Soren Hill

He made sure Leon was safe and comfortable. There was a dark mood in his eyes. Brooding over a violently neutral frown. When the marksman stood up, his hands fell easily to the hostlers. Fingers lightly tapping the handles of his two dynamically different guns. Emotion was building up in his chest. Resentment and fury were passionately pushing him to act. His better sense barely gave any pushback. The moment felt right. The barrier mage may have accepted this result, but that didn’t mean he was undeserving of being avenged.

“Rest, my friend,” urged Soren. “Just like you wanted, we are safe under your sleeves. The remainder lies solely on our shoulders, not yours.”

The words were said to an unconscious man, yet they did seem to sleep easier.

Soren strode away, eyes hungeringly marking what beasts were left to slay. One couldn’t expect more from a beast than its nature. These demon cranes were no different. Savage and terrible, but that wasn’t unexpected from a supernaturally charged predator. Still, those feathered fiends had hurt his friend. The marksman wasn’t going to let that stand.

Two demon cranes still lived. One was a collection of wounds and burns. An impressive display of this species’s resilience. The other was in perfect condition, having held back watchfully. There was intelligence to this one. Ruthlessly sacrificing its own for the understanding of something new. Soren grinned humorlessly. Another crime to lay upon the feathered fiend. More reason to slay the creatures, easy justifications. All calling and asking for him to make a stand. For his friends.

His target stood in a blaze of red malevolence. Like a candle wick aflame.

Before that evil brilliance, the Sixty faltered. Melee fighters balked, forced back by the stinging red menace. Spells fizzled before touching the monsters and the drained arrows simply deflected off the mangy feathers.

This was the moment.

Soren had been preparing to be useful, and how could there be a better one to show his colors? Had he not paid the prices? The marksman had even apprenticed himself to the devilish fox. No matter how useful the training, it was an experience that felt at times only second to hell itself. Her tauntings would linger in his nightmares for years to come. Laughter and a whip.

The marksman rolled his shoulders, easing both guns in the holster with the gesture. Plans rapidly passed through Soren’s mind. A thousand drills and real-life experiences dumped into the mix, from the old world to the past month and a half. Intuition filtered while logic refined. He settled on the right groove. The steps to the plan were like dominos falling rather than a series of hands trying to act as pipes to water. Inevitable, not a thin line of order dependent on chaos.

He called to his team. A whisper of need without words. Just a pull on the strings of karma that bound them. His efforts to gain something of note had borne fruit. Between his own desperate need and the pressure of Clarissa’s attention, Soren had finally tapped into a few aspects of his potential. The communication between his teams was simple. More instinctual than something constructive. It had neither the groupthink of Zariah’s talent nor the innate command of Malachi’s silver Mana. This was a connection of deepness.

A sharing of water. Many become one.

So that when Soren asked they came as if already expecting to be there. With Leon acting the anchor to the dome, his party had scattered to the four corners of the protective firment. Each doing their best to aid the defense. Now their leader called for a switch to offense. He stood in the center of a karmic whirlpool that directed them to his side.

There was a pause as the party shared a look. Emotions and understanding passing between them. Even Franciso Fox came, though his connection was weakest. Only an occasional member of the team. Soren pulled his guns free, but kept them pointed down. His Mana began to pour into both. A growing storm in one hand and six glowing spots on the fire iron gripped in the other.

He whispered the plan, it was loud and clear in their heads.

Grins from some, serious nods from others. Then as one, the party marched forward again. Charlotte Scott led the way with her shield. Dorothy Roth and Francisco prowled on either side while Carlo Valencia followed like a cold front. Their eyes tracked the inflamed demon crane. Though it darted about the battlefield to spread the red curse, the party never deviated from walking straight forward. A certainty to their foreboding steps.

Red light clashed with red light. Two shades that were more distinct as they clashed. Soren walked in a halo of destruction against a radiance of suffering. Perhaps sensing their intent, the space between them and the barrier had become an empty corridor. Supporters and defenders passing around them like water.

