There’s a lot to consider when riding into a fight.

  Too much to cover in broad strokes, but the first thing that comes to mind is who’s fighting who. Can hear the El-ministers popping off, which is an American rifle, but that don’t mean they’re being used by American soldiers or civilians. Arms manufacturing makes up a big chunk of Federal revenue, and over the last year, they’ve been making a big push to offload their 22-20 Aetherarms while arming every Ranger with a 44-40 variant. Even Tina’s got the new standard issue calibre rifle, so I imagine most other Rangers do too, unless they’re using some sorta specialized weapon or got a different preference in general.

  Which means there’s a whole lot of American guns out there, many of which could be sold to folks who ain’t so friendly to Americans. Or Qinese, as most would see me as despite everything about me. So I’m assuming I’m riding up on someone who’s at least remotely friendly with the Federation, but I could be wrong. Even if I ain’t, that ain’t the same as riding up on folks who’re friendly to Americans, mind you. Politics makes for strange bedfellows after all, and the Feds will happily supply arms to South American Cartels, African warlords, bloodthirsty cultists, and guerilla rebels who hate Americans, but hate some enemy of the U.F.A even more.

  Don’t hear no other flavour of Aetherarm firing as I ride on up, but I do Detect Abby, which puts my mind at ease just a little bit. If I didn’t, I might mosey on over for a look-see, but I’d try to stay out of sight. Against Abby though, an extra gun is typically welcome in a tough scrap, and if them folks look to be doing alright, then I’ll just ride on off to keep them from worrying too too much. Could even reach them on the Radio or via Minor Illusion if need be, though the latter ain’t ideal given its short range. 10 meters at base, though you can make auditory illusions directed at a single person go a whole lot further, maybe 50 meters if I really push it, though it’d sound real faint and whispery no matter how I want to swing it.

  That’s a me issue mind you, not a problem with the Cantrip. I just ain’t good enough with it to do what Tina, Chrissy, or Aunty Ray could, but you can’t get good at everything, now can you?

  Does beg the question though: how’d a bunch of Abby get within Detection range without me picking up on them beforehand? The El-minister is a Silenced weapon, meaning that flat popping noise they make will only travel about a klick away, and these days, I can focus a beam of Detect Abby and sense something at 1500 meters easy. Doesn’t mean I’ll pick up every Abby in range, especially not with all the hills and valleys dotted with sparse trees and thick shrubbery that makes up this stretch of land between Redeemer’s Keep and the Fuschia Flatlands. That said, it’s a little alarming to find Abby popping up inside of a kilometre before I notice them, and even more so when you consider I didn’t sense them until after the shooting alerted me to something wrong.

  Thankfully, the reason ain’t nothing to be too concerned about. While I was busy worrying about the possibility of local Abby going around with active cloaking or some other anti-Detection methods, the truth is revealed to be something much simpler. As I ride up the flat crest of a rocky hill and look down into the valley below, I spot the fellas making all that noise be down there, about fifty odd soldiers in army green uniforms of indeterminate origin all arranged in a semi-circle around a tunnel exit that’s coming right out of the side of the opposite hill. Their guns bark and flash to pepper their foes, but as sturdy and reliable as the El-minister might be, Proggies have had about a decade to acclimate to Aetherarm fire and design their Abby appropriately.

  Most go for straight up quantity, especially when it comes to Ferals. So long as you kill more than you lose and have dedicated scavengers to clean up the battlefield, then you’re in the red when it comes to worthwhile biomass. Sure, you lose a bit in upkeep as Abby gotta eat, and a little more when recycling, but here along the edge of the Badlands, there’s plenty of vegetation for them to sustain themselves with, to say nothing of how most Abby can lay out in the sun and gain more energy than they use. They’re neither plants nor animals after all, but a variant of walking fungi created by an alien life form to scour the world clean of biomass and make it more habitably for their own kind.

  These particular Abby have gone in another direction. Rather than quantity, it looks like their Proggie opted for quality above all else, putting a good amount of resources into every Abby to create durable monstrous beasts as opposed to squishy fodder to be gunned down in droves. Makes my heart skip a beat to see it in action as a giant, quadrupedal lizard thing standing six foot at the shoulders and covered in dark-green scales comes a charging out of the tunnel. The Feral Behemoth weathers the hail of Bolts without blinking as they bounce off its shiny, Aberrtin-infused scales, and howls in bestial fury as it hurtles towards its prey like a dark, greenish black missile of muscle and fury.

