Gunsoul: A Xianxia Apocalypse

Gatesville appeared in the distance.

Yuan had heard that once upon a time, endless fleets of cars sailed across stone roads called highways that stretched across half the world. Nothing but ruins remained of them now, and Gatesville happened to be built under one. Great concrete pillars as tall as hills surged from the wasteland and propped up an ancient bridge of stone.

It looked like an archway from afar. A set of gates.

The structure loomed over a shadowed slum filled with poorly constructed shacks separated by the road. Better buildings stood atop the bridge. Yuan assumed the locals lived upstairs, where they could see enemies coming and take refuge, while they conducted business with strangers in the underpass. Good. That likely meant that the town’s lookouts must have seen Slash’s warband.

However, the landmarks beyond Gatesville bothered Yuan more. Booming lightning struck a region to the southwest under a sky of golden auroras. Space had grown thin around these parts, obscuring the landscape with light refractions and elusive mirages. A multicolored, kaleidoscopic veil marked the border of these Thunderlands. Tellingly, the road ahead deviated to the north-west instead of cutting through them.

Not that the sights on the other side were any better. The grave of an old world city stretched inside a large crater along the asphalt, its toppled skyscrapers pointing to the sky like fingers reaching for the heavens. Time and dust storms had weathered their metal bones.

Something about this place rubbed Yuan the wrong way. He focused on the qi rising up from this place and carried by the wind. He immediately felt sick. The air carried poisonous dust that his own bullet-core struggled to assimilate.

This ruin was diseased.

“I heard that that city used to be inhabited four years ago,” Revolver commented on the landscape. “One of us and Czar Zoa killed each other there.”

“Czar Zoa?” The name sounded vaguely familiar to Yuan, though it didn’t take him long to recall it. “Wasn’t he a Nuclear Path cultivator?

“Indeed, he was a deadly madman with a nasty habit of blowing up any settlements he could find.” Revolver whistled to himself. “Man, that must have been a fight worth seeing.”

Yuan chuckled. “So we aren’t all bound to be killed by the Gun.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Revolver replied. “You don’t have to wait for our barreled daddy to blow your brains out.”

“When will it?” Yuan cleared his throat. “Catch up to me?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Revolver laughed. “The Gun will find you when it wants to.”

Yuan’s jaw tightened on its own. He should have known his resurrection would have strings attached, but he would never have expected to become his savior’s quarry.

Kill me… if you can. Those were the Gun’s words. Now Yuan understood their meaning. They weren’t a plea for help, but a challenge. Much like those on the Path of the Dyad sought worthy rivals to measure themselves against, the Gun sought foes worthy of killing it. Yuan was starting to suspect that the bullet sustaining his life would let his monstrous benefactor track him down when it chose to.

“Don’t beat yourself over it,” Revolver reassured Yuan. “I’ve been a Gunsoul for many years, and the Gun hasn’t seen fit to blast me back to the Nowhere yet. Live your half-life to the fullest and make the best of the time you have left.”

“Yeah,” Yuan replied. In all likelihood, he might not live long enough for the Gun to come after him anyway. Slaying Slash and his band would prove hard enough already. “Anything else I should know about Gunsouls?”

“One.” Revolver raised a finger at his helmet. “If you snort gunpowder through your nose, it’ll shoot you up better than any drug.”

Yuan blinked a few times.

“I’m kidding.” Revolver chuckled. “Or am I?”

If he weren’t trying so hard not to fall off the motorbike, Yuan would have facepalmed in annoyance. At least Jaw-Long’s puns were almost funny.

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“The marauders who attacked me were led by someone named Slash,” Yuan said, changing the subject. “Masked man, went shirtless. He led a warband of thirty with humvees. Does it ring any bells?”

“Nope,” Revolver replied, much to Yuan’s disappointment. “A warband that big though, that’s not something a two-bit thug can amass on his own. Your Slash must be a sect’s troubleshooter or on a warlord’s payroll. Yinyang Khan’s, I’d wager.”

“Yinyang Khan?” Yuan recalled Mingxia mentioning that name when she briefed the team on the Fanged Coast. The Yinyang Khan was one of the region’s mightiest warlords and a follower of the Dyad Sect, though his influence should reach as far as Fleshmarket and Gatesville.

“He’s a two-faced, covetous Dyad dickhead who loves to collect rare artifacts, so if your package was halfway precious you can bet he would want it for himself.” Revolver looked up as they passed under the overpass’ shadow. “Here we are.”

