Firstborn of the Frontier

I changed my mind again. Melee combat is stupid.

Three seconds of rolling around in the dirt is all it takes to do away with any and all interest I might've garnered over these last few weeks, because hand-to-hand ain't as glamourous as it looks. Still set on looking for a trainer soon as I get home, because I hate feeling so helpless and out of my depth as I fight for my life against a man with a knife who's come closer to killing me than anyone I ever met. Ow Tian even got a good chance of finishing the job, because I'm feeling mighty weak as I hold up the weight of the world to keep that knife from plunging down into my chest.

Worst part is? I can't really hate him for this. Nor do I think he actually hates me, not really. There's no rage or hatred in his eyes as he clenches his jaw tight and goes red in the face with the effort of inching that knife closer and closer towards me, only conviction and determination. I am the man who killed his daddy, and he's fixing to kill me for it. That's what his eyes tell me, and his righteous resolve empowers him to give a hundred and twenty percent while I grow weaker and weaker beneath him.

This ain't to say I think I'm in the wrong and am ready to roll over and die. All's I'm saying is that I understand his motivations and can't fault him for it. He planned this out well too, went for my blind spot and got my left hand pinned flat to the ground by the wrist, leaving me no leverage to fight my way free and grab a gun, knife, or hatchet to defend myself with. Can't even use Primal Savagery to sharpen my nails, because even if I did, I don't got the leverage to really dig in and scratch him. To make matters worse, his initial strike cut clean through some important bits in my prosthetic, and while the fingers seem to be doing a good job clamping down on his knife and hand, the blade's done enough damage to the palm to keep me from summoning up my Wildshaped Hand. The prosthetic is my Totem after all, a vital and necessary Material Component to call forth the Spirit of my severed hand, and now that it's been damaged, my ghost hand ain't answering my calls which means I'm stuck with the basic tech and nothing else.

Can't even Misty Step out from under him since I got no Aether left in the tank, though given our relative positions, I'm pretty sure I'd just drag him along for the ride and really scrape up my back in the process.

The only upside here is I got my knee between me and him to prop him up, else I'd have long since long lost out if I had to hold the whole weight of his body with only the one arm. Even then, I'm trembling with effort and watching the Magicked blade move every closer towards me, one that cut through leather, wood, and brass like butter and has me real worried about what it can do to Darksteel. When Tina told me Ow Tian cut clean through both barrels of her 1911's, I figured that was just because it was her Echo's guns, and thus not actually solid steel but Ectoplasm mimicking steel. Now I'm thinking I should've been more careful about giving all them Qin a bunch of pointy blades, because if they're even half as effective as Ow Tian here, then Tina, Chrissy, and Aunty Ray might be in a spot of trouble.

Here's hoping them other prisoners behave. Aunty Ray won't much like killing a bunch of kids, and I doubt Tina would fare any better. I know she's had a tough time since the Fourth of July, as she had to put down two of them gangbanging wannabes, but I ain't been as supportive as I could've been. Too wrapped up in my own miseries to help my family or loved ones, which is why I gotta survive this to make amends. Might well be too late to win over Noora again, but my family deserves better, not just Tina, Chrissy, and Aunty Ray, but Uncle Art and Uncle Teddy too, among many others.

I still don't think I was in the wrong, killing those kids or going after the Puglianos after the fact. I do believe I could've handled it better, and I did make a good number of mistakes, so there are a lot of bridges that need rebuilding and plenty of apologies to make.

Got no apologies for Ow Tian here, though I can't rightly blame him either. Regardless of the circumstances, I still killed his daddy, so I understand why he wants my head. Were I in his position, I'd do the same, and truth is he's handling it better than I would. He ain't consumed with rage or blinded by anger, but instead burns cold with an air of determination that chills me to the bone. He ain't no gangster or mafioso, no hired hitter or eager killer. He's a soldier on a mission who won't be dissuaded, a son here to avenge his father, and even though he's literally got a knife to my throat, I can't help but sympathize with his plight and admire his conviction.

Because even if he kills me here, he knows he's gonna die to Abby after the fact, and though I too burn with a vengeance to avenge my daddy's death, I ain't ever been as committed as him. That's why I've yet to pay my mother's brother a visit, why I accepted his stupid Spellbook and even considered Jinfeng's suggestion that I set a friendly meeting before that idiot fatty came along and showed me the true colours of the Republic. Because I lack the conviction Ow Tian has demonstrated here today, a willingness to do anything and even die to see his daddy avenged.

