Gunsoul: A Xianxia Apocalypse

This was bad. Hideously bad.

The war party had to include at least thirty vehicles to whip up such a dust storm, maybe more, with each of them likely filled to the brim with monsters out for blood. One crew would already be a challenge if it boarded the spirit-train. Fighting so many foes at once was suicide, let alone with their rad-hag mistress leading the charge.

“Shit,” Yuan cursed as he quickly rose from his seat and lightly shook his charge. “Holster, wake up!”

Holster groaned slightly, and then her eyes snapped open in absolute terror. She sensed their pursuer’s malicious presence the moment she regained consciousness.

“Can you order the spirit-train to go faster?” Yuan asked her. A Thunderland’s caretaker couldn’t leave its confines. If their vehicle managed to escape the region… well, they would probably still have to contend with oni stragglers, but it would at least give them a fighting chance. “Full speed!”

Holster hastily joined her hands together in a pose of silent prayer, which was answered by a droning whistle which resonated along the spirit-train’s entire length. Its wheels roared louder than the lightning outside as they gathered speed. They started passing landmarks in the blink of an eye, with great metal pillars rising from the sand and the ruins of ancient houses becoming furtive blurs. They passed through the Thunderlands like a lighting bolt. For a moment, it appeared as if they would outrun their pursuers.

But it still wasn’t enough.

They distanced themselves from most of the dust storm as its spirit-cars failed to keep up with the spirit-train, but a great cloud of sand continued to gain ground. Yuan saw a strong light shining in its center like a baleful eye, though the darkness of night prevented him from seeing its source.

How long until they catch up? Yuan gave them half an hour at best. Far too little time to escape the Thunderlands. Would decoupling the wagons let them move faster? The locomotive would have to carry much less weight, but amputating the spirit-train might cause it to bleed out. Yuan had no idea how this creature worked after all.

The slaver’s radio.

Taken aback, Yuan cautiously brought it out of his bag as Holster watched on with fearful eyes. The weathered communication device had turned itself on without any input, the central needle measuring signal strength wildly swaying from one side to the other. Brief jolts of multicolored electricity burst from its switches and buttons.

A voice came out of its speakers, it was vaguely female yet scratchier than a screeching blade cutting through a metal wall.

“The child,” she rasped. “I want… the child…”

Holster shrank in fear, her skin paler than chalk. Yuan didn’t need a memo to guess who was contacting them.

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“Surrender the child to me, cultivator… let her blood water my land…” the voice rasped. “Give her to me now…”

Yuan’s jaw clenched, then handily gripped the microphone button to answer. “Or what?”

“Or I will come take her and your life…” A haunting laugh echoed out of the radio, deep and dark. “Take a closer look…”

Yuan peeked over his shoulder just as a monstrous machine emerged from the dust storm, riding trails of lightning.

The machine vaguely resembled a spirit-train from afar, but one made of black rubbery skin alongside its steel and iron; centidead crawled inside its flesh like maggots in a wound. A hungry maw of snarling fangs hissed at the locomotive’s front under the baleful glow of a three-lobed red eye serving as its headlights. The machine held a multi-tier structure on its back that reminded Yuan of the Stoneskin Sect’s pagoda, with walls of stone stuck to black veins bound by brass pipes and smoking furnaces. Oni warriors with bows, spears, and a handful of rifles stood on its roofs or behind its ornate windows. A true base on wheels.

The monstrous spirit-train was hardly any faster than Yuan’s own ride, but it managed to slowly catch up nonetheless.

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And the oppressive qi onboard… Yuan could feel it from there: a loathsome mix of a deathly stench, radioactive corruption, and fatal lightning. The rad-hag’s presence wasn’t as intense as Revolver’s, but it was still far beyond Toshiro’s or Gatesville’s two-bit cultivators. The monster onboard that spirit-train was strong. Far stronger than Yuan himself.

His fists clenching, Yuan glanced at Holster. Her fatalistic expression told him that she fully expected him to sacrifice her. They both knew he couldn’t take this war party head-on. The rad-hag only wanted her because she was a Hitobashira whose qi she could feed upon. Their pursuers would most likely lose interest in the spirit-train should their prey be thrown off it.

Yuan’s goal was to kill Slash, not to protect slaves and strays. Rescuing Holster had been a happy coincidence that let him tame the spirit-train, but he didn’t owe her anything. He had nothing to gain from protecting her, and everything to lose.