The shantytown appeared even dirtier from up close. Rusted shacks built from ransacked metal plates struggled for every inch of space in the shade. The road was paved with broken glass bottles, piled up trash, and Scraps; the human kind—Yuan could tell from the squalor in which they lived—bundled themselves in corners and looked at the newcomers with hardened suspicion. One should always keep a hand on their iron in this kind of town. Revolver alone showed no fear as he parked his power cruiser near the entrance. Who would dare mug him anyway?

“My team was supposed to refuel at a place called the Golden Gate,” Yuan informed Revolver as he climbed down the motorcycle. “Do you know its location?”

“That’s Kyung-sun’s office and a little further along the road,” Revolver replied. “You should go see her. She’ll hook you up with the right people.”

Yuan froze in place. “You’re not coming with me?”

“I’m not too popular around these parts, and I’ve got debts of my own to settle.” Revolver tipped his hat. “You were my good deed for the day.”

Yuan knew he couldn’t ask for more. Few would have given a stranger a free ride back to civilization without asking for anything in return; let alone hand him a weapon to defend himself with. Besides, Yuan had a gut feeling that they would cross paths again someday.

“Let me give you one last piece of advice before I leave.” Revolver removed his glove. The hand underneath had skin with the texture of metal, gray and strong. “This is Elemental Infusion, the most basic qi technique. It temporarily imbues your body with the element to which your core is attuned to. For us Gunsouls, it’s always metal or fire. Try it.”

Yuan tightened his fist and attempted to channel his qi through it. His only reward for his efforts was a surge of pain and a terrible ache in his finger joints.

“See the issue?” Revolver asked. “To pass the Second Coil of Infinity, you must keep cycling qi and reinforcing your body until it can support a technique. Treat your body like a blacksmith caters to his sword. Hammer the blade until it strengthens and wipe away the impurities.”

“How long does it take for us to pass through the Second Coil?” Yuan recalled that most cultivators usually spent a year of work before they reached that stage, but Gunsouls might work differently.

“It depends on your diligence, but don’t rush it. Slow and steady wins the race.” Revolver put his glove back on. “Off I go now.”

“Can you remove your helmet?” he asked Revolver. “It saddens me to miss out on my savior’s face.”

“Helmet?” Revolver leaned in closer to Yuan, his black lenses utterly impenetrable. “I wear no helmet.”

A chill traveled down Yuan’s spine as he understood the implications.

“You’re on the Path of the Gun now, Yuan. Don’t expect to look like a human once you reach the barrel’s end.” Revolver tipped his hat. “Till we meet again.”

His power cruiser rode towards the horizon with a roar. Yuan watched Revolver vanish into the dunes before turning back to face Gatesville. He was alone in a foreign land, with no money or vehicle. Not the best way to start fresh.

Yuan had a weapon though, and a core. A man could go farther in this world with these two than with kind words alone.

Yuan searched the neighborhood for the Golden Gate establishment. It proved a bit difficult to find his way through the ramshackle buildings and piles of junk, but he quickly noticed a place standing out from the rest. This particular house had cleaned metal walls lined with spirit-beasts’ fur for protection against the elements, and, most importantly, an automated gatling turret on the roof. A pack of stag-horned, scaled kirin horses waited in a pen closely guarded by Scrap guards armed with rifles. They probably belonged to a caravan company making a stop in the area.

Yuan looked up at the turret, but when it failed to gun him down where he stood he found the courage to approach closer. He noticed the name Golden Gate painted above the house’s double doors.

A small hole opened in the facade and two eyes peered through at Yuan. “Identify yourself,” a voice said on the other side. “Quickly.”

Yuan heard the automated turret click above his head. These people wouldn’t ask twice.

Yuan’s first instinct was to ask Mingxia, a thought that immediately left him heartbroken. Mingxia had been the team’s face. Her good looks and winning personality opened all kinds of doors that Yuan’s guns or Jaw-Long’s fists couldn’t. She also happened to be the one who managed their contracts, though Yuan picked up a few things.

“Yuan Guang,” he introduced himself. “I work for Eastern Express. We were supposed to refuel here.”

The eyes squinted in suspicion. “Where are your teammates? There should be three of you.”

“We got ambushed.” Yuan pointed at the bullet stuck in his forehead. “Got the mark to prove it.”

The eyes behind the hole studied Yuan for a few seconds, then disappeared into the darkness. Yuan heard whispers on the other side and then the sound of whirring gears. The doors slid open and welcomed him.

Yuan stepped through the threshold, a hand on his revolver.

He immediately sensed a gun barrel pressing against his head.