Why can't I do the same? The answer is simple. I got too many people counting on me, too many expectations to live up to and debts to repay. That other kid back there? Gow Chew? He said something that made me sneer earlier today, because it sounded so self-serving, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I been thinking the same way. I'll do anything I can to survive, even kill an innocent man for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, because when you get right down to it, I don't want to die. Sounds pretty normal right? I mean, who wants to die? No one in their right mind, but even when I was at my worst, I never risked my neck any more than necessary. If it wasn't for Luisa, Mr. Mueller, and the rest of their merry cult taking care of the bulk of the Puglianos, I probably wouldn't have gone at them head on like I did. I'd've stayed in the shadows and killed them off a few at a time, targeting anyone and everyone affiliated with the mob and maybe firebombing a few houses before gunning down whoever came running out. It wouldn't have been a quick and dirty fight that ended in a single night, no it would've been a campaign stretched out over days or weeks even, because even though they done killed my Josie and our baby, I wasn't ready to die for the cause.

The same way I wasn't ready to die to avenge my daddy, but Ow Tian here is more than ready, and that gives him strength. He ain't worried about surviving the horde like I am, ain't struggling to maintain control of a Floating Disc I should've Recast hours ago instead of holding on with Concentration to save a few minutes time. Nor is he thinking about how he gonna end this quick and get out of dodge, because he done made his peace with the Lord above and is here to see this through. One way or another, he means to see me dead, and all he's gotta do is keep me here long enough for Abby to finish the job.

Which means I gotta win quick if I want to win at all, and I done already wasted precious seconds wrestling with my conscience as well as my opponent. It's life or death in the here and now, so I lock in and put aside all thoughts of anything besides survival.

The first order of business? Get this fucker off of me. To that end, I reach deep into my list of Cantrips and pull out one I ain't used all that much as is, but have some familiarity with given the tech I've recently tinkered with. "Manus," I intone, speaking through gritted teeth as my right arm shakes something fierce and my left hand traces a sigil in the air to fulfil the Somatic Component of the Cantrip. My foe's eyes go wide with alarm as he redoubles his efforts to bring his dagger to bear, and it all makes for the longest two seconds in the world as I fight to finish my Cantrip in the midst of this deadly grapple. "Di – Fulminis!"

Or in plain old English, the Hand of Lightning, the Vocal Component to a Cantrip that does what it says on the tin. Crackling Electric energies spark from my fingertips as I flex my left wrist to gently slap Ow Tian's hand in the flimsiest, floppiest attack I done ever made, but a touch is all I need to deliver my Shocking Grasp through my fingertips. That's the same Cantrip my cattle prods are modeled after, and while those hurt a whole lot more thanks to all the tech involved, a Shocking Grasp ain't something you can grit your teeth and bear. It ain't enough to kill a man, not unless they got real bad heart problems or something, but it do make it real difficult to keep hold of something while Electricity courses through your body.

My opponent involuntarily releases his hold on my left wrist as he goes numb from the shock, and I shove him hard as I can to roll him off of me and push myself back up to one knee. Unfortunately for me, the damage to my prosthetic has made my fingers lock up, so my right arm goes with him instead of letting go so I can get to my feet and make space. No matter though, because it means I can keep control of his dangerous, metal cutting bayonet which he's got tied around his hand, but he done brung a knife to a gun fight.

My Rattlesnake clears the holster in record time, except Ow Tian reacts even faster. Time slows as I watch him move with more speed than I ever thought possible, with his eyes tracking my movements and hands reacting before I can clock what he about to do. Fast hands, fast mind, all fast reactions serve him so well and I gotta piece everything together after the fact instead of reacting to it as it happens. A twist and flick, that's all I really see, and even though the bayonet is bound to his hand, he's able to move it in ways I don't wholly comprehend. One moment I got my prosthetic fingers wrapped around his fist in a stalemate, and the next my wooden fingers are flying off into the distance as his blade swipes out to meet my gun. He's gotta go from his right hand to my left, which ain't a lot of distance since we side by side and ain't neither of us all that wide, but is still 2 body's worth and a whole lot more distance than my gun has to go. All's I gotta do is lift, then pivot until the barrel is pointing at some part of Ow Tian's body, a distance that could be measured in millimeters if you was feeling fancy.