Sparks flickered across Leon’s barrier, the cursed aura failing to breach their sanctuary. It didn’t slow the party’s departure. Though they flinched at the digging sting, Soren was proud to see each of them clench their jaws and moved forward. Unstoppable.

In his mind’s eye, Soren saw himself strolling with his posse. Warriors of the law striding to the big showdown. The romance of the moment pleased him.

The peace of their determination was shattered as a gurgling screech rolled out from the scarred demon crane. It stormed forward, beak clacking with the intent of snapping a few limps off. The marksman raised the magic gun towards it while holding the bigger bird in his sight. His team shifted out of the way. This damaged monster was only a sideshow. A momentary nuance. Red and black energy crackled within the brimming orb. The light crashed inwards, becoming a point of defiant illumination. It shot down the barrel of the magic gun. Exploding outwards just short of the charging monster. A wave of pure kinetic force slammed into the demon crane, lifted and tossed it away. A tilt of the head was enough to send Francisco and Dorothy rushing after the squawking tumbleweed. Soren continued his march.

His hellish tutelage under Clarissa had many positive outcomes. The biggest effect was the breaking of many of his mental blocks. Disintegration of assumptions, breakdowns of limitations, and the reinforcement of the infinite possibilities. A gun didn’t have to fire only bullets or lasers. Mana not only elongated the options of those basic uses, but allowed one to expand to new effects. Soren had been stuck on seeing a gun as only a gun. The ivory gun was far more diverse in use than he was allowing. It wasn’t just the laser gun of his first impression.

Soren had been stuck in old world thinking. A truth that stung deeply. He had often prided himself on accepting new realities and being undaunted by the range of possibilities. The Pit had made him feel old in a way nothing had before, a feeling that was particularly weird with his younger body. It had taken the woman with a fox’s grin to release those chains. Once his eyes were open, new ideas rushed forward to be conceived. It felt like they had been waiting for him to catch up.

With an improved bag of tricks, the marksman felt little fear standing before the mightiest demon crane. It had approached just as they did. Two magnets pulling together. The avian monster stared down from within its malevolent halo, the beak sharp and the eyes unrelenting. He felt his remaining party members hesitate in the shadow of the beast.

Soren didn’t.

The magic gun was still charging, so the revolver raised with a snap. A roil of red electricity ran up his air into the steel gun. The chambered round flashed, the glow coming to life. His eyes scoured the demon crane with a quick flick. Seeing the straining in the neck as the bird lifted its head for an opening attack.

Power shot, thought Soren as he pulled the trigger. The initial sound was like every revolver before it. The bullet itself was a high-pitched siren streaking across the distance. A speck of red that seemed almost lost in the cursed aura it traveled through. On impact, there was an explosion. Flesh and feathers rippled first and then tore apart. A forcefully bent neck threw the bird’s head wildly, causing it to stumble to stay standing. Stopped the attack cold. The impact zone was raw and bleeding.

Its glare focused on the marksman and he grinned back.

Holding onto the initiative, Soren fired off four rounds in quick session. Allowing the normal shots to do the talking as he narrowed his focus for the last. It was a spread, hitting joints to stun. His eyes began to sting as Mana flowed to activate a new talent. The world flashed several times as if Soren was taking photos and x-rays. Heat burst outwards as well. It was a scan that reached out and gave him insight. The information gleamed layered over what he was seeing. Showing the internals of the demon crane and more.

The marksman aimed the last bullet for the heart, angling himself and the gun to pass easily through the flesh. He was locked in when the counterattack came. The huge slender beak was rocketing towards him, the demon crane proving tougher than expectations. Soren didn’t flinch or dodge. His faith was unwavering.

Piercing shot, he thought. A red line raced past the incoming black beck.

