Path of Dragons

Exhaustion gripped Gun, body and mind. He felt like he'd been running for years. His store of ethera was all but depleted, with only a shallow puddle remaining in his core. Even that only remained because of the constant effort of his Regeneration. Without it, he would have long since run dry.

His muscles were both tense and powerless, while his mind was a twisted snarl of memories, plans, and anxiety. It was like he'd plunged headfirst into a briar patch, and he'd yet to escape the tangle of thorns.

He'd been at it for weeks.

He had never expected that first attack to kill Hart. The man was too strong for that. However, he had also never anticipated that he would simply keep coming. One shot after another, barging through his traps like they weren't even there. It had taken everything just to keep ahead of him, much less lay proper traps to keep the pressure on.

Gun had managed it, though only barely. He'd also refrained from using the more complicated traps. Most of the ones he did deploy – like the spring-loaded dart traps specifically enchanted with a subtle armor piercing glyph – were made on the fly. It was the sole crafting ability he knew, but it was probably the only reason those darts had penetrated Hart's hide.

But now, his store of venom was almost depleted. He'd acquired it from a man who raised the snakes, milked them, and specially prepared the toxin through some means Gunnar didn't understand. So, he wouldn't be replenishing his supply anytime soon.

And Hart was still coming for him.

Gun had begun to wonder if the man was immortal. He'd landed seventeen shots, some of which were solid hits that he'd seen tear holes in the man's gut. A few times, Hart had been forced to retreat, but in every single instance, he'd come back, completely recovered and ready to continue his dogged pursuit.

Meanwhile, Gun had used those brief respites to his advantage. Not to rest. He couldn't stop for even a moment, or he'd be caught. And if that happened, he would surely die. No man kept coming for that long with peaceful intentions. There would be no quarter granted. No captivity. No interrogation. If that monster caught up to him, his life would be forfeit.

So, he had spent those hours forging ahead, laying more traps, and looking for a proper place to make a stand. Then, he'd found New Delhi.

The city was in ruins and entirely abandoned. From his previous investigation, he knew that the population had been massacred by the war elf army, and the remnants had taken refuge in Kalki. Knowing that was one thing, but seeing the results firsthand was something else altogether.

Gun had spent most of his adult life in one warzone or another. He had seen plenty of terrible things. Mass graves, bombed cities, and terrified civilian populations were just the beginning, and by the time the world changed, he'd thought himself completely inured to the tragedy of it all. However, seeing a city the size of New Delhi, abandoned and crumbling, was enough to turn his stomach.

How many other cities shared its fate? How many people had died in the aftermath of the changed world? The implications were both terrifying and depressing.

However, Gun couldn't allow himself to truly appreciate the horror on display. Not when he had a madman who could and had massacred entire settlements on his tail. Over the next few days, he'd led Hart around the city. Each time he forced the man to retreat and recover, he headed into the city to prepare a proper ambush.

It was on the second day that he found the troop of monkeys.

There were thousands of the creatures. Rhesus macaque, though the normally small beasts had grown to the size of gorillas. And they were incredibly aggressive as well as territorial. At first, Low Profile seemed to work against them, though only if he kept to the shadows and took every precaution to avoid their attention. Otherwise, they were very much capable of seeing through his ability. And over time, he'd begun to suspect that the real reason they didn't attack was because he was smart enough to skirt their territory.

Because it only took one look at the situation to know that if he made the wrong move, none of his skills would matter. The things would descend upon him like a pack of starving hyenas and rip him to pieces. Not because they were hungry. They clearly weren't. But rather because they could.

Fortunately, he avoided their ire long enough to make a plan and retreat. After that, he spent the next couple of days preparing his route. Of course, Hart very nearly caught up to him on a few occasions, but it was obvious that the man was almost as exhausted as Gun himself. It was even clearer that, in a contest of endurance, Hart would always come out on top.

With that in mind, he finally made his move, leading Hart into the city. And it went exactly how he'd expected, with the shapeshifter following the prescribed path. He hit all the traps. He stopped in all the right places. The only thing that went wrong was that Gun missed more than he hit. For a perfectionist, that was the most galling part of the entire hunt.

Hart had some preternatural ability to sense when he was fired upon, and he had the reflexes – especially in that small, lizard-like form – to use that to his advantage. It was like trying to swat a fly with his eyes closed. No matter how well he concealed his intentions, it was as if Hart had some form of precognition.

He was also predictable, though.