And yet somehow, my opponent's blade gets to my daddy's gun before I can bring it to bear. Don't make no sense, but here it is all the same, and there ain't nothing I can do but watch as the blade cuts clean through the silver Rattlesnake that served me and my daddy well for just about seventeen years. The weapon is almost as old as I am, but now it ain't nothing but scrap and memories as the barrel, part of the frame, and a chunk of the cylinder goes a flying off in a spray of Aether and Primer spilling out from the neatly severed brass cartridge.

Leaving me gaping at a very broken, but also very sharp and pointy half of a pistol.

There ain't no thought in my reaction, one made out of pure rage and fury as I lash out at the man who broke my daddy's gun. Murderous instinct got me ready to jam this pointy metal deep into his throat, but his left arm was already raised in a guard before I even began to retaliate. Wasn't that he anticipated it, but his training kicking in, training I don't got as much of but make up for in experience. He's a swordsman who was trained in a classroom, and while he's fought on the battlefield before, he ain't gotten rid of all those bad habits that soft training get you. A real fight ain't about lining up across from your opponent and trading blows back and forth, so all that talk of strike and counterstrike, proper stance and correct response ain't all that useful. I might not know how to throw a textbook straight punch, but I know how to put as much force as possible from almost any position, because I done thrown enough of them in almost every conceivable manner while brawling against every kid of similar age over the last four years.

And while I ain't ever claimed to hit the hardest, I know where to hit a man to hurt him. Soon as I see his guard raised, I change my target from his neck to the meat of his bicep and slam the sharp metal home. Earns me a strangled cry of pain from my foe as he reels back from the strike, and I move in for the follow up. Credit where it's due, he don't wince and recoil away; no, he grits his teeth as the pointed metal glances off bone and twists aside to wrench the gun from my grip while leaving himself an opening to sneak a right-handed thrust at my belly. His bayonet pierces clean through the Imbued leather of my duster and bites deep into one of eight Bibles I got stuffed into my plate carrier vest, one overtop each and every plate. The Good Book provides, and the paper slows the Imbued bayonet just enough for the Darksteel plates to stop the rest, though not without taking a nick and driving me back a single step.

And then it's his turn to cast a Cantrip, with a deep and baritone intonation of some language that sounds like it's all consonants with no vowels whatsoever. Could be any number of Cantrips then, so there ain't nothing I can do to prepare besides clock him with my broken prosthetic. Again, his training shows through because even though he's in the middle of casting a Cantrip, he keeps his wits about him and has his left guard up despite the sharp, shaved revolver stuck inside his arm. Makes it hard to hit him in the head, and even though I done stabbed him with my daddy's broken gun, I can't bring myself to hit the puncture wound and risk breaking the weapon any further.

It's all I got left of my daddy to remember him by. His Ranger badge done been tainted by how the Feds treated him after the fact, and I've always associated the Metamagic bead bracelet with my mama more than my daddy, because he associated it with her too. He didn't leave me nothing else to remember him by, not a hat, a jacket, or even the wagon, because those were all just tools of the trade which he didn't treat as anything special. Not so with the Rattlesnake, because if that was the case, he'd've replaced it long ago with something semi-automatic, but he figured Mr. Kalthoff's early work was so good he didn't need any upgrade to do what he does best.

My daddy was not one for emotion, not like me, but he was fond of the Rattlesnake all the same, and now it ain't ever gonna sing its song again, that quick 'tsst-tsst-tsst' to make that unmistakeable rattle which was music to my ears and a lullaby for Abby and outlaws both.

Can't help but scream in rage to think that this one memento I had has been taken away, the one piece of my daddy that I done carried with me these last four years, and I slam my broken prosthetic against the side of Ow Tian's head again and again and again. Mostly end up hitting his guard, his left fist, forearm, and even shoulder which he uses to block the rain of blows while Intoning his chant that might well mean an end to me. Detect Magic shows the flows of Aether moving towards his waist as his chant comes to an end, so I make ready to dodge or block whatever it is he about to throw, only to step back as the magic erupts from him and strikes me right across the belt.

Don't hurt much, and feels no different from getting hit with a skipping rope, but it leaves a mark across my duster, belt, and holsters as the sharp force shoots out from all sides of him in a ring of blades. Scything Slash is the name of the Cantrip, one that most folks use to cut grass in a 1m radius all around them. Doesn't do all that much damage, but it can cut you pretty good if it hits thin cloth or bare skin. Against Imbued leather though, it lacks the punch to really do much besides leave a red mark on skin and maybe a small cut, but Ow Tian here knew as much. He wasn't trying to gut me with the Cantrip, no he was using it for the Area of Effect, because he done aimed at belt level to take out my Mage Hands and keep them from drawing the Judges.

