Gunsoul

They left the station by sundown.

An army of cats sang a symphony on their way out. Yuan would have expected this to result in a terrible cacophony, but their caretaker spirit had drilled them to musical perfection. They all purred and meowed in unison. As for Mordiggian and the few passengers who elected to become his future meal, they simply waved them off.

“Goodbye, goodbye!” Lady Tama shouted as the spirit-train left the station. “See you at the next station, yes, yes!”

“Goodbye, Lady Tama!” Orient waved back from the locomotive window, her words echoed by gunfire. Bucket and the others thought it wise to waste some spare ammo on their departure, which slightly annoyed Yuan. Creating bullets consumed qi, and he was loath to use more than he should.

Nonetheless, they managed to reach Headshot Forge without encountering the plastic men and picked up Arc easily enough. True to her word, she agreed to set up shop in the Fire Car if it managed to suppress her Authority.

“Is it working?” Yuan asked his mentor once she set foot inside her allocated space. Headshot Forge began to overlay with the temple structure the moment Arc set foot inside, with the air smelling of gunpowder and the pillars supporting the roof taking on the shape of rifle barrels. The changes were noticeable, but nowhere near as spectacular as Yuan would have expected.

“Sort of,” Arc replied with a shrug. “It’s less comfortable for me than when I sit on a leyline directly and I could break out easily if I tried.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then it’s manageable, though any breach in the design will cause my Authority to go haywire again. Sucks for anyone entering too. I don’t think I can stop myself from attacking Scraps.”

“Orient set up a secondary hallway that goes around the seal,” Yuan explained. “We’ll restrict access to this car too.”

“Good. I don’t like company.” Arc approached one of the few windows and studied it. “Is this insulated glazing and plexiglas?”

“Can’t tell,” Yuan replied. “Holster and Orient built this place.”

“A smart design choice. You’ve built quite the moving fortress for yourself.” The wasteland beyond the window remained untouched by Arc’s Authority, which seemed to please her. “Why did you come back?”

Yuan shrugged his iron shoulders. “I’ve decided to stick to the Gun Path.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Arc snickered in disdain. She clearly didn’t support his choice. “What I can’t decide is whether you decided to do that out of stupidity or ambition.”

“Neither. I’m what I am, that’s all.” Her skepticism washed over Yuan like water on the eternal shore. “I want to free Revolver from his curse, and sticking to my guns is the only way to do it.”

“So you’ve fallen for that Perfect Shot fairytale too?” Arc shook her head. “You’re going to waste your half-life the same way I did. Better Gunsouls than us have tried and failed to defeat the Gun.”

“Maybe I’ll succeed where they couldn’t, maybe not. Can’t know until I try, and someone has to.”

“For what? To help another condemned soul rest in peace by taking on their burden?” Although Arc continued to face the window, Yuan sensed her attention focusing on the revolver on his belt. “Did that man mean that much to you?”

“I owe him my life, but I would have stuck to the Gun Path even if I didn’t.” Yuan took a deep breath. “I’ve met someone who lived through the Unmaking. He told me the world wasn’t unmade, but unbuilt.”

Arc snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“I thought the same at first,” Yuan replied. “But now I think there’s some truth to it.”

“Look out the window.” Arc waved a hand at the endless desert and barren rocks. “What can you build on this grave? You can hardly put up a wall before some sect or demon demigod knocks it down.”

“Not if we stop them.” Yuan ignored Arc’s mocking grunt. “Ever heard of Gatesville?”

“No.”

“Figured,” Yuan replied. “It’s a town within an hour’s ride from the irradiated city where you and Czar Zoa duked it out years ago. A small settlement full of homeless, drunks, and down-their-luck couriers who raised their village over a highway’s ruins. Nothing to write home about.”

Arc bristled. “What’s your point?”

“It’s not a good place, but it still stands,” Yuan replied. “If you hadn’t stopped Zoa, then Gatesville would be a radioactive crater by now. None of its inhabitants would be alive without you.”

Arc scoffed. “What good did it do, letting them waste away for a few more years?”

“The same thing that keeps us up each morning, I suppose,” Yuan replied. “The hope that tomorrow will be better than today.”

Living one more day was a victory in itself in the Unmade World. Mordiggian’s words about the world being unbuilt also resonated with Yuan. So did Revolver’s desire to take out the trash that infested it, and then Orient’s quest to provide a home to her passengers.

So why couldn’t Yuan leave the world in a better place than he found it?

“You made a difference, a good one,” Yuan told his mentor. “I want to do the same, and… I think you do too.”

Arc turned her head at her student. She studied him for a moment without a word, until her lips curved a little.

Yuan had rarely seen Arc smile, and when she did, her lips always carried a mocking edge. Her student’s successes hardly managed to do more than bemuse her. Yet this time, her smile betrayed another emotion; something he would expect from Orient and Holster rather than from his cynical mentor.

Fondness.

It shook him to his core. “Arc?”

“Something’s changed about you,” she said softly. “You know what you really want now.”