When Gun retreated to the first checkpoint, Hart followed. He didn't come straight at Gun, though. Rather, he went around, circling the building until he saw where Gun had exited. Then, he followed the trail right into the middle of the monkeys' territory. Meanwhile, Gun was nearly five hundred yards away, nestled safely on the thirtieth floor of a skyscraper that only barely remained standing.

He'd just deployed the last of his traps, too. He only had twenty more rounds left. And his body was very near collapse. It was obvious to him that he'd found his last stand. Either he killed Hart here, or he was going to be the one to fall.

No in-between. No more running. No tricky skills meant to help him escape. He'd found the end of the conflict.

So, he settled in to watch Hart try to deal with the troop of overgrown monkeys. The creatures surrounded the plaza where Gun had set the ambush. They screamed, waving their arms threateningly. Some threw hunks of concrete at Hart, which he easily dodged.

This time, he'd taken the form that made him look like a spiny and venomous velociraptor. He moved like a true beast, stalking back and forth. He even let out a derisive hiss that should have told any other animals that there was easier prey to be found elsewhere.

The monkeys did not heed the warning.

While most of them hurled hunks of concrete at the man-turned-raptor, a few of the more powerful among them lanced in. One jumped upon the beast-man's back, while another went for his legs.

That was when he displayed an ability Gun had yet to see.

Suddenly, he blurred. Not with speed, though. With something else. Like the form had been copied sixfold and scattered through time. Then, he moved, leaving a trio of afterimages behind. It didn't end there, either. There were three other versions that preceded the real creature. Even with Gun's attention to detail, he had trouble making out which was which, they all looked so real. And when Hart plunged ahead into a group of monkeys that had congregated, the resulting clash was reflected from each of those ghostly versions.

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Six attacks in one.

The monkeys remained upright for a few more seconds, but that was the limit of their endurance. Clumps of fur fell from their bodies as they collapsed, one by one, gasping for air that would not come. Gun recognized the effects of potent venom.

And it spread from there.

Soon enough, those infected monkeys became dirty bombs as Hart kicked them across the plaza. He hurled the dying primates across the plaza with such force that the other monkeys never had a chance to react. They hit with enough impact to scatter the troop, and that just exacerbated the spread.

Within a few moments, a quarter of the troop was infected. Most of them died within five or six seconds, but a handful lasted slightly longer. That just meant they had more time to spread the taint.

Gun watched in awe as he saw the full breadth of what Hart could do. He'd gotten a taste of that when the man had attacked the war elves, but that was different. He'd been in control the whole time, and as such, Gun assumed that the massacre was as much a result of planning as it was of pure power.

This was different.

Hart had been taken completely unaware, and if anything, his performance was even more impressive because he couldn't plan it.

The monkeys had no clue how to react to the semi-illusory copies, and Gun understood their frustrations. He couldn't tell the difference, either. One second, the real Hart was the first in line, but the next, he was at the rear. And he kept moving the whole time, with no pattern Gun could discern.

And if he couldn't discern reality, then the monkeys certainly had no chance at all.

Then, the illusions faded. That was when the battle began to shift. Not completely. Gun knew well enough that Hart was still going to win. However, now that the monkeys could see their target, they could land a few hits. Even as Hart's fury increased, his talons, scorpion-like tail, and fangs demanding a price be paid, the monkeys' efforts started to bear fruit.

Blood coated the plaza's floor, while wounds marred Hart's scales. Many of them healed almost instantly – evidence of the man's massive regeneration or some ongoing spell – but plenty stubbornly resisted.

Then, he shifted form.

That was when Gun decided to take his shot. The transformations only took a second, but during that process, he was vulnerable. No spells. No fancy maneuvers. He was still moving, but on a predictable route.

He used Ethereal Shot, sending energy surging through his rifle. Then, he activated Armor Piercing. Crippling Shot. And then, at last, Assassinate. He fired.

The supersonic round practically ignited the air as it tore across the intervening distance. Before Hart could complete his transformation, it hit him square in the chest, sending him cartwheeling backward and into a group of monkeys. The sheer kinetic force of the impromptu projectile shattered their bones as Hart's limp body slammed into a nearby building.

A second later, that building – a ten-story structure that was barely holding itself upright – collapsed atop Hart. As an enormous cloud of dust billowed across the plaza, Gun shoved the next round into his rifle. He didn't even have the ethera to use Reload, so he was forced to do it the old-fashioned way.

As the dust began to settle, the monkeys gathered around the rubble. Gun knew that Hart wasn't dead. He'd received no experience. Not even a trickle. So, he remained on his guard.

Still, he wasn't prepared for what happened next.