At the same time, he unleashes a flurry of thrusts with his bayonet and keeps me busy parrying and blocking as best I can, shredding my sleeves and forearms in the process. Doesn't give me so much as a chance to breath as I backpedal quick as I can without gaining even an inch of space. Can't even focus enough to think of a Cantrip to use much less find breath to Intone a chant or wiggle my fingers, and before I know it, another two and a half seconds has passed as my foe launches into a third Spell cast that has the Aether coursing directly to his left hand.

So I watch it like a hawk and step aside when it shoots out, expecting something like a Bolt or some other offensive Spell to come out. Instead, a line of knotted rope shoots out controlled by the Living Whip Cantrip, the same rope that I used to tie him up in the first place. It's been neatly severed and tied back together, which ain't ideal, but them bonds still be strong enough to tie my one good hand up and keep me from going for another weapon.

Don't much like that considering he still has his ensorcelled bayonet, and the tip lances towards my throat as he drags me close without so much as missing a beat. Between using my right forearm to mess with his aim and craning my neck until it feels like I done pulled every muscle there is, I manage to keep from getting skewered. Now our arms all criss-cross applesauce, and there ain't no way to deliver another headbutt, so I play dirty and fake a leather, steel-toed boot to his danglies. Gets his knees a knocking together to block it, but I expected as much, which is why that was only a feint so I could stomp down on his foot which is only protected by some thin cloth shoes.

The crack of bone is my reward, and though Ow Tian lets out a strangled grunt of agony, he don't let that slow his knife hand none. Since high didn't work, he goes low again, and I take three lightning quick stabs to the gut that are all blocked by various Bibles and Darksteel plates. That's four hits that would've gutted me if I wasn't all armoured up, while I really only got the one with the sharp pointed end of my daddy's gun. The boot thing don't count, because if he was wearing boots like mine, his foot would still be intact instead of hurting something fierce, and it burns me to know I'm falling behind. I might not live up to the Firstborn my daddy wanted me to be, but at least I was still leading the pack, but now this Third Brother here is trying to one up me and take my place at the front away?

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Nah, even cold and dead, I'll be one of the best, same as my daddy before me. He been buried four years now, and there still ain't many who can match him, so I'll be damned if I give that up too and lose to a second-rate swordsman like Ow Tian.

Okay fine, first-rate, because he done stabbed me twice more in the plates while I was coming to grips with reality. Though my right leg screams to do it, I put the pain out of mind as I twist aside from the next thrust. The sharp edge of the bayonet glances across my Bibles and plates and comes perilously close to my unprotected armpit, but I move quick while copying what I remember from being tossed like a sack of potates. Jinfeng is only a little shorter, but much skinnier than I am, and yet she still managed to haul me up over her shoulder and send me head over heels before dumping me on the ground, so there ain't no reason why I can't do it to little Tian who's about the same size as I am. Granted, I only got the one working hand, but it's all about speed, leverage, and explosive power, because she didn't lift me up with her strength of arms. No, she just sorta tripped me, then used my momentum and her body as a pivot point to send me up into the air like it was nothing.

Which turns out, is a lot easier said than done, because even though I feel like I got all the motions right, it don't work out as expected. My right leg shoots out to the left, then scythes back to push his one foot out from underneath him, as his other is broken and unable to support any weight. Thing is, our left hands are bound together by Living Whip, so his left arm gets pulled forward until my shoulder is under his, creating a tangle of flesh that ain't at all conducive to throwing him aside and just sorta locks us both in place in what I imagine is a compromising position.

So since improvisation didn't work out, I fall back on an American Classic: the headlock. Don't got no hand to wedge under his chin and make it uncomfortable for him to breath, but the pointy bits of my prosthetic do just fine. Gets even better because even though I failed to throw him, my scything sweep still makes him stumble a bit and gets the bulk of him between me and his bayonet. Don't quite have the leverage for a reverse chokehold, but at least he can't stab at any part of me besides my right forearm, which is conveniently really close to his face and protected by a solid steel Aether tank that powers my prosthetic using the crystal Aether contained and kept under high pressure within.

