made it happen out of sheer will, born out of necessity. And Bass realized then what Fonder had been trying to teach him all along.

It wasn’t just about shooting. It was about understanding—about bonding with your weapon. It was about becoming something more than you were, something stronger, more precise. Something that could change when you needed it most.

In that moment, everything Bass had experienced came flooding back—the chase across the wastelands, the standoff at the canyon, the way Peacemaker had felt in his hands when he first fired it. He’d learned more about himself in the last two days than in the last few years of his life. But there was still something missing. Something he hadn’t unlocked yet.

He could feel Peacemaker humming faintly in his grip, almost as if it was waiting for him to make the connection. Waiting for him to resonate. To make that final leap of understanding.

With Fonder’s arm wrapped around his neck, Rin made a subtle movement, trying to palm a Crest Graph from his sleeve. His fingers barely brushed against the card’s smooth surface, but Fonder was faster. The black-clad gunslinger caught Rin’s wrist and twisted, forcing the Crest Mage to drop them. They fluttered to the ground like playing cards, scattered in the dust.

"Nice try, mage," Fonder sneered, tightening his grip on Rin. "But no magic tricks this time."

Iggidig, sweating and still holding his Bayonet ARM, kept his sights trained on Fonder but clearly didn’t understand what was happening. He glanced over at Zipper, confusion and frustration written across his face. "What the heck is going on here, kid?" he asked, his voice low, but tense.

Zipper, not even looking at Iggidig, answered as if he’d asked a completely different question. "Bass is trying to bond with his ARM more."

Iggidig blinked. "Who?"

"Bass," Zipper repeated, her eyes never leaving Bass, watching him as if waiting for something miraculous to happen. "He’s trying to resonate with it again."

Iggidig sighed, clearly out of his depth. But he wasn’t about to let his guard down. Not with Fonder still holding Rin hostage, his finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger of Mistress.

Meanwhile, Bass felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Zipper’s quiet plea, the pressure to save Rin, the mocking tone of Fonder—it all seemed to blur together. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, memories, and emotions.

He needed to resonate. He needed Peacemaker to respond, to change, to adapt the way Fonder’s Mistress had. But how?

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His grip tightened on the handle of the revolver, and he closed his eyes for just a moment, trying to drown out the noise, the doubt, the fear. He thought about everything—about why he’d picked up this gun in the first place, about what it meant to him now. It wasn’t just a weapon. It was part of him. And if Fonder could make Mistress adapt, then surely Bass could do the same.

He opened his eyes, staring down the barrel at Fonder, who was still using Rin as a shield. The black-clad gunslinger grinned, clearly enjoying the standoff. "What’s the hold-up, Bass?" Fonder taunted. "Out of ideas? Or are you just stalling because you know you can’t hit me?"

Bass ignored the taunt. He felt something stirring within him, something deep and unexplainable. His hand felt lighter on the gun, the weight less oppressive. And Peacemaker... it felt like it was humming louder now, almost like it was responding to his thoughts, his will.

He focused on that feeling, letting it build, letting it resonate with him.

Fonder narrowed his eyes, noticing something in Bass’s expression. "What are you—"

Before he could finish, Bass squeezed the trigger.

But it wasn’t just a normal shot.

The bullet shimmered, ghostly and translucent, as it sped forward. Bass’s breath caught as it passed harmlessly through Rin’s body, the energy-based "blink" round bypassing physical obstacles like they weren’t even there. Time seemed to slow as the bullet hit Fonder in the lower abdomen, catching him completely off guard.

Phantom rounds.

Fonder staggered backward, his hand clutching his side in disbelief. “What… what the hell was that?” he muttered, his voice filled with shock and pain. His confident smirk faltered as he realized Bass’s ARM had done the impossible—shot through his human shield.

Seeing the opening, Captain Iggidig didn’t hesitate. "This one’s for the law," he muttered under his breath, and fired. The shot exploded from the barrel, striking Fonder square in the chest. The black-clad gunman jerked backward, his grip on Rin loosening as he stumbled.