Dorothy raised her shield, the force of the tank’s body behind the swing. The beak was too big to block, but she aimed it perfectly. Mana burst into a thick barrier that flashed to deflect. Red curse flared against clear protection. The attack drilled into the ground just short of the party, successfully redirected. Dirt detonated and she was thrown out of Soren’s sight as his hair rustled in the monster-made wind.

Worry bloomed and was subsumed as he watched the last bullet. A streak of his Mana was barely visible in the waves of cursed aura. Then feathers erupted into the air at a muted sound. Dark blood splattered and the avian monster moaned, but it didn’t waver. He could feel where the bullet faltered. Enough power had been bled off by the aura.

Soren growled, but didn’t waste time. Dodged the beak whipping out of the ground at him and prepared the next attempt. The stinging of his skin had become a burning sensation. There was a clock ticking. It was impossible to tell in the glare, but the irritation of his skin had likely turned to a wet angry red. His stomach was certainly sloshing unpleasantly. Too long in the red curse and he would need to retreat. The weakness gathering in his limbs was the ticking of his limit.

“Carlo, Hell Blizzard,” called out the marksman as he flicked open the revolver to spill out the cartridges. Reloading one-handed with the bandolier under his coat, fingers moving fast and dexterously. The other hand was busy charging and was almost ready. Soren looked up at the ice mage and frowned. Blue light pushed slowly, gallantly against the curse. Progress, bitterly taken. Yet, Carlo looked sickly, uneasy on their feet. He felt the need to add, “And then retreat. I’ll take it from there.”

His teammate looked startled, but a confident nod steeled both their spines. The curse was no doubt the bigger encouragement. It itched and stung at you, digging in like creeping hot wires. Soren breathed out slowly to push his awareness of the curse to the edge of thought.

Cold air rushed out from Carlo, a momentary relief on their burning skin. Frost rapidly grew thickly on the ground in the direction of the demon crane. A domain spell to set the stage. From the reloaded revolver, the marksmen fired distracting shots. Buying time with loud and dazzling shots. Mana in the air shuttered as the ice mage’s eyes went blue and his voice wintery.

“Winter Howls Coldly,

Icy Fangs Descend,

Blood Freezes Dead,

Blizzard’s Due!”

A storm of ice spun to life. Feeding off the frost and cold air it grew immensely and immediately. Like a snarling predator, the spell circled the demon crane, shards of ice testing. The monster lashed out at the freezing presence. Talons and beak found nothing but air. Around and around the summon blizzard prowled until the shape of wolves formed in the icy clouds. Grins of fanged hunger flashed as the pack ran. The blizzard collapsed on the bird, and the storm growled like a wolf.

Howls and screams as the monster battled against conjured nature.

The strength of the red glare flickered as the struggle lingered. Its range fluctuated as the demon crane tried to concentrate the curse. Their clash began to burn each other out. Carlo’s knees were beginning to shake. Soren knew it was almost time and watched very carefully for the next moment. He reloaded again and pushed the magic gun to full charge. The air crackled around him.

With one last duel moan, the storm died and the mage retreated.

He dashed forward. Ice like the last snowfall fluttered down in a circle around the demon crane. It was covered in frost and ragged. The aura pushed out, but faltered at only half the previous distance. Soren didn’t hesitate to dive back into the malevolent energy. His skin screamed in pain after the momentary peace. Unable to bear the sudden spike in agony, the marksman cried out in pain. There were welts breaking open to trickle blood. He didn’t stop. Closing in on the feathered fiend as its attention zeroed in on him.

The beak snapped at him. The bus-length peak missed him by inches as Soren used the melting frost to slide out of the way. Slipping back to his feet without losing momentum. Instead of just pulling back the neck, the avian monster created wings and flapped a lunge backward. It rained down peaks as the demon crane hovered above. He dipped and ducked, losing the distance gained as the bird landed further away.

A grimace for a caw that was almost a laugh.