Doesn't stop the ensorcelled weapon from punching clean through the metal, but it does make for a tiny explosion of heat and noise when it happens. Me, I got little Tian's head to hide behind, but he takes the full brunt of the blast, one which probably rings his bell real good on top of maybe scalding his cheek and hand a fair bit.

My forearm too, but only a bit, and it buys me time enough to think and act. My decision comes easily, as I said it before and I'll say it again. I ain't as good as Errol is with Living Whip, but I ain't no slouch neither, so I know that even though Ow Tian used the Cantrip to wrap the knotted rope around my left wrist, I also know that the Cantrip don't got no persistent effect. The only thing holding the rope to my wrist is tension and pressure, which means there ain't nothing stopping me from Casting the Cantrip on the rope to free myself from the tangled grip.

Just like me, Ow Tian don't know what my Incantations mean, so he doesn't know what Cantrip I'm trying to use. Puts him in a real tizzy as he tries to fight free of my headlock, but I cling on grimly until I complete my Cantrip. The rope comes alive as it snakes itself free of my wrist to fall limp and flat, but my opponent is in the midst of casting his own Spell, and I ain't all that sure if he got any more Aether left to him. Best thing to do is to put some space between us, so I let go and leap back while going for my Model 10.

Again, I'm taken aback by how quickly he reacts, and I can hardly believe my eyes as I watch him match my retreat, free of the headlock and with one broken foot, but still sticking close enough to catch me when I land with a pivot to deliver a slash. It plays out exactly as expected, and I find out firsthand what Spell he was casting as he brings his bayonet blade about while it crackles with Electric energies. Turnabout is fair play, and there ain't nothing I can do except grit my teeth and bear it as the shock sends my brain a thousand miles away only to rebound back into reality in an instant.

An instant in which I dropped my Model 10 to the ground while Ow Tian's bayonet cut deep enough to give my ribs a cold, light kiss and slice through both slings holding up my Nanfoodle and Whumper. Stings something fierce, but more alarming is the sight of him following up his slash with yet another thrust. One movement melds into the other so smoothly it's hard to tell where one ends and the next begins as he strikes live a viper to plunge the blade home in my throat, chest, or belly. Can't grab another weapon in time, and can't block all three vitals, but the best defense is a good offense, so I lash out to meet the blade with the remains of my prosthetic. Can't rightly risk my left hand, because there ain't no way I'll get lucky twice and get an Ability to Wildshape a few missing fingers too, and life would be real rough without even one hand intact.

So I bat at the blade with a third of a fake hand instead and life reminds me why half measures never work out as my futile flailing does little to stop the blade hurtling towards me. Best I can do is twist aside so it stabs into the meat of my shoulder, which still hurts something fierce but is far less deadly than taking a blade to the throat instead. Two good things about getting stabbed with a real sharp knife is that one, it cuts so good there ain't a lot of friction, so it's a nice smooth puncture until steel meets bone. The other good thing is that sometimes they'll go so deep they might actually dig into that bone, which don't sound like a good thing and mostly really isn't. It hurts a lot, takes longer to heal from, and typically you keep all your important bits real close to the bone and away from the surface, like veins, arteries, and organs and such, but even magic can't do nothing against the laws of physics.

And Newton's Third Law of Motion states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Blade cuts into bone, bone resists being cut and presses back on the blade. Could be friction, internal tension, sheer forces, or some other fancy scientific term I ain't ever heard about, but the fact of the matter is that Ow Tian's blade done gotten wedged in my bone, and now he can't pull it out.

All according to plan, or at least that's how I'll tell it. Better lucky than good, that's what I always say, and Lady Luck done just said good bye to Ow Tian before strolling across the way to take a seat by my side.

With fortune on my side, I grin and snarl as Ow Tian locks up in trepidation as he fights to free his weapon, but he'd've been better off letting it go. I show him exactly why as I bring a heavy chop down onto the side of his head, and the jagged edge of the exploded Aether tank cuts his something fierce. It ain't all that sharp or deep, but when I drag my arm back and forth to grind against his burned face, he lets out a scream that says he don't like that much. As he reels back in pain, it gives me the perfect opening for another headbutt, which finally loosens his grip on the blade in my shoulder. With my blood hot and rage burning, I unleash a storm of heavy blows that ain't nowhere near as fast as his, but I don't need to be fast when my opponent can't do much besides stand in place and take it. He's feeling the hurt on his face, his foot, and everywhere else I done hit him, and while he turtles up with a tight guard, it's only a matter of time before I break through.

