Gunsoul: A Xianxia Apocalypse

Chapter 75: Aiming for the End



Yuan,

If you’re the one reading this, then I’m likely dead and you somehow pulled through. I can only think of a few scenarios with this outcome, and I hope it’s the one where you managed to recover the cube. If you haven’t… well, you better get off your ass and snatch it. That thing has to go.

I won’t bore you with sentimentalities. Hardly a month passed since you all but forced your way under my wing. That’s not long enough for friendship, but… maybe enough for respect. I guess that’s why I decided to leave you this message, and my hope.

I barely remember my first life, before the bullet I put in my own chest to spare myself a long agony by radiation poisoning dragged me out of the Nowhere. I’ve spent more time as a Gunsoul than a Scrap. I guess that like you, my days as a human were just the trigger for my true cursed existence as a weapon.

I slew the nuclear cultivator who killed me first a long time ago; besides a brief rush of satisfaction, I can’t say it made my life any better. I haven’t met a Gunsoul who found long-term fulfillment in inflicting payback on their murderer, and something tells me you won’t be any different. Yeah, maybe we made the world a better place… but once we’ve fulfilled the purpose of our existence, what’s left for us, besides the mountains of corpses we piled up to reach the summit?

Nothing.

I suppose that’s why I threw myself at the Dragon Sage’s Perfect Shot prophecy. Ending the cycle of the Gun gave me a new purpose once I’d lost the original. But that mountain was too high for me to climb. I’d lost Jim and so many others in a fruitless war while the bullets kept flying.

It’s why I hate the Gun. It plants seeds of violence, promises us a false hope, and then, once we’ve sown enough carnage and bloomed into murderous flowers, it comes to pluck us. Even when we use our powers for good, our acts only encourage others to pick up more guns and fuel that evil thing’s immortality. I think that’s why it preserves itself by moving from one host to another. Violence begets violence.

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