Calculations ran through his head as the marksman ran the timings down. Everything came down to reloading one more time in the thick of it. He cursed and charged again. The demon crane let off a rattling clack as it mirrored the man.

The revolver raised and Soren thought, Distraction shots, maximum.

One, two, three shots fired. Streaks of red with flakes of black, sparks spraying. Before the bird’s eyes, they exploded. Great booming explosions that rapidly crackled sharply at the end. A pause and then three more smaller explosions for each big one. Dazzling as fireworks. The demon crane screeched and flinched. Talons scuttling to escape the point-blank discharge of sound, light, and heat. The marksman just ran, counting the seconds.

In his lower hand, the magic gun began to glow as he overcharged it. The revolver shot twice more as he drew closer. An intentional pause between the two. Exploding again with a boom and a crackle. The first stunned the avian as the shot went off close to the eye, but that set off a jerk that made the second explode to the side. It caused the demon crane to flinch toward the racing marksmen. Their eyes locked for a moment.

Last shot, the revolver twitched up protectively. “Heavy shot!”

A thick bolt of red and black power pummeled into the side of the bird’s head. Feathers fluffed and there was a jagged crack. The neck wriggled with pain, the head lashing about in the air. Hopefully losing sight of the marksman as it cried out. He kept running regardless.

Soren skidded to a stop beneath the demon crane, but stayed tightly wound. He had a second to choose, go for the legs or for center mass. There were serious doubts about his laser effectively damaging the metal bones. Yet this wasn’t the time for doubts. The magic gun flipped upwards, the marksman was certain that at least this would hurt.

Getting close had been necessary. When overcharged, keeping a stable beam was impossible. The obvious result of that being that the range suffered. The power tried to escape all at once in a great surge, too rabid to spread out to be condensed. A wonderful effect for close range, though. Which was why Soren had fought to be directly under the demon crane. His face had begun to crack and bleed, but Soren grinned as he pulled the trigger.

Red light, black lightning, and a silence that became an overwhelmingly sharp, rumbling sound. Everything disappeared as a small beam appeared to show the path to travel and then a pillar of power rose after. Blanketing his world in warm light.

Everything came back to him after a pleasant moment of being surrounded by his own Mana. The demon crane had stumbled away to lean against a tree. A bleeding gape ran through the monster, belly to back. Its cursed aura was gone. The glare was just visible within the great wound. Contained within to perhaps act as an aid somehow.

Almost over, thought Soren. Gotta moving a little bit more, end the damn thing. He breathed deeply and took stock. The first thing to notice was that the marksman was covered in blood and feathers. Detritus from his full-blast attack having obviously drenched him. A nuance, but not a problem. His magic gun was the second. It was fine, but to him, the ivory weapon looked tired. He holstered it, time for a rest.

The third was, of course, time to reload.

He popped the chamber and spun the cartridges free. There was some trouble with the bullets. Several slipped through his bloody fingers even with two hands. Soren wasted a few seconds wiping them clean on his pants before finishing the job. With a jerk of the hand, the chamber was closed. All ready, he briefly wished for a second revolver. Something else to have on hand.

Perhaps in a shoulder holster, he thought absently. I’ll talk to Valerie about etching another gun out for me. Or two… Maybe three. Got space on my ankle, back, and um… my lower back…

The grocery list reflection came to an end as the marksman halted before the bleeding bird. It looked at him haughtily, but with some fear now. He raised the gun, six red glows ready. The monster lashed out weakly. Unable to leave the tree trunk, the neck snapped out like a snake. As the avian attacked and Soren weaved, the red glare in the wound dimmed. Faltered until blood began to gush freely.

When the demon crane had slowed down enough, Soren fired six times. One power shot after another slammed through the eye of the beast. Its strength waned too far to dodge much. Only two missed. They slumped to the ground together, the dead and the exhausted.

The marksman laughed. For victory, and to release pent-up fear.