Well, time and effort, and believe you me, laying a beat down is exhausting work. A few seconds of swinging all out has got me huffing and puffing up a storm, and the more tired I get, the more pain I feel as the adrenaline high starts to fade. I can see his beady eyes watching from behind his guard, biding his time and waiting for his opportunity to counter and go for the kill, so I give him what he's looking for and fake a big, wide, sloppy right, only to take a step back and break out a move I ain't ever used before in a real fight, but have had practised plenty of times before while playing around on my own.

Because while the Qin love them some Kung Fu, Americans got a love of wrestling that cannot be surpassed. While I ain't really one for fake, choreographed grappling, especially not with another shirtless man, the one move I've always loved to see is the big double-booted drop-kick.

Ow Tian takes the bait and opens up his shell for a right straight, only to eat both boots to the chin and get knocked the fuck down. I go down hard too, because practicing on hay bales ain't the same as doing it on hard, rocky ground, and once I'm all laid out, I find it mighty difficult to get back up. Got no choice but to though, because even if my opponent is down and out, I still got a horde to contend with. And by contend with, I mean run away from, soon as I get upright and onto my –

"…Where's my Floating Disc?"

Didn't mean to ask the question out loud, but I do, and Ow Tian laughs to hear it. More of a chuckle really, but it cuts to the quick all the same. "You lost Concentration when I hit you with my Elemental Strike."

"…Yeah that checks out." Pushing myself to a sitting position with a groan, I'm surprised to see the bayonet come into my peripheral, because I somehow forgot it was even there. The reminder sends a flash of pain lancing through my body, and I hiss in pain as I slowly push myself to my feet and realize I don't got enough time to Ritually Cast Floating Disc before the horde arrives. That's assuming my opponent just lies there while I go through the motions too, and somehow I doubt he will. "Well fuck."

Ow Tian laughs again, still laid out on the ground but turned to the side so he can watch me get up. "You are a dead man walking. That is what you Americans say, is it not?" Says the word like a slur, and I get all defensive about it until I remember I ain't American. "Just remember," he continues, giving me his best glare as he's all laid out and spent, which honestly is pretty impressive all things considered. "The name of the man who killed you is Long Ao Tian."

"…Dragon Proud Heaven? So… Proud Dragon of Heaven? That's what your daddy named you?" I can't help but cringe to even hear it, because that is a whole lot of expectations to heap on a little baby.

"Better than 'Vast Abundance'." Ow Tian spits. "You were well named though. It was your equipment which won you this fight, not your skills. You fight like an untrained savage without honour, and were we both similarly armed and armoured, I would have killed you a dozen times over."

Too tired to shuffle over, bend down, and pick up my Model 10, I simply draw a Judge while suppressing the flash of agony that accompanies the movement. Hate to know what it'll feel like when I shoot the damn gun, but I'm sure I'll find out soon enough. "Yeah, maybe. I still won though, and you lost, so you gonna hafta live with it." Shrugging and immediately regretting it, I nod towards the Abby horde skittering their way towards us and add, "Not for long, but thems the facts."

"Yes, you have won the battle," he concedes, and I can tell it costs him something to admit it. "But you will die all the same, and while you choke on your regrets, I will die content for having found vengeance for my father's death."

I can't help it. I laugh, because damn if that don't sound petty and contrite, but I would probably feel the same way if I were in his place. "Gad damn," I exclaim with a shake of my head. "You got some stones on you, Ow Tian."

"Ao Tian."

The way he says it is like he's correcting me, so I shrug and try to match his tone and inflection, because what else am I gonna do? "Ow Tian."

"No. Ao Tian."

"We're sayin' the same thing. Ow Tian."

"We are not. I am speaking correctly. You speak as if you have a mouth filled with dog shit. Ao. Tian."

"Tch. Whatever." Heaving a sigh, I shuffle forward a few steps until I'm round about a meter away, because I don't fancy eating another Scything Slash even if it wouldn't hurt all that much. Nodding towards the horde once more, I add, "I'll save a shot for you so there's no chance they'll drag you back alive." Won't no one do the same for me, but I'll bloody them bad enough they won't have no choice but to end me. That's the plan at least, so here's hoping. "Make your peace quick, because they ain't far."