Rin, feeling the shift, seized the moment and leapt for cover, groaning in pain but managing to avoid further injury.

Fonder, reeling from the impact, stared at his wounds, then looked back at Bass and Iggidig. He tried to smirk, but it was weaker now, barely holding onto the air of dominance he'd carried moments before. "You got me," he rasped, collapsing into the dirt with a thud.

The tension in the air hung thick as the dust settled around them. Bass stood still, his heart racing, staring down at Peacemaker in awe of what had just happened. He had done the impossible, pushed beyond his limits. The ghostly shimmer of the bullet’s aftereffect faded into the wind as the realization washed over him.

The instant Fonder's body hit the dirt, Rin, still grimacing from his wounds, didn’t hesitate. With a swift, almost instinctive motion, he picked up a Blast Crest Graph from where it lay on the ground, its markings glowing with violent energy.

“Is overkill,” Rin muttered, his face darkened with frustration.

Before Bass or Iggidig could react, Rin slapped the Crest Graph down on the ground. The markings on the card ignited, and a pulse of magical energy surged toward Fonder's lifeless form. In an instant, a roaring explosion engulfed the fallen gunslinger, sending a plume of dirt and debris into the air. The sheer force of it rocked the ground, the shockwave strong enough to make Bass stagger backward.

“Rin! What the hell?” Bass shouted, his eyes wide as the smoke billowed up into the sky.

Rin, his cape now tattered even further from the earlier shrapnel, simply dusted off his hands and gave a satisfied nod. “Fast burial,” he said flatly, ignoring the smoking crater where Fonder’s body had once been.

Iggidig stood there, mouth slightly agape, unsure whether to be impressed or horrified. "That... was one hell of a ‘finish,’" he muttered, shaking his head.

Zipper peeked out from behind Iggidig, wide-eyed and speechless for once.

Bass just sighed, his adrenaline finally starting to fade. "Guess that’s all she wrote for ol’ Fonder."

After a long stretch of silence, the group heard a distant voice echoing from the bottom of the chasm.

“Hey! You all just gonna leave me down here or what?” Mary’s voice carried up from the depths.

Bass, Zipper, and Iggidig rushed to the edge, peering down into the ravine from both sides. There, far below, they spotted Mary, a small figure against the rocks, waving one arm and leaning against the other.

“There she is!” Zipper exclaimed, pointing eagerly. “We’ve gotta pull her up somehow!”

Iggidig, ever practical, adjusted his hat and nodded. “I’ll need to run back to my Guard Shack, grab some rope. Won’t be long.” Without another word, the large man turned on his heel and began hustling back the way they came.

Bass, meanwhile, glanced across the wide chasm, brow furrowed in thought. “How are we gonna get back across the gorge, Rin?”

Rin, casually collecting his Crest Graphs from the ground, found the one he was looking for and activated it with a calm flick of his wrist. A soft glow surrounded him as the healing magic of Heal began to mend his wounds. He didn’t even look up when he answered, “Is bridge now.”

Bass blinked, confused for a moment, until realization dawned on him. “That’s right, Sawyer said something about a cactus bridge?”

Rin just shrugged, healing energy still swirling around him. “Very prickly.”

Shaking his head with a mix of amusement and resignation, Bass called down to Mary. “Hang tight! We’ll meet you on the other side!”

Mary’s voice drifted back up. “You better hurry! I’m not spending the night down here!”

The saloon in Tomney Gulch was lively, filled with the low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses. Bass, Rin, Mary, Zipper, and Captain Iggidig were seated around a long, well-worn table, each enjoying their dinner after a long journey. The town, as it turned out, was named after the gulch it was built over—a fact that had caused a round of teasing aimed at Bass, who had been there before but apparently never knew.

“I didn’t know because it was nighttime,” Bass said defensively, poking at his plate with a fork.

