Gunsoul: A Xianxia Apocalypse

The dead dreamed of guns.

He was back at the Nowhere again, falling into deep and impenetrable darkness. He knew that it was no unconscious dream this time. He remembered the biting cold and numbness of nothingness all too well. His limbs no longer answered him, his lungs were empty, and his spirit drifted downward into the silent dark.

Most importantly, his bullet-core no longer pounded in his skull.

It was gone, and the Gun alongside it.

Yuan had felt the curse’s destruction during the final impact. He had heard its final wail and bore witness to its annihilation the moment his core shattered against its spirit. The cycle that sustained its evil had finally reached its destined completion, and he had felt the soul of Revolver linger behind after he dragged the Gun through death’s waiting door.

A life for a life. It seemed like an even trade to Yuan.

Yuan Guang had died saving his friend, spared the Unmade World from a gun-blazing calamity, and fulfilled Arc’s final wish. He had made a difference; the good kind. He had died satisfied.

The only thing he regretted was leaving Holster and Orient alone, to find their own way into the wasteland without him.

As Yuan drifted into the dark, he could only pray the Wayfinders would allow him to see them again in his next life. He was almost tempted to come back as a hungry ghost simply to meet them again, to tell these two how much he had cherished their time together… but he knew he wouldn’t return from this.

Then…

Then why did he hear gunshots?

The sound of pulled triggers and explosions rocked the Nowhere’s overbearing silence. A song of blasts and burns resonated across the darkness in an erratic symphony. It sounded like the noise of a distant bombardment coming from high above.

Yuan focused on its source, turning his attention upward—if such a thing had any meaning in the Nowhere. He saw a blazing light in the distance, and forms falling from it in a rain of blood and lead.

Corpses.

Most were humans, but a few belonged to beasts, demons, even Yaoguai. They fell down into the darkness each with a bullet lodged somewhere in their flesh. Headshots, heartshots, legshots… all victims of a thousand firearms running amok.

The Gun was dead, but its worshipers lived on. Mortals would continue to sacrifice lives on the barrel altar until the end of life on Earth. Heroes or villains, it didn’t matter. The Bullet Hell would claim them all without distinction. In a way, little had changed.

Except this time, there was no prison warden to give these bitter souls another shot at revenge. They would have to find rest, whether they liked it or not.

It seemed so… so tragic to Yuan. For every Gunsoul tormented by the Gun, there had been someone like him or Revolver who took a stand against the horrors of the wastes. There were so many victims and warriors among these people, amidst the killers and murderers. It felt unjust that they would fade away while the evil that slew them endured.

If only they had had the same chance he did…

A sharp pulse spread through Yuan’s chest, waking up his limbs. His heart pounded with a gunshot’s roar, once, then twice, and so on.

That was impossible. His heart had long stopped beating on its own. His bullet-core had been the lynchpin of his being, and it was gone.

Yet it beat in his chest with a minigun’s pace, its pulse raw and intense.

Yuan felt something stirring in the void around him. He recognized that slow increase of pressure, that intense sense of a looming presence getting closer. Something vast and incomprehensible, as omnipresent as gravity and as all-powerful as the relentless march of time; a force of nature that Yuan’s mind could hardly appreciate the true size of.

The presence vibrated around him, like sound spreading through water or a giant fish sending ripples through a pond too small for it. It had no outline nor shape, yet Yuan sensed its gaze, its awe-inspiring attention, its will worming its way into his soul.

“Will you return them?”

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Those weren’t words, because that entity had long since transcended the need for sounds and symbols. Its will and meaning simply manifested themself within Yuan’s heart, clear and concise.

“Are you… the Deathsong?” Yuan asked in awe. Was it the Wayfinder of death, who ascended to the Dao to become a cosmic principle bringing the regretful dead back as ghosts to the world of the living? It certainly felt that way to him.

The force ignored his question and repeated its own, slower this time. “Will you return them?”

“Them?” Somehow, Yuan knew the thing spoke of the falling corpses raining down around him. “Where?”

“Above.”

Was he delirious? Or was this a test to see how he would reincarnate? A final test of karma?

“Why ask me?” Yuan pondered.