Right then and there, I can see it all turn real for Ao Tian. It's one thing to say you'll die for a cause, and another to actually do it. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think there's a man alive who can face death without regret, not when the moment comes upon them. So long as you got time to see it coming, there ain't no avoiding it, the what-ifs and maybes that might've seen you through this safe, and all the things you still want to do but can't anymore. Like get my family out safe and sound, though they're close enough to stand a better than good chance of making it out. Glad they didn't turn around, because then we'd all be in a big mess. Doubt they could've gotten to me and gotten out before Abby encircled us, and then we'd have to fight our way free and probably lose all the horses, prisoners, and maybe even Cowie in the process. This way is better, and even though I couldn't show Tina everything there is to know about getting back up to the mesa, she'll know enough to make it long as she has some help. And she will, because unlike me, she ain't burned no bridges and is on her way to becoming the Ranger we both once dreamed of being.

And now here I am facing down my regrets, of which there are far too many to list. Can't be a Ranger. Can't avenge my daddy. Won't see the day when Chrissy comes out of her shell, or finally sit down to have that talk with Josie. Will never have a chance to see Noora one last time, even though I wasn't planning on it, and I never did get around to apologizing to Uncle Art for putting him in a bind. Or making up with Uncle Teddy, because even though he let me down, that's only because he couldn't go against the grain. He's a good man bound by a system that ain't exactly good, just mostly necessary. The Federal justice system is far from perfect, but Frontier Justice is anything but, and having killed a good man for being in the wrong place at the wrong time myself, I can understand why due process is a thing. Don't entirely agree with it, but the concept is sound, and I still don't know what I'll do if Deputy Macintyre's wife or three kids ever come looking for justice.

Can't exactly admit to my crimes, because I don't want to go to prison or hang for it, but I can't say my conscience is clean neither. Might not ever be, but if there is a Good Lord, I hope He'll at least let me meet up with my daddy, mama, Josie, and baby before sending me off to where I belong.

"I thought you would run." Interrupting my inner musings from his place on the ground, Ao Tian glares up at me with those fearless and defiant eyes, though his pupils do look awful dilated for this time of day. "A futile effort, but I would have wagered all that I have that you would make it none the less. At least you can face death with honour, like a true Vanguard." Sitting up like he ain't about to be outdone, he turns about to do the same and stares down the hoard without blinking. Then he turns back around with a frown, not to look at me, but behind us, and I stupidly glance back to see what's what.

Only to belatedly wonder it was a trick meant to get my guard down, but no. I spot what Ao Tian was seeing soon enough, a dust cloud moving right quick towards us in the pre-dawn gloom accompanied by the thunder of hooves. It takes me a second to figure out what I'm looking at, and then another to put it all together, at which point I get to scrambling to pick up all my guns because I ain't too tired to grab them anymore. "Can you stand?" I ask, juggling the Nanfoodle and Whumper while stuffing the Model 10 back into its holster, only to find that the leather was cut clean and the gun don't fit snug inside. So it goes in my duster pocket alongside the severed barrel and frame of the Rattlesnake, where they make a nice jingle as I turn about to look at Ao Tian and ask, "Well?"

He winces, pushes himself halfway up on his one good foot, then collapses back down and throws up. Yeah, definitely a concussion then, which means he ain't moving nowhere fast on his own. Feeling all sorts of stupid, I stuff the rifles into the crook of his right arm before lifting his left. "Hold onto those," I say, grunting as I lift him up onto his feet and start hauling ass away. "Because if you drop them, I'mma drop you, understood?"

"Just barely," comes the reply, which just goes to show that a concussion don't do nothing to stop you from mouthing off. I would know, because I done it plenty, so I just grit my teeth and get to moving quick as I can. "Why save me?" Ao Tian asks, which again goes to show he ain't in his right mind, because if ever there were a time when you don't want to be giving a man second thoughts, it's now. "Why not kill me and leave my corpse for the Yao Guai?"

"Because I done said I'd bring you in alive, and I am a man of my word." That's the only answer I got, but even as thin as it is, I feel better for having said it. "Unless I'm makin' broad death threats in a moment of anger. That's usually just talk. Never saw the point of makin' threats when I want a man dead. Best to just kill 'em and talk after."

We don't make good ground, shuffling forward like we do, but you'd be surprised what strength you can bring to bear when your life is on the line. Part of me would love to lift Ao Tian onto one shoulder and carry him like a sack of potates, but I'm pretty sure he'd object and I'd collapse under his weight soon after. Either way, I get to shuffling quick as I can and resist the urge to look behind me to see how fast the horde is gaining. Real fast given the noise, but ignorance is bliss, so if I die here and now all the same, then at least I'll die quick.