Mary and Zipper exchanged amused glances, but let it go.

Rin, meanwhile, was busy ordering a small mountain of food, easily as much as the rest of them combined. Plates stacked high with meats, bread, and vegetables were spread out before him, and he was already digging in.

“Do you always eat this much?” Iggidig asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rin nodded between bites. “Use magic. Makes hungry,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Bass leaned back in his chair, glancing over at Rin. “Speaking of which... What happened with Nadja? Last I saw, she was giving you trouble.”

Rin shrugged, still chewing. “Magic escape.” He said it with such nonchalance that it was hard to tell if he cared at all.

“Where’d she go?” Mary asked, but Rin just shrugged again and went back to shoveling food into his mouth. Clearly, the topic of Nadja wasn’t one he was interested in pursuing.

As the group settled back into their meals, Mary cleared her throat. “There’s a Post Office stagecoach that makes the rounds from here. Given how our last train ride turned out, I figure it might be a better idea to take the stage instead. More mobility that way, less risk of... you know, getting attacked.”

Bass paused, the realization hitting him. The journey—this wild ride they had all been on together—was about to end. Zipper was going to be delivered, and that would be that. The thought weighed heavier on him than he expected. He put his fork down, lost in thought for a moment.

Meanwhile, Captain Iggidig was furiously scribbling notes into his small notebook, trying to keep up with the story unfolding around him. His face was a mix of concentration and confusion as he struggled to make sense of it all.

“Could someone summarize this for me?” Iggidig asked, his hand cramping from writing so much.

Zipper perked up, her eyes sparkling. “Oh! I can do it!” She cleared her throat dramatically.

She explained everything since the door to the boxcar was blown open by Rin’s magic, and she’d first met him and Bass. She finished her tale and looked up, grinning. “And now we’re here!”

Captain Iggidig, with his notebook now filled with scribbled notes, leaned back in his chair and adjusted his hat. "Well, I'll be filing an official report with the Kingdom Office as soon as I get back. This whole ordeal is... something." He glanced at Mary with a half-smile. "I’ll be sure to mention how you all handled yourselves out there. You’ll get your props from the authorities."

Mary returned the smile, tapping the edge of her hat. "Thanks, Captain. I’ll give you some props with the Post Office too, once I eventually report back. We appreciate you stepping in like you did."

The mood around the table lightened as they settled into the after-dinner calm. Mary, ever practical, looked over at Bass and Rin, curiosity in her eyes. "So, what about you two? What’s next?"

Rin, who was still mourning the various new holes in his velour cape and trousers, sighed dramatically. "First... find tailor," he declared, pulling at the tattered edges of his clothing with a look of pure anguish. The statement hung in the air for a moment, and everyone at the table couldn’t help but laugh.

Despite having been shot multiple times in the last two days, Rin’s concern was still overwhelmingly about his fancy clothes. Bass shook his head, grinning at his eccentric friend. "You sure that’s priority number one?" he teased. "You’ve eaten lead three times in two days."

"Clothes first, heal later," Rin replied with an exaggerated, sorrowful expression. "Shot wound less than bad style."

Mary chuckled, leaning back in her chair. "Gotta appreciate a man with priorities, I guess."

Bass, though still smiling, seemed a bit more pensive. He glanced down at Peacemaker, flipping open the chamber and looking at the empty slots where his bullets once rested. "I’m not really sure what I’m going to do next," he admitted, more to himself than the group. "But I probably need to buy more bullets." He snapped the chamber closed with a soft click.

Zipper, who had been listening quietly, leaned toward Bass with her usual cheerfulness. “You could always come with Mary and I.”

Bass offered her a small, appreciative smile, but the uncertainty still lingered in his eyes. The journey with Mary, Rin, and Zipper had been unexpected, filled with challenges and self-discovery, and now, the road ahead seemed wide open and unknown.

