A Gunslinger’s System in a World of Magic

The blast that sent the door off its hinges was accompanied by a widespread shockwave that sent every other member of the gang currently in the First-class lounge flying all over.

As the one closest to Angus when he was blasted away, Henry faced the worst of the shockwave as he was sent sprawling into a chair with such an impact that his head struck the wall with a thud that no doubt cracked his skull.

[You have lost 2 Hit Points]

[Hit Points: 16/20]

"Argh," Henry groaned with a hand to the back of his head for any wetness to signal blood loss.

But then, just like the stunned others, his eyes went to the door that had just been blasted open to see two figures step out side by side.

One looked to be in his early forties and was dressed in a strange robe etched with intricate designs while clutching a brilliant-looking chest under one arm. He had a crooked smile on his face while twiddling the fingers of his free hand as they crackled with dark magical energy.

The other looked younger and was the one who actually had Henry's attention because he didn't need any assertion from the system to know this fellow was the one his Sub-Quest had asked to be defeated;

The Second man was easily above six feet tall, dressed in a uniform just as official-looking as that of the many dead men all over the train but with sharper and more embroidered designs that hinted at a much Higher Ranking.

His brown hair was sleeked back and he had a trimmed beard around his frowning lips. In one hand, he held a steel sword with a simple hilt, and in the other, he held a gun; The strangest gun Henry had ever seen.

Which was saying something because he had seen more than his fair share of 'innovative' designs.

The gun was a revolver with a barrel over eight inches long. It was a jet-black color with interlocking scales that seemed to catch the light and gleam viciously.

The trigger guard looked like six fangs coming together in an almost horrific union and the part of the trigger Henry could see was twisted like a collection of acid-green spindly tongues of some monster from myths.

The gun's cylinder —which had a bronze serpent emblazoned across every bullet segment—, gave off an acidic green glow, and as the man fiddled with the gun's hammer, the glow only got more intense.

Shaking off the effect of the shockwave that had blasted them all over, Tony, Devon, Kirk, Dana, and Triss got back to their feet and raised their guns to fire several shots at both the Gunman and the robe-wearing stranger by his side.

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Henry watched with his mouth open as a translucent shield formed of magical energy appeared in the space between the gun-shooting Gang and their targets and absorbed the kinetic energy from all fired bullets so that they fell to the ground like harmless pellets.

The robe-wearing stranger smiled crookedly, his finger stroking the chest he held under his arm,

"That you would even raise your guns at a Warlock such as myself should surely doom you all," he said with a chuckle before looking to the Gunman at his side,

"Mr. Grant, do what your worthless underlings failed to do and dispose of them, will you?"

"Gladly," Mr. Grant, the Gunman said as he raised his strange gun, pointed it at Kirk, and pulled the trigger.

Henry's eyes were fixed on the gun and its strangeness only got more captivating as Mr. Grant fired his shot.

Two green dots glowed on the heads of each of the serpents etched on the gun's cylinder and an array of runes appeared at the gun's handle while the acidic glow increased to an intense emerald glow as the bullet finally left the barrel and struck into Kirk's stomach.

All this happened in the space of a second and Kirk didn't even have the opportunity of moving in a futile attempt to avoid getting shot.

"Ack!" He let out almost in surprise. He had managed to keep a grip on his cigarette when he got knocked back but it finally fell from his lips as he raised his head at the lounge's ceiling and his face twisted in horror at the pain that began to wrack through his body.

"Kirk—" Tony called out.

"Arrrgghhh!" Kirk yelled and from his open mouth rose a green cloud that spread all over the inside of the lounge.

Watching the gas spread, Henry held his breath and also tore off his loose mask to press his nose into the inside of his elbow to make sure he didn't breathe any of it in because common sense told him a green gas exiting the mouth of a dying man was not something to breath in.

The others held their breath as well but then, Tony's eyes widened. He saw Kirk's bullet wound begin to ooze as green veins spread all over his midsection. The ooze quickly became a bubble that sizzled with an acidic *Tssssss* sound.

He wasn't the only one who noticed but he was the first to sound the warning,

"Everyone get away!"

Kirk's midsection bubbled to a crescendo and exploded in an acidic combustive bubble that splashed bits of his insides all over their side of the Train lounge in the form of acidic goop.

Henry dove down and took cover behind the chairs in front of him. The rest of the Gang tried to do the same. They weren't actually fast enough to outrun an explosive blast of acid but diving to safety was still possible…

… At least for most of them.

"Ahh!" Triss cried out. A blurb of the acidic goop had landed on her back, burning through her vest in a second. She managed to strip off her vest but the heat had already gone through her shirt and reddened her skin with an awful-looking steam rising from the wound.

She wasn't the only one who was unlucky.

"Nghh—" Devon groaned as his entire front was splashed with the goop and although he reacted almost as fast as Triss had and ripped off his shirt, the heat had gotten through and left a burn mark.

However, although Devon's burn mark steamed just like Triss' wound, that was all it was; A mark. The skin was certainly charred but somehow looked no worse than a minor inconvenience.

"A 'Half-Orc'," Mr. Grant said as he eyed Devon's canines and then his chest, "I've heard tales of your monstrously thick skin. I hear it can't stop a bullet though."

Mr. Grant raised his gun and pointed it at Devon but before firing, he called out calmly,

"Warlock, would you please?"

"Of course," the Warlock said with a smile, and a second later, formless energy carrying an unmistakable aura of magic began to flow from his robed body into Mr. Grant's uniformed self.

Henry watched as the Gun that had gotten dull in Mr. Grant's hand began to glow up with its acidic green and understanding dawned on him;

Whatever strange transfusion was happening was giving Mr. Grant the energy he required to fire his gun.

'We need to stop it,' Henry thought with certainty.

But how?

He still had his gun but had seen that fail already.

"Argh—" Triss' groan by his side pulled Henry out of his thoughts,

"I can't move," Henry heard her say.

At first, he thought it was due to the acid that had splashed on her skin until he realized his muscles were starting to seize as well.

He raised his head and saw Tony and Dana struggling as well.

'The gas!' Henry thought with wide eyes.

The green gas that had exited Kirk's dying body was still all over the inside of the Train lounge and it had been hard for the others to focus on holding their breaths while looking for safety from the exploding acid.

It was no wonder why Mr. Grant was calm, Henry realized.

The gas ensured they were all helpless as he calmly filled himself with the magic required to fire another acidic shot.

And just when things were starting to look bleak, Henry heard heavy breathing and looked to see Devon guzzling the gas like a maniac.

The Half-Orc's body shook with spasms as he struggled against the paralytic effect of the Gas and then, as Henry watched, Devon's brown eyes gained a reddish manic glint as his muscles bulged.

Devon gripped his shotgun and rose to his feet before taking three large strides to slam his body into Mr. Grant's…

*BAM!*

… Only to be stopped by the Warlock's conjured shield.

"You have resistance against paralysis?" Mr. Grant mused with slight surprise before shrugging, "Well, no matter."

The gun powered up even more and then a voice cut across the train from at the very end of the lounge.

"Warlock, cease your magic!"

The voice was calm but carried a powerful 'push' that slammed into the Warlock's body.

He twitched as his nerves, magical or otherwise refused to obey his command.

His magical transfusion ended abruptly causing the gun's glow to mellow slightly but more important was the shield faltering and finally letting Devon collide his massive body into Mr. Grant's…

*Bam!*

… in an impact that surely cracked some ribs.