The slavers wouldn’t have hesitated.

Yet part of Yuan simply couldn’t accept that outcome. His pride wouldn’t let him.

He refused to bend the knee ever again.

“Make your attempt count,” Yuan answered the hag over the radio, “You won’t get another.”

He pulled out the switch, ignoring the jolt of electricity that coursed through his finger when he disabled the radio. No way he would surrender without a fight.

“Holster, go hide at the front of the spirit-train.” Yuan handed her the collar bomb and its radio detonator. “Put this at the junction between the locomotive and the rest of the wagons. If the oni manage to board, we’ll have to decouple them by force.”

The spirit-train’s whistle screeched in the background, which made Yuan wonder if the creature understood his idea. Whatever the case, Holster didn’t move an inch. She simply looked at him in utter disbelief.

“I’m not going to abandon you,” Yuan promised Holster. His charge kept staring at him with a blank look. Her mind struggled to understand his decision. “That thing will kill and eat you at best, Holster. You understand that?”

Holster grimly nodded, but then pointed at herself with her tiny fingers and then back at him. She wanted explanations.

“I had a friend once,” Yuan replied. “Jaw-Long was his name. He was a Scrap, and not the brightest one. A moron. He would have died a thousand times without me. A complete dumbass. One day though, when I was feeling down about failing Sect selection, he told me something both very stupid and very wise.”

Yuan looked into Holster’s eyes. “Do you know what?”

Holster scowled, then shook her head.

“True losers aren’t those who fail,” Yuan said as he grabbed his revolver, “But those who don’t try.”

How could Yuan ever hope to reach the Dao if he chickened out at the first sign of danger? He would stand his ground like he did against Slash, come what may.

The rad-hag would never see him beg.

His mind set on the task, Yuan opened the spirit-train panoramic windows. The hot wind of the Thunderlands blew dust in his face as he steadily aimed at the enemy’s mobile fortress. He only had one shot left, so he would need to make this one count.

Breathe, Yuan told himself as he began to charge his gun with qi and pointed at the wheels. Mind the wind…

A tiny hand pulled him by the shirt before he could pull the trigger.

“Holster, don’t throw off my aim,” Yuan scolded his charge. When she continued to insist and the enemy spirit-train continued to gain ground, he snapped his head in her direction. “Holster–”

He expected to see fear, and instead met eyes filled with determination.

His speech had awakened Holster’s courage. His small charge didn’t try to make Yuan lower his revolver. Instead, she insistently pointed at a spot to his left. What was she trying to tell him?

The sound of war drums grew louder. The enemy spirit-train was closing the gap between the two vehicles. Little less than a kilometer separated them now, and that distance kept shrinking.

There was little time left, but Holster’s resolve made Yuan wonder. He moved to the spot that she indicated after a moment’s hesitation. She pointed her gun at the open window while crouching slightly.

Yuan imitated her clumsy stance, aimed at the enemy… and then he sensed it.

The power flowing through him.

The spirit-train’s qi traveled clockwise along its length, spreading from the locomotive and rotating in the final wagon. By positioning him on its direct path, Yuan’s charged phantom bullets would benefit from extra power. The current would carry them forward.

A feng shui technique.

Incredible. Yuan felt like a battery juiced up to a nuclear reactor. Energy far greater than what he could ever naturally generate poured into his core and, through it, into his revolver. His gun heated up in his hands as he began to charge it with qi. He sensed his last bullet jolting in its barrel, yearning to break through. He was forced to use Elemental Infusion to turn his hands to metal in order to strengthen his grip, lest his weapon escape his fingers.

Holster gently helped him adjust his posture to better bask in the flow of qi. It threw his aim off.

“I won’t be able to hit the wheels,” he warned Holster.

She simply smiled at him.

Trust the flow, she seemed to tell him. Go along with it. The Way knows best.

The rad-hag’s spirit-train had approached close enough for her oni minions to start firing at them now. Their aim was terrible, and the night’s lack of visibility caused them to miss again and again. Nonetheless, time was running short.

Yuan entered the zone as he had done many times in the past. His entire body was one with his revolver. His arms were a barrel, his core a hammer waiting to strike. The outside world vanished from his sight. The universe stopped at the tunnel beyond his barrel’s edge, the enemy vehicle no more than a fleeting frame.

Yuan held his breath, exhaled softly, and then pulled the trigger.