Captain Iggidig stood up, stretching out his large frame. "Well, whatever happens next, I’ve got a report to file, and a lot of walking to do. You lot take care of yourselves." He tipped his hat one last time before heading toward the door.

Mary, Bass, Rin, and Zipper watched him go, the sounds of the saloon around them filling the air as the night wore on. The future was uncertain, but for now, they had a moment of peace.

Nadja's heart raced as she blinked back into the familiar, desolate camp they’d set up days before the disastrous train job. It was eerily quiet now, the signs of her former allies long gone, but they had been too sloppy in their exit. Everything they’d brought with them, tents, supplies, rations, all of it was just sitting there, abandoned and untouched. For a moment, she hesitated, wondering if it was worth taking any of it, but voices nearby drew her attention.

She crouched low, instinctively casting the Invisible Crest Graph, the familiar magic swirling around her as she faded from sight. Carefully, she moved toward the noise, drawn by the unmistakable cadence of soldiers talking.

Peering through the underbrush, she spied a group of musketeers at the train crash site, their uniforms bright in the midday sun—red, white, blue, and gold. They moved about the derailed train with purpose, inspecting the damage and searching through the wreckage. There were about a dozen of them, each armed with long ARMs, their bayonets gleaming in the light.

Her eyes gleamed with recognition. Musketeers from Adlehyde.

The commander, a tall, stern man whose face looked like it hadn’t smiled in decades, paced relentlessly in front of the wreckage, his black boots kicking up small clouds of dust with each determined step. His deep-set eyes surveyed the scene with a mixture of fury and disgust, narrowing each time his gaze fell on the shattered remnants of the train cars. The air around him seemed to crackle with tension as he barked orders to his soldiers, his voice sharp and unyielding. Each command rang out with a conviction that left no room for dissent, his words brimming with an almost righteous anger.

"Move those crates over here! Start cataloging what we can salvage!" he bellowed, his tone making it clear that any delay would be met with his wrath. The musketeers scrambled to comply, their movements swift and efficient under the weight of their commander’s sharp gaze. His passion was palpable, a storm of frustration barely contained beneath his calm military exterior.

As he paced, his frustration only seemed to grow. The train robbery wasn’t just a crime in his eyes; it was an assault on the very foundation of civil order. To him, the theft wasn’t just about goods or money—it was about the people who were depending on those supplies, the innocent lives disrupted by the selfish greed of outlaws.

His eyes caught sight of a pile of scattered letters among the wreckage. He bent down, snatching up a handful of them with a visible sneer. Flipping through them, his expression darkened, his brows furrowing deeper. Each envelope seemed to fuel his anger further, like tinder to a flame. One letter caught his attention, and he held it up, glaring at the soldiers around him as if the very existence of the letter was an offense.

"This one!" he growled, shaking the envelope in the air, "This one is addressed 'to Grandma!' Can you imagine that? A letter meant for some poor old woman, denied because of these thieves! A grandchild’s love, stolen!"

The anger in his voice was almost theatrical, but his passion was sincere. To him, every piece of stolen mail represented a personal injustice. The musketeers around him, though used to his outbursts, nodded in somber agreement, continuing their tasks in silence. They had seen this many times before—his righteous fury over the small tragedies caused by lawlessness. But even they knew that this wasn’t just about a letter. For Pfofflenickle, it was the principle of the matter. The robbery wasn’t just a disruption of goods or commerce; it was an insult to the social contract, to the order that held society together.

"These bandits don’t just steal from us," Pfofflenickle continued, his voice rising, "They steal from everyone! From families, from children, from those in need! This isn’t just about money. It’s about decency. It's about trust!" His words echoed over the crash site, punctuated by the low hum of the soldiers going about their work.

He pointed angrily at Sawyer’s “new dog,” and shouted, “They are Stealing Our Dogs!”