“They are yours, not mine,” the entity replied. “They died in your name.”

His name? How could all of these people have died in his name? They hadn’t died for him, or even at his hands. The one thing they had in common–

The answer came to him in a gunshot heartbeat.

He had aligned his soul to a Path, and now it seemed clear to him. He had carved its truth into his bones and spirit, and without the Gun’s corruption to cloud it in blood and darkness, he could finally see it in all of its simple glory.

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The phenomenon that gave rise to the demigods of ultraviolence wouldn’t end until humanity ceased to anoint their weapons with the blood of the dead. The Gun had been a man-made deity born of carnage, but it was only one of war’s thousand visages. The qi of the deceased sacrificed on the barrel altar would always go somewhere.

If not to the Gun… then to the one who wielded it.

“Will you guide these lost souls?” the presence asked. “Will you be their shepherd?”

“Yes,” Yuan replied without hesitation. “Yes, I will.”

Deep within himself, he knew he had spent his entire life preparing for this. Kaguya told him as much: at a hundred thresholds, facing a hundred foes, he always chose to pick up a gun and return fire.

He was born to be a gunman.

He sensed a wave of satisfaction through the void as the presence acknowledged his choice and gave him its blessing.

A gunshot echoed in his soul, and the Gunman triggered back to life.

His eyes snapped open to face the moonlight and planetary rings glittering in the starlight above. The cold desert wind blew on his metal skin and pushed away the gunsmoke breath oozing from his mouth. He felt whole, his arms ending in miniguns and cannons, his back’s thrusters waiting to fire. A smoking cannon waited to fire on his forehead. He was healed, perfected.

He was back in his Gun Demon Incarnation form, but it no longer demanded any qi from him. His soul had transcended the need for a human-shaped safety vessel. He had become what he was always meant to be.

“Yuan?”

Yuan turned his head to look at Revolver.

It was his old ally, returned from the dead, the very same Gunsoul who had given him a ride to Gatesville and saved him from Polio. The Gun’s shadows no longer obscured him, nor did its malice consume his mind with bloodlust.

He was wounded and had yet to regenerate fully, but he was alive.

Alive and free.

“Revolver,” Yuan whispered, though it was difficult to hear himself over the song of gunshots carried by the wind. He could hear them all around him from half a world away, calling out to him.

“Are you…” Revolver marked a short pause, his head tilting to the side. He had taken a few steps away from Yuan, his posture betraying both his fear and hope. “You? Or at least in there?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Yuan replied calmly, his thoughts clouded by the last breaths and gunshot prayers reaching him from across the Unmade World. “Why?”

Revolver pointed at something above his forehead. Yuan looked up to see a halo floating above his head; one formed by barrels pointing outward like a crown of guns melted together. He also suddenly noticed another telling detail.

A bullet-core pounded in his head, stronger than ever before. Qi from all across the Unmade World flowed into its smoking embrace.

“I sense the Gun’s presence inside you, but it’s… different,” Revolver whispered. “It’s… quelled. Like the safety’s on now.”

“It is. The Gun is part of me, but I’m greater now. I’m…” Yuan took a deep gunsmoke breath. The word came to him from the depths of his soul. “The Gunman.”

“I…” Revolver lowered his hands in a mix of relief and confusion. “I don’t get it. Did… did you beat the Gun? Is it over?”

“It is,” a familiar voice answered. “Your friend has mastered the Gun Path.”

Revolver’s head snapped up as Kaguya descended from the sky on her umbrella. Her sudden appearance didn’t surprise Yuan in the slightest. He had the feeling that she had been watching the battle from afar, waiting to see the resolution.

“Who the hell are you, lady?” Revolver asked in disbelief. “Did you just fly down from the moon?”

“Mayhaps,” Kaguya replied as she gracefully landed on the ground, and then immediately gave Yuan a bow. “I must applaud you for your victory, Yuan Guang. I didn’t think I would live to see this day. You have done something unheard of.” A smile stretched on her lips. “You have put an end to a demigod of ultraviolence.”