The rubble began to shift, almost like it was under the effects of a small, localized earthquake. The monkeys screeched in panic, but by that point, it was too late. A thousand vines erupted from the ground all around them. The primates resisted, but Gun watched in horror as their efforts fell flat. Each one of those vines was equipped with razor sharp thorns, so even the monkeys that managed to extricate themselves did so by tearing free huge hunks of flesh.

And there were always more vines.

Gun couldn't count the number. They just kept coming, snaking around the monkeys and dragging them inexorably toward the shifting rubble. Finally, something exploded from the pile of concrete, throwing chunks of the fallen building aside like a volcano had just erupted beneath them.

And then, the monster showed itself.

Reptilian, but covered in roots and vines. Like a bipedal crocodile that had somehow fused with a jungle. But as fearsome as it looked, it didn't attack the monkeys. Not directly. Instead, it simply stared the screeching creatures down.

One second passed. Then two. The monkeys' screams changed pitch. Panic gave way to pain. Three. They writhed in agony. Four. They clawed at the vines, at themselves, at anything they could to win free.

It didn't work.

Five.

Something erupted from one monkey's back in a cloud of glowing yellow. Only then did Gun see what had torn free of the beast.

Mushrooms. Just like at the beginning of the battle against the war elves.

They continued to grow, even after the beast had died. And then, like a row of dominoes, more mushrooms exploded from monkeys' backs. A dozen at first. Then a hundred. Thousands.

They all died in agony.

Soon enough, the screeches faded.

Gun took his next shot.

It landed, tearing into the monster Hart had become. Not with the same furor of his first attack – everything but Ethereal Shot was on cooldown or otherwise unavailable – but enough that it should have put him down, at least for a while.

The damage was done, and briefly, Gun saw the creature's organs. A prick of pain erupted in his own belly, but he ignored it as he watched the wound repair itself in the space of a second.

That was when the panic set in.

He took one more shot before climbing to his feet and tearing across what had once been an office. He covered the distance in only a moment before he was out the window on the other side of the building. He leaped across the intervening distance, landing on the roof of a neighboring building. He hit with a roll that turned into a dead sprint.

Behind him, the building he'd just vacated fell as something ripped it apart from within.

Glancing back, he saw the crocodile-plant-monster leaping free of the falling building and landing only a few dozen feet behind Gun. He turned, tossing out a few prepared traps before firing again. This shot took Hart in the shoulder, but he kept coming.

The resultant wound only lasted for a second before it sealed shut.

Knowing that he didn't have a choice, Gun used the last of his ethera to activate one of his most powerful – and least used – abilities.

Gun had played the role of machine gunner on more occasions than he could count, but even that couldn't hold a candle to what it felt like to use Suppressing Fire. In the space of a second and a half, more than a hundred rounds erupted from his rifle. The sheer ethera of it warped the barrel, ruining the weapon – for now. He had spares, and he knew how to replace it, but in the heat of battle, that did him no good.

Hart never even tried to dodge, and the rounds tore into him with more than half the power of his last shot. Each.

The sheer devastation of it was enough to tear just about any creature to pieces, and Hart was no exception. Hunks of flesh and vegetation flew in every direction, each round digging deeper until he was practically ripped in two.

But Gun didn't escape unscathed.

Every attack came with a mirror that pierced his own torso. Not with the same intensity, but enough that he couldn't contain a gasp. He doubled over, coughing up blood.

When he looked up, he saw something miraculous.

And terrifying.

Tendrils of flesh and vines reached out, twining together and reforming the man's torso. Seeing that, Gun tossed his rifle aside – it was useless now – and drew his sidearm. The pistol wasn't nearly as powerful as his normal weapon, but he had no choice in the matter. He fired, hitting center-mass with every single shot.

Hart barely flinched.

He stepped forward. Gun exchanged one magazine for another and continued firing as he slowly stepped backward. Hart advanced, one step after another as his body mended itself. Gun went through three more magazines – all he had – before his heels hit the edge of the building.

He glanced back, seeing that there was nowhere left for him to go. So he yanked the machete from its sheath at his waist, then threw himself at Hart. He never got close before an enormous claw closed around his throat. A second later, his arm broke beneath the vice-like grip of the other hand. His machete tumbled free.

Then, Hart transformed. His body shrank, and the crocodile-like head drew in. The vines dissipated into motes of ethera, replaced by a normal-looking human man. But then, Gun looked into the Hart's eyes, and he felt a shiver grip his spine.

After everything he'd seen, which was enough to horrify anyone, those eyes were the most terrifying.

Hart said, "I think it's time you and I had a little talk."