As he stood there, the crumpled letter still clenched in his fist, his eyes burned with a fiery determination. "Mark my words," he declared, pointing the letter like a sword toward the horizon, "We will find these outlaws. We will bring them to justice. And Filgaia will know that the Adlehyde Musketeers do not tolerate such lawlessness."

His proclamation hung in the air, and for a moment, even the wind seemed to pause. The musketeers exchanged quiet glances, knowing well what such a vow from Commander Pfofflenickle meant. There would be no rest, no relent until the perpetrators were found and dealt with.

With renewed vigor, the soldiers redoubled their efforts, gathering the scattered mail and supplies, loading them into their wagons with care. Meanwhile, the commander stood tall amidst the wreckage, his figure imposing and unyielding, his mind already calculating the next steps in his relentless pursuit of justice.

Nadja could barely suppress a smirk as she watched. What a bunch of sentimental fools.

One of the musketeers, a factotum adjutant, jogged up to Pfofflenickle, saluting crisply. "Commander, four more cars are further down the tracks to the west."

"Good," Pfofflenickle said, his voice as grim as ever. "We’ll recover what we can. Load up the mail."

The musketeers moved with efficiency, gathering up the scattered letters and parcels, loading them into two large covered wagons driven by two hefty aurochs. Nadja watched them with interest. These soldiers weren’t a part of the original plan, but they were exactly what she needed now.

Nadja glanced down at her own attire, noticing for the first time that the colors she wore were eerily similar to those of the musketeers patrolling nearby. Her usual dark cloak had been left back at the camp, and instead, she found herself wrapped in a deep blue coat, with gold trim running along its seams. The crimson scarf she wore around her neck added an unintentional splash of formality to her look. Even the subtle hints of white lining in her outfit mirrored the uniformed soldiers.

Casting away her invisibility spell, she stumbled out from her hiding place, feigning desperation. “Help! Help me!” she cried, rushing toward the soldiers, clutching her side as though wounded.

The musketeers turned toward her, rifles raised. "Who are you?" one of them asked, stepping forward.

Nadja gasped, her face a perfect mask of fear and panic. "I saw them... the bandits... they attacked the train!" Her voice trembled, her breathing heavy, as though she had barely escaped.

Pfofflenickle’s eyes narrowed as he approached, his gaze searching her face for any sign of deceit. "And who are you?" he demanded, his voice cold and hard.

"I’m Nadja," she replied, straightening herself slightly, though still feigning exhaustion. "I’m a Crest Sorcerer from Curan Abbey in Adlehyde."

That part, at least, wasn’t a lie. The name of Curan Abbey seemed to placate the soldiers, and Pfofflenickle lowered his rifle, though his expression remained stern. "What happened here? Where’s the crew? There should have been two conductors and a Postal Worker on board."

Nadja hesitated for only a split second. She hadn’t actually seen what Clifton or Sawyer had done to the conductors, but it didn’t matter. She could still use this to her advantage.

"The postal worker," she began, her voice low and conspiratorial, "was in on the robbery. She went south, toward Tomney’s Gulch."

Pfofflenickle’s expression darkened at her words. "A postal worker? Involved in this treachery?" He clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw working as he processed the betrayal.

Nadja nodded solemnly, hiding the satisfaction bubbling inside her. "Yes, she was with the bandits. She headed south after the attack. I overheard them talking about... delivering something important."

Pfofflenickle’s eyes flashed with anger. "Then we’ll pursue them to Tomney’s Gulch. They won’t escape justice."

Nadja kept her face neutral, though inside, she was already celebrating her small victory. Now, with the musketeers unknowingly aiding her, she’d have the perfect cover to move forward with her own plans. This is going to be easier than I thought.

The next morning, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon as Mary helped Zipper into the stagecoach. The young Elw girl seemed unusually quiet, her usual cheerful demeanor softened by the weight of their impending separation. Mary checked the straps on the side of the coach, ensuring everything was secure before glancing back at Bass, who stood a few feet away with his hands in his pockets, watching them with an unreadable expression.

