Chapter 81: God Loves, Guns Kill
The Gun manifested in its full parody of divine glory.
A Recoil Shockwave of immense power erupted from it with the sound of a heavenly gunshot. The building on which the Gun once stood was instantly vaporized beneath its feet. The explosion swept away the entire city block, sending tons of dust and concrete projectiles flying across the ruins.
Yuan hastily formed a Barrier to protect himself from both the blast and debris. He sensed oily blood drip through the armored parts protecting his bullet-core and down his forehead. The heart of his being pounded in blessed agony and filled his brain with a pain as intense as it was ecstatic. Every fiber of his sutra circuits brimmed with both awe and anticipation at the coming of its Path incarnate.
The clouded sky had turned bloody crimson, its rain of bullets carrying the stench of industrialized death and gunpowder. Gunshot thunder announced the coming of a demigod of ultraviolence.
The Gun descended from the heavens as a colossal nightmare forged in steel and malice.
It had grown to titanic size—at least twenty meters—and transformed into a monstrous mechanical abomination. Armored legs dangled from a trigger-shaped chest equipped with a gnashing, hungry maw of serrated artillery shell teeth. Its left arm ended in a metallic gauntlet with claws, and its right boasted a massive cannon the length of Orient. Dozens of smoking rifle barrels sprouted out of its back in the form of twisted wings.
But it was the head that intimidated Yuan the most. The Gun’s faceless helm, adorned with razor-sharp golden spikes, gave the impression of a crown of thorns worn by a king of death. The contraption thrummed with malevolent energy, and nothing remained of Revolver’s visage.
A ghostly halo of black smoke floated above the helmet. Countless visages and ghoulish skulls reflected on its surface, screaming and crying. Yuan would have hardly paid it any attention, until he caught a glimpse of the Khan’s face among them. He saw flashes of Gayak, Slash, and countless other souls. They were echoes of the past; the last screaming faces of everyone who had ever died from a firearm.
And should Yuan falter today, his own visage would join that legion of the dead.