My Invincible Defense: Traversing the Endless Worlds

Shelley Bar.

Copper chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their dim yellow light flickering weakly. The sharp, stinging stench of cheap booze filled the air, mixing with the constant clink of tin mugs and glassware.

In the bar’s shadowy corners, women with heavy makeup and skimpy outfits sat with legs crossed, smoking cigarettes while they waited for customers. Packets of hallucinogens were torn open and mixed into drinks; some people downed them in one gulp, then twisted and writhed wildly under the lights, even fucking right there in the open without a care for anyone watching…

Sector Commander Terry leaned against the bar. A tall stemmed glass rested in his left hand, a cigarette pinched between the fingers of his right. He took a slow drag and blew out thin trails of smoke. “Finally, I can take a breather. Let the gangs finish beating each other to shit first, then we’ll head out and clean up whatever’s left.”

Beside him stood a bald, muscular giant with his arms folded across his chest. His body was massive and powerful, every muscle corded and bulging like forged steel.

The big man’s name was Rex Donovan—a mutant, wilderness hunter, and the only Tier 4 Vanguard in all of West 7 Sector. His nickname was “Heart Doctor.”

Rex gave Terry a sidelong glance. “Old friend, you really know how to take it easy. Hasn’t the new Operations Commander been pushing you to get to work?”

“That meddling bitch,” Terry snarled, two thick streams of smoke shooting from his nostrils. “She doesn’t know a damn thing. If I hadn’t spoken up for her, the gangs would’ve chopped her head off and used it as a soccer ball ages ago. And she still thinks she can order me around?”

Rex clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Easy there. Forget that for a second—she’s actually hot as hell. Compared to the rotten meat in this bar, she’s pretty and clean. When are you gonna let me take her for a spin?”

“Don’t joke around. You know who her father is, right?” Terry sneered and shook his head.

“She’s not even his real daughter. Anyway, I heard some out-of-town punk scared the shit out of you lately?” Rex asked. He stroked the glass in his hand, his thumbnail carving a deep scratch down the side.

Terry was about to reply when a hoarse voice suddenly rang out from the bar doorway. “‘Heart Doctor’ Rex Donovan! I’m here to duel you!”

The noisy chatter in the bar cut off instantly. Everyone turned toward the entrance. A tall, lean figure stood there, blocking the light from outside and casting a long, thin shadow across the floor.

He wore a gray leather cowboy hat, a bandolier slung over his shoulder, a printed bandana tucked into his chest, and two oversized revolvers hanging low on each hip. Beneath the brim of the hat, a pair of piercing blue eyes gleamed sharp as a hawk’s.

Rex cracked his neck and stretched his thick arms, the steel-hard lines of muscle shifting across his body. “Who the hell are you?”

“You killed my little brother in the wasteland over a single mutated bison. I’m here to claim your life,” the cowboy snarled.

The drinkers and hookers nearby all took a few steps back. A couple of sharp-eyed patrons recognized the man and let out low gasps, whispering among themselves:

“‘Sharpshooter’ Mason Kane! Fourth boss of the Cowboy Gang! The guy who runs the gangs in South 2 Sector!”

“I heard he’s only Tier 3 Vanguard.”

“Last time the Security Force ran a cleanup op, he charged into the South District Refuge Security Force headquarters alone and gunned down five Tier 3 Vanguards. And you’re telling me he’s Tier 3?!”

“He’s in our West 7 Sector? How’d he get here?”

Rex thought for a second, then grinned wide. “Oh, I remember now. Yesterday out in the dunes, I butchered some short little fucker in a cowboy hat. He said if I killed him, his big brother wouldn’t let me off the hook.”

He stuck out his blood-red tongue and licked his lips, clearly savoring the memory. “His heart roasted over charcoal and seasoned with mutant bison blood—tasted damn good. The flavor lingered forever.”

Mason’s expression darkened beneath his cowboy hat.

“I accept the duel,” Rex said casually, completely at ease. “After all, I ate your little brother’s heart. Let’s do this by your cowboy rules.”