"Are you sure you don't want to come along?" Mary asked, resting one hand on the door of the stagecoach as she gave him a curious look.

Bass hesitated, then turned toward Rin, who was lazily leaning against a fence post, flipping a Crest Graph between his fingers. "What do you think, Rin? Should we head along?"

Rin spit into the dirt and adjusted his top hat with a casual flick of his wrist. "Depends where."

Bass looked back at Mary, raising an eyebrow. "Where are you headed?"

Mary pulled her hat down slightly to shield her eyes from the sun. "We’re heading across the Red Prairie to Southport. We need to catch a ship across the sea—heading for the other side."

At this, Rin’s face twisted in disgust. He muttered under his breath, "South continent..." The disdain in his voice was unmistakable.

Bass frowned. He had never spent much time south of the Red Prairie and wasn’t sure what to make of the destination. "I don’t know my way around down there," he admitted. "And Rin doesn’t seem to like the idea either." His gaze shifted to the holster at his side. "Besides, without any bullets, I’m not going to be much help. Can’t exactly shoot my way out of a problem if I can’t even load my ARM."

Zipper’s face fell as she sat inside the stagecoach, her small frame almost swallowed by the plush seats. "You’re not coming?" she asked softly, her wide green eyes filled with disappointment. For a moment, Bass thought she might cry, but instead, she straightened up and gave him a brave smile. "Well... I wish you well anyway, Bass. I hope you find what you’re looking for."

Mary sighed but nodded, understanding. "We’ll manage. You take care, Bass. It’s been... interesting." She tipped her hat toward him with a smirk, her way of showing respect.

Bass watched as Mary exchanged a few words with the coachman, who gave a nod and signaled the horses to move. The stagecoach began to roll away, its wheels creaking on the dry, cracked earth. Zipper waved from the window, her little hand visible until the dust kicked up by the horses started to obscure the coach.

High noon burned overhead, and Bass stood there, watching the stagecoach disappear down the trail. The wide, open plains stretched before him, endless and barren, with only the wind as his companion. Rin, having finished his Crest Graph tricks, wandered over to stand next to him, silent for once.

The horizon swallowed the stagecoach, leaving nothing but the empty wasteland behind. Bass felt a strange tug in his chest, an odd feeling of finality that came with watching them leave.

"Well," Rin muttered, breaking the silence. "What now?"

Bass sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "Guess I need to find some bullets."

Phalanx stood atop the apex of a massive natural stone arch, her silhouette cutting an imposing figure against the risen noontime sun. Her tattered cloak billowed around her, caught in the fierce winds that swept over the endless stretch of the Red Prairie below. Bandages wrapped her small frame, and her dark hair whipped wildly in the gusts. Her pale skin gleamed in the harsh sunlight, making her appear almost ghostly, a figure of both beauty and menace.

From her vantage point, she could see for miles, the landscape an endless sea of crimson earth and dust. Her sharp eyes focused on a lone stagecoach, winding its way across the prairie like a tiny insect crawling toward the horizon. She watched the coach's progress with an expression of deep contemplation, her arms crossed beneath her cloak, the dark fabric fluttering like wings.

"They're running away," she muttered, a hint of disdain in her voice. "They think they can escape the end. They think they can outrun destiny."

The thought amused her, drawing a sly smile to her lips. Phalanx's single sharp canine glinted in the sunlight as she began to chuckle, the sound echoing faintly in the wind. Her laughter grew louder, carried away into the vastness of the plains below, where no one would hear it. The Great Destroyer, the one who would bring forth the Stain Paradigm, was watching, waiting. She had lost them once before, but this time, she would make sure they couldn’t get away.

Her gaze never left the stagecoach as it rolled steadily across the open prairie, oblivious to the dark presence high above. The prairie itself, vast and empty, stretched on without end, and yet it felt to her as though the entire world was shrinking, focusing in on this one small scene—her, and the stagecoach below.