“So the crazy bastard did it,” Revolver muttered in astonishment. “You’ve killed the Gun…”

“I’ve mastered it,” Yuan corrected him. The Gun would never die so long as firearms continued to kill, but it had become part of his Path rather than the other way around.

A tool for the Gunman to wield.

“That’s insane,” Revolver said, his hand moving to scratch the back of his head. “That was the only way it could be defeated, wasn’t it? If you sacrificed your bullet-core to take it out in the name of protecting others. Giving up the strength all of us former Scraps killed to preserve.”

“What is the difference between a killer and a warrior? Between a coward who murders the weak and the hero who stands up to evil?” Kaguya asked Revolver, though she did not wait for an answer. “It is quite simple. The former kills because they have nothing to lose… and the latter fights because they have something to protect. No more no less.”

Yuan squinted at her. “Did you know this would happen?” He asked. “Was this your plan from the start?”

“Of course not,” Kaguya replied. Yuan's enhanced senses let him quickly pick up on any facial expression, and he detected no lie. In fact, she sounded almost offended by the suggestion. “But now that I saw how it all unfolded, all the twists and turns, the truth seems clear and simple: mastering a gun means being able to put it back in its holster when the work is done.”

Yuan nodded sharply and looked over the horizon. So many people out there had yet to learn that lesson, enthralled by the very power guns offered them.

“I can raise the people from the dead as Gunsouls now,” he said calmly. “I hear them calling out to me. I can choose who returns from death now. Raise warriors instead of killers.”

This made Revolver uneasy. “But what happens if a Gunsoul kills you now, Yuan?” he asked. “I mean, will they take the power and assume the mantle? Will it revive the curse and restart the whole thing all over again?”

“Who can say?” Kaguya replied with a shrug. “A book has closed, and the next tale has yet to be written. All of us are walking into unexplored territory.”

“There has to be a catch…” Revolver shook his head in disbelief. He still struggled to accept that neither of them died for the other’s sake. “It’s too good to be true.”

“I had to destroy your cruiser to save you,” Yuan pointed out.

Revolver marked a short pause, as if trying to figure out whether or not Yuan was trying to make a joke. Though he was entirely serious, his fellow Gunsoul still exploded in laughter.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta repair it and give it a good polish.” Revolver let out a sigh of contentment and sincere gratitude. “Thank you, Yuan. You did more than save my life; you saved my soul. I owe you one.”

“You saved me once,” Yuan replied with a chuckle. “What comes around goes around.”

“Don’t expect me to worship you or kiss your ass though. I ain’t the religious type.” Revolver thoughtfully studied him for a moment. “What are you gonna do now, lad?”

“I am curious to hear it too,” Kaguya said. “The Fifth Coil and the Dao are both within your reach.”

“You truly think I could become a Wayfinder?” Yuan asked. The very idea seemed so far out of reach, even with his newfound power. “Is that even possible for the likes of us?”

“What are you talking about, Yuan Guang?” She smiled at him. “You are the Gun who killed the Gun. There’s no way you’ll ever lose.”

When she put it that way…

Yuan only briefly considered the proposal before deciding against pursuing the Dao, at least for now. Power for its own sake didn’t appeal to him. He recalled Mordiggian’s words, how the world was unbuilt rather than unmade. The Gun had only been one demigod of ultraviolence among many, not to mention the likes of the Yinyang Khan and Manhattan still continued to sow misery across the Unmade World.

More than anything, he thought of Arc. She had been wrong about the Perfect Shot and would have failed to end the curse, but her teachings paved the way for Yuan’s victory. Her last request had been that he put an end to the Gun’s cohorts, and he owed it to her memory to follow through with it.

He couldn’t ascend to the heavens without cleaning up the house first.

“I’m going to make this world better,” Yuan decided. Arc had asked him to defeat the demigods of ultraviolence, and he would do so. “Put an end to tyrants and monsters both.”

“Well, lad, I’ve finished what I set out to do and never expected to live this long, so…” Revolver pumped his fist with enthusiasm. “Where you go, I’ll go.”

“Thank you,” Yuan replied, his eyes looking at the starlight horizon and the leyline flowing into the wasteland. “But first thing first…”

His thrusters lit up with power.

“We have a train to catch up to.”