“Where do you want to do this?”

“Right here’s fine. I’ll be washing down my next drink with your heart soon enough. No need to walk far.”

“Hmph. By the time your head explodes, you won’t need any booze.” Mason spread his legs wide, planting himself firmly on the ground, his hands slowly sliding down to the two oversized revolvers on his hips.

The patrons around them panicked, shoving and elbowing each other to get clear. Quite a few had already drawn their guns, eyes wide and alert. This was a duel between a Tier 4 Vanguard wasteland hunter and a suspected Tier 4 gang boss! When it kicked off, the whole bar was going to get caught in the crossfire.

Bang!

A sudden gunshot rang out from outside the bar, but nobody inside paid it any mind. Every eye was locked on the duel about to explode.

Mason gripped the handles of the revolvers at his waist and said in a low, heavy voice, “Count to three. Duel starts.”

Rex’s gaze sharpened in an instant, his pupils shrinking into vertical slits like a savage crocodile about to strike. He blinked once, and an iron-gray nictitating membrane slid over his eyes, tough as unbreakable steel.

At the same time, scale patterns rippled across his entire body. Bronze-colored scales slowly formed, ready to cover him from head to toe.

Mutant—Iron-Scale Giant Crocodile! In about three seconds, Rex’s whole body would be wrapped in armored scales.

“One,” Mason started counting.

“Two.”

The second the word left his mouth, he drew both guns with lightning speed!

BANG! BANG! Two deafening gunshots cracked out. Bright muzzle flashes erupted from the black barrels as armor-piercing rounds screamed forward!

One bullet slammed dead-center into Rex’s still-unscaled forehead! It didn’t punch through his skull—it lodged right there! The second bullet smashed into the first, driving the armor-piercing tip deeper!

Rex’s head merely jerked back slightly. Then he kept walking toward Mason, calm and unhurried, as if taking a casual stroll.

Mason’s face stayed ice-cold and steady. He raised both revolvers high, his trigger finger never stopping, hammering one armor-piercing round after another straight at Rex.

Gunshots thundered through the bar. Rex lifted a fully scaled hand and casually blocked one of the bullets. Sparks exploded across his iron-scaled palm.

More bullets came in from sharp, unpredictable angles, each one striking the armor-piercing round already lodged in Rex’s forehead.

Each impact drove the previous round deeper into his skull. In the blink of an eye, dozens of shots had slammed into Rex’s forehead—at least seven or eight armor-piercing rounds were now embedded deep in his braincase!

But Rex kept moving forward, his pace picking up faster and faster. He suddenly burst into a charge, like a giant crocodile lunging from the water to seize its prey. His massive iron-scaled frame slammed straight toward Mason!

Mason backpedaled fast, retreating toward the bar entrance while firing nonstop. Even while retreating, every shot from his revolvers landed with perfect accuracy, striking the rounds already lodged in Rex’s forehead.

In the blink of an eye, five more bullets sank into Rex’s skull.

Mason’s revolvers clicked empty, but Rex didn’t slow down one bit. Still, he clapped one hand over his forehead to stop any more rounds from driving deeper into his brain.

For the first time, panic cracked across Mason’s calm face. He tossed the revolvers aside and yanked a gold-plated pistol from inside his coat.

The gold-plated gun gleamed with the emblem of Radiant Path.

He raised the pistol and pulled the trigger.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The magazine emptied in a heartbeat. Three glowing blue bullets screamed from the barrel, spiraling through the air and smashing straight through the scales on Rex’s chest. Shards of bronze-colored scale exploded outward in every direction.

“Relic Marrow Bullets really do work!”

Mason felt a surge of delight. He backed out of the bar, putting distance between himself and Rex. Then he glanced around—his own man lay sprawled on the ground, a bloody hole drilled through his forehead, blood soaking into the dirt.

And his favorite flashy red off-road bike was nowhere in sight.

“Fuck! Is security always this shitty here?” Mason roared.