"They will see," Phalanx whispered, her voice growing quieter, almost reverent. "The world will see. And when they do, it will be too late."

With a final glance toward the horizon, she stepped back from the edge of the stone arch and disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the sound of the wind, and the faint, distant laughter of a girl who believed herself to be the harbinger of Filgaia’s destruction.

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Character Biographies:

Bass

A Dream Chaser with a mysterious past, Bass is a lone wanderer who often finds himself caught between chasing fleeting dreams and surviving in the harsh, lawless world of Filgaia. Raised by the Baskar tribe, he carries with him knowledge of the ancient Guardians but dismisses most of the myths as stories from his youth. Armed with Peacemaker, an ARM he’s only recently learned to truly wield, Bass is a reluctant hero. Quiet, thoughtful, and often introspective, Bass struggles to find purpose in a world full of dangers and shifting allegiances. Though his journey begins with little more than a delivery job, it quickly becomes clear that Bass is destined for something far greater than even he can imagine.

Rin

Rin is an enigmatic sorcerer with a flair for theatrics and an obsession with style, often more concerned about the state of his wardrobe than the wounds he's suffered in battle. A master of Crest Sorcery, Rin has an impressive repertoire of spells and a deep knowledge of the ancient arts, which he wields with effortless confidence. Despite his aloof and quirky demeanor, Rin is incredibly intelligent and often sees angles in conflicts that others miss. He prefers to avoid direct confrontation when possible, using his cunning and magic to outwit opponents. Although he might seem detached, Rin values loyalty, particularly to those he considers companions, though he'll never miss a chance to mourn the fate of his clothing. His true motivations remain a mystery, but it’s clear that his ties to the arcane run deep, and he’s always one step ahead—until he's not.

Mary

Mary, also known as "Stagecoach Mary," is a renowned Post Officer, famous for her unwavering dedication to delivering the mail no matter the obstacle. Raised among the legendary Fenril Lords on the northern continent, she absorbed their techniques while working as a housekeeper alongside her mother. Though she didn’t officially train, she mastered a unique Fast Draw fighting style, blending precision and speed. Stoic and calm, she has a no-nonsense attitude, but beneath it lies fierce loyalty. Now on a mission to deliver Zipper to the President, Mary’s reputation and resolve are put to the test against new enemies.

Zipper

Zzz'riphra Zzph'ryl, affectionately known as "Zipper," is an enigmatic Elw girl on a crucial mission to meet President Henry. Despite her mysterious background and the weight of her responsibilities, Zipper's cheerful and quirky nature brings a lighthearted energy to the group. Her small stature, along with the oddity of her being "mailed" across the land, belies her deeper connection to the Guardians—legendary beings tied to the fate of Filgaia. Zipper is as unpredictable as she is resourceful, her playful demeanor masking the profound knowledge she holds about the world and the forces at play.

Fonder & His Robber Gang

Fonder leads a notorious gang of outlaws, each member bringing unique skills to the table. Fonder is a cunning and ruthless marksman, obsessed with capturing Zipper for the power she might unlock. Clifton, the gang’s mad bomber, thrives on chaos, always wearing a gas mask and leaving destruction in his wake. Sawyer, a hulking mountain man, wields a chainsaw ARM to both fight and build, though he’s more interested in woodworking than violence. Nadja, the gang’s sharp-witted Crest Sorceress, manipulates magic with cunning precision, always looking for ways to increase her own power while staying loyal to Fonder’s ambitions. Together, they form a dangerous and unpredictable force on the lawless frontier of Filgaia.

Phalanx

Phalanx is a mysterious and self-proclaimed "Great Destroyer," emerging from the Kuiper Cult’s attempts to contact an alien dimension. Wrapped in bandages and cloaked in a tattered robe, she harbors delusions of grandeur, believing she is destined to bring about Filgaia's end. Despite her over-the-top theatrics, Phalanx possesses real power, making her a formidable yet unpredictable threat.