“Yeah. I think I do.” A picture of Holster and Orient smiling crossed his mind. “I don’t care about the world, but I like some of the people that live in it. I want to protect them and ensure they’re happy.”

He wasn’t scared of caring anymore.

“You can’t guarantee that.” Arc’s smile faded away. “This world will disappoint you again and again. I hope you understand that.”

“I’m fine with it,” Yuan replied. “I’ve chosen to stick to my guns to the bitter end.”

“Bitter it’ll be, yeah, but I respect your resolve.” Arc sat in the middle of the room and adopted a meditation pose. “I’ll keep teaching you.”

“Thank you.” Yuan sat in front of her. “Before we continue our lessons, have you heard of the History Road?”

“No.” Arc scowled. “I’ve got the feeling I won’t like what I’m about to hear.”

“Probably not.”

Yuan recounted what Mordiggian and Kaguya told him. Mentioning Reactor Al drew a snicker of disbelief from Arc, though she listened to everything else in grim silence. Having nearly died fighting a nuclear cultivator, the thought of their patron demigod escaping its prison didn’t please her in the slightest.

Once Yuan had finished his explanation, Arc snapped her fingers and materialized a cigarette with Item Materialization. It set itself alight the moment she stuffed it in her mouth.

“Divide and conquer, eh?” Arc muttered to herself. “That’s quite the power move from that tinpot Khan, getting sects to fight each other for his favor.”

“And Manhattan will try to steal the cube at the first opportunity.”

“The Moonlighters too. It’s their ways, pulling strings to keep their dirty hands clean.” Arc exhaled a cloud of smoke. For once, she seemed to seriously care. “We can’t leave that cube in anybody’s hands, you understand? That thing is death-in-a-box. We’ve got to bury that thing somewhere no one will ever find it again.”

“Agreed.” Yuan had no idea how to truly dispose of the cube, but they would cross that bridge once they reached it. “Winning the competition seems to be our best shot at gaining an audience with the Khan and recovering the cube. Do you think we could take him down together?”

Arc scowled. “Maybe? I would tell you to dig his ditch a few years back, but I’ve heard that the Khan has an Authority and I’m past my prime. Not sure we've got this in the bag even if we team up against him.” She pressed the cigarette on her lips. “Manhattan is gonna be a pain in the ass too. If you’re serious about getting the cube out of his hands and fulfill your vow, I’ll have to work you to the bone.”

A proposal that Yuan eagerly accepted. “I’ve been cycling relentlessly since our last meeting,” he said. “Is my iron flesh ready to use an innate technique?”

“Almost. Your body has become a…” Arc searched her word for a moment. “I guess you could say a base template. Engraving an innate technique and crossing the Fourth Coil means that you must customize it in a way unique to your chosen Path.”

Yuan shivered upon recalling Gayak’s hideous transformation. “Like by growing new organs?”

“That’s the Flesh Mansion Path,” Arc replied. “In our case, we must align our core and body with a specific type of firearm. I vibe with sniper rifles, and your Revolver pal… Well, you can guess his pick from the name.”

A weapon he affectionated the most? Yuan could think of one possibility. “I feel most at home with handguns, but I’m fine using any kind of firearm. I’ll take whatever works.”

“Odd. Remind me how your reflection looked when you braved the moonburns?”

“A demon with a gun barrel for a face,” Yuan replied, which sent shivers down his spine. Now that he thought of it, his soul reflected the Gun in many ways. “With skulls on the chest, a minigun for a hand, and a blazing cannon for another.”

Arc thoughtfully pondered his description in silence, inhaling and exhaling smoke. “You’re closer to the Gun than most of us.”

Somehow, she didn’t make it sound like a good thing. “What does that mean?”

“That war is hell.” Arc scrammed her cigarette against the floor; something that would likely annoy Orient. “From what I hear, I don’t think you have an association with any particular firearm. Your soul aligns with a more abstract concept.”

Yuan already knew what, deep within himself. “Bullet Hell.”

“Yeah,” Arc replied with a sharp nod. “I think I understand now why you pick up combat techniques so quickly, and why you struggle with spirit botany. Your soul thrives on strife. Deep down, you see yourself as a gun-blazing demon battling its way through a warlike hell. Fighting isn’t a means to an end to you; it’s your natural state.”

“I don’t fight for its own sake,” Yuan argued. He wasn’t like the Gun. “I’ve only killed to defend myself or others.”

“Mmm, I suppose I misjudged it. Battle without purpose is mindless carnage. Bullet Hell… Bullet Hell…” Arc’s head perked up in realization. “Ah, I get it.”

“Get what?”

“Real demons don’t foster evil on Earth,” Arc explained. “They punish the wicked in Hell. That’s what your soul sees itself as.”

The idea appealed to Yuan. Come to think of it, the first time he took up arms for another was when he slaughtered the slavers holding Holster. “Are there good demons in the world?”

“They serve a purpose, same as caretaker spirits.” Arc nodded to herself again, as if reaching a decision. “Okay, I know which Gun Path innate technique we’re going to engrave into your core and flesh.”

Her lips stretched into a sinister smirk.

“Gun Demon Incarnation.”