It ain't to be however, because the Rangers are on the job, and they ain't the tip of the spear for nothing. It starts with droning whistle, one that starts off far and rapidly closes in while rising in pitch and volume both before culminating in a big bang. And I mean big. I ain't talking Naga big, or Big Stick big. No, this is explosion big, similar to the big boom I set off in the underground bunker back in Pleasant Dunes. As well it should, because that there was a Spell designed to bust bunkers just like it, the aptly named Third Order Bombard which serves as the basis for the arcana tech mortars and artillery fire the army so loves to use. As a Spell, it's a little lacklustre, but it does the job well enough against Swarmlings and other small Abby, with a chorus of skittering screams sounding out as the explosive force blows a good chunk of the swarm to smithereens and sends shockwaves rippling out in all directions.

A second lands soon after, followed by a third, and I keep a shuffling towards the riders galloping headlong towards us. Impressive as Bombard may be, at base values, it is strictly inferior to Fireball in all ways except range. A hundred meters, that's the standard for Bombard, and it feels like the longest 100 meters I done ever did see, but I give it my all to get as far as I can before Abby catches up to me and my burden. "How the fuck do you weigh so much?" I ask, grunting with exertion as I huff and puff along. "You're skinny as I am, but gotta be twice as dense or something. Eat some veggies and take more shits, then maybe you'll lose some weight."

"They're called muscles," Ao Tian retorts, hopping along now that he's got his bearings again. "You should try getting some so you don't hit like a spring breeze."

"This breeze done knocked you flat on your ass, so what's that say about you?"

"…Even a blind cat will sometimes bring back a dead mouse."

"So that makes you the mouse?"

"You are an infuriating man. It is a wonder your tongue is still attached to your head. Were it me, I would've removed that instead of your hand."

"…Shut up and hop."

The night comes alive with the light of Aether as the Company of Rangers unleashes hell upon the horde, and as much as I would love to turn around to watch the show, I can still hear them skittering along behind me. The lead horse comes into view, and my heart leaps for joy as I spot Uncle Teddy atop his snow-white horse, one that looks even whiter and prettier than Ivory. The beast knows it's work though, and it keeps its head down as it gallops forward while Uncle Teddy unleashes a torrent of flames from the palm of his hand. The fiery flows twist and coils around us without so much as a lick of heat, but the stench of burning Abby assails my nostrils as Swarmlings screech out in death and shrivel up behind us. Risking a glance back, I'm blinded by a veritable wall of flames blocking any Abby from proceeding, and I let out a sigh of relief as I continue staggering forward with everything I got, except there ain't much left in me to give.

Two Rangers ride up to grab me and Ao Tian both, and I quickly say, "He's a prisoner who tried to kill me and mine, so make sure to secure him proper." Belatedly realizing he still got my guns, I snatch them out of his hands even as the other Ranger hauls me up onto the saddle. Ain't my most dignified mount, as I only got strength enough to get my upper body onto the horse, and the Ranger himself ain't willing to faff about while I get comfy, so I cling for dear life as horse and Ranger both pivot in place and ride off from whence they came, and watch as the others unload more ammunition in three seconds flat than I brung with me into the badlands. Fully automatic BAR machine guns and Burst Bolt submachine guns, that's what most are carrying, and I can't help but sigh to see it. It's art in motion, the rat-tat-tat of fully-automatic fire, with the muzzle flash so steady it might as well be a lamp lighting up the darkness to show the Rangers at their best.

Most of all, I bask in the knowledge of a job well done, because even though I needed some help to do it, I got my family out safe and sound. Most of the way at least, and with Uncle Teddy here for the assist, I can rest assured knowing that he'll see us home safe and sound.

Last year was a rough one, and this year ain't starting off much better, but at least we all made it home in mostly one piece. I'm down to call that a win, and here and now, it even feels like one, so I'll take what I can get and enjoy it while it lasts. There's still plenty of shit to wade through, like dealing with the prisoners and the fallout of threatening to kill every Qin I see, to say nothing of apologizing to everyone who warrants an apology and making amends for my past ways, but that's all stuff for future Howie to deal with.

For me, the current Howie? I'm just gonna soak it all in, and amidst the Flamethrowers, Fireballs, and fully automatic weapons fire, I nod off into the best night's sleep I've gotten in weeks, laid out on the back of the boniest horse I done ever did meet with a full Company of Rangers around me.

- End of Book Three -