The Wild Bunch

The Wild Bunch was once the most heroic group of Dream Chasers across Filgaia, known for their daring heists, impeccable teamwork, and powerful combat skills. Though largely inactive today, their legendary status remains, and the mere mention of their names still strikes fear into the hearts of their enemies.

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Weapon Bible Entry: Peacemaker

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Peacemaker

* Type: ARM (Adaptive Resonance Module) Revolver

* Owner: Bass

* Appearance: Peacemaker is a sleek and sturdy six-shooter revolver with intricate winged lion engravings along its barrel and grip, suggesting it has a deeper connection to something ancient. Its silver finish gives it a sharp glint in the sunlight, but it carries a weight that’s more than just physical—there’s a history within its steel.

* Special Abilities:

* Phantom Rounds: The Peacemaker’s most unique feature is its ability to fire energy-based "blink" rounds. These ghostly bullets bypass physical obstacles, barriers, and cover, allowing Bass to hit enemies even if they’re hiding. They shimmer with an ethereal glow as they pass through the battlefield.

* Resonance: Peacemaker is more than just a gun—it resonates with Bass’s growing self-confidence and creativity, allowing him to perform feats that seem impossible. As Bass learns to trust himself and the ARM, it evolves, granting him new abilities.

* History: Peacemaker was handed down to Bass, but its true origin remains shrouded in mystery. The revolver seems to have a will of its own, often influencing Bass’s decisions or guiding his hand in battle. It may be linked to the Guardians or something even older, but only time will reveal its true nature.

* Role: As Bass’s primary weapon, Peacemaker represents his journey of growth and self-discovery. Its phantom rounds are the physical manifestation of Bass’s ability to push past his limitations and take decisive action. The revolver’s power is tied to his emotional state, and as Bass unlocks more of its potential, so too does he unlock more of his own.

* Status: Currently in Bass’s possession, though it remains underused as he is still learning to unlock its full potential.

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Weapon Bible Entry: Mistress

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Mistress

* Type: ARM (Adaptive Resonance Module) Revolver/Shotgun Hybrid

* Owner: Fonder

* Appearance: Mistress is a black, ominous revolver with an aura of cold precision. When in its revolver form, it’s a sleek handgun with a matte finish, a horned wolf embossed on its grip. However, it has a hidden feature—Mistress can transform into a shotgun, expanding into a brutal, short-range weapon with a spread shot. The gun is a reflection of Fonder’s cold, efficient personality.

* Special Abilities:

* Shape-Shifting: Mistress can transform from a revolver into a shotgun at will, allowing Fonder to switch between precision and power as needed. In its revolver form, Mistress fires high-caliber rounds with deadly accuracy. In its shotgun form, it unleashes a devastating spread of shrapnel or pellets, making it perfect for close-quarters combat.

* Mirv Spread: In shotgun mode, Mistress can fire a special round that breaks apart in midair, creating a rain of smaller bullets that carpet the battlefield with deadly shrapnel. It’s designed to overwhelm enemies in cover and scatter large groups.

* Adaptive: Much like its owner, Mistress adapts to the situation at hand, switching from single-target precision to area suppression with ease. The ARM’s flexibility is a reflection of Fonder’s tactical mindset.

* History: Mistress was Fonder’s partner in crime long before he assembled his gang. The weapon is a direct extension of his personality—cold, calculating, and brutal. While others may see ARMs as tools, Fonder views Mistress as a loyal companion, trusting no one else with its power.

* Role: Mistress symbolizes Fonder’s ruthlessness and adaptability. In battle, it gives him the ability to switch strategies at a moment’s notice, reflecting his tactical brilliance. The revolver’s ability to create chaos with its spread shot makes it a powerful tool in Fonder’s hands, keeping his enemies off balance and under constant threat.

* Status: Currently in Fonder’s possession, though it’s uncertain after his defeat at the gorge whether Mistress will be recovered or remain lost.