  Its shape puts me in mind of the panther Nhiall can Wildshape into, a sleek and powerful predator with razor-tipped spikes protruding from its head, shoulders, and spine. Their front paws got four thick, pointed talons that look like they can dig through solid steel, while their hind paws are tipped in curved claws that are longer than my oversized knife. None of which slows the feline-lizard down as it pounces over the sandbag barricades and onto the shooters taking cover behind it. Silly that, digging in not twenty meters from the tunnel entrance, as them soldiers barely get a chance to react before Abby is upon them. Its pointed, armoured beak of a muzzle chomps clean through the steel barrel of an El-minster and rips it out of a soldier’s hand, but that’s only the set up as it whips around and sends its thick, armoured tail scything through the crowd. Thicker than my leg, that tail be, and it breaks arms and crushes ribs with a single, powerful sweep, while two fellas have the unfortunate displeasure of meeting the curved blade adorning the tip of its tail that takes them down in a spraying arc of crimson blood.

  Ain’t ever seen this flavour of Abby, but I heard plenty about them. That there be a Glassmaw, which now that I’ve seen one, feels horribly deceptive considering how tough this Feral really is. There’s a shimmer to their scales too, that might well contribute to their name, and there might well have been a time when they really were fragile as glass. They got the build for a speedy, stealthy predator, except now they’re armoured in Aberrtin plate and muscled enough to carry all that extra weight without losing an ounce of that deadly, feline grace.

  Swooping tail, piercing talons, scything claws, and chomping jaws, the Glassmaw is fury unrestrained amongst the unfortunate soldiers who die in droves trying to get away from the big beastie in their midst. Two seconds is all it needs to kill everything within reach, time in which it attacked every which way in a flurry of frenzied activity that is grace and elegance personified. Adds some extra flair to how deadly they be, to say nothing of the sheer size of the beast. The beastie towers above the soldiers and got a deceptively long reach slices through flesh and bone so clean the bodies fall apart with a touch, a killing machine made to take hits and kill with speed, grace, and ruthless efficiency.

  And if that ain’t bad enough? In the time it took that Glassmaw to kill all those men, two more emerged from the tunnel with many more still to come.

  Got here just in time to see it turn bad right quick, but that don’t change the plan none. Only means I got no time to open up a dialogue before jumping into the fray, and jump I do. Or rather Old Tux does, doing a little shuffle and skip before making his way down the side of the hill at a breakneck pace. His thundering hooves draws some attention from the first Glassmaw that emerged, as it turns its slitted lizard eyes towards me to assess the threat. Should’ve kept its eyes on the prize though, as a blur darts across the battlefield and emerges in a scintillating shimmer of sharpened steel driven by speed and determination.

  Plus magic of some sort, or at least I hope so. If this tiny Asian woman measuring five-foot four at most can cleave clean through the armoured scales, thick muscles, and sturdy bones of a Glassmaw one-handed without any help from magic whatsoever, then I ought to turn tail and ride away now considering how she still ain’t settled up after I done beat up her little brother some time ago.

  The Nipponese beauty is a sight for sore eyes with her high ponytail and adorably grim expression. There’s something about how her hairstyle leaves her ears, nape, and collarbones wholly visible that really gets my engines going, to say nothing of how snug a fit her tank top be, leaving her slender figure in full view with arms and shoulders bare as she cleaves through her target’s neck in one strike, then follows up without missing a beat to carve its head clean off. Guess she didn’t have time to get all armoured up, but she did throw on a pair of gauntlets and shin guards that look sturdy as can be while doing nothing to hide her petite, yet surprisingly curvy form. A sight for sore eyes she is, and doubly so when she splits into four versions of herself as a second Glassmaw pounces in to engage her. Mirror Image that, and while she ain’t half as good as Tina with the Spell, there’s something hypnotic about her synchronized movements as she defends herself against the Feral’s frenzied assault. One that she weathers well enough, though it’s clear to see which one is the real Kacey, as she’s the only one that visibly interacts with the Glassmaw’s movements as she’s punted away by a blocked swipe that is sure to take the wind out of anyone’s sails.

  Well, most anyone besides Kacey, who goes cartwheeling away to reduce the force of impact. Won’t stop the Glassmaw from pouncing on her as she does though, but that’s Inari’s job. The snowy white fox familiar darts in with her three tails raised and fanned out as she unleashes a Sword Burst Cantrip around the Feral’s ankles. Ain’t a whole lot of punch to the Spell, one that unleashes a nova of force in a razor-thin pane around the caster, but it’s enough to cut into the meat of the Glassmaw’s unarmoured ankles and cause it some pain. Don’t cripple the beastie, but do keep it from following through to immediately pounce on Kacey.

  Ain’t nothing stopping it from rending Inari apart though, and my heart skips a beat as I watch the fluffy white familiar stand its ground against a Feral twenty times its size. Not without reason though, as Inari knew backup was on the way as a light of arcing Electricity shoots out to wrap around the Glassmaw’s neck. Lightning Lure is the Cantrip, one I don’t use because it’s only got a five-meter range and does less damage than a proper Shocking Grasp. Does let you stay out of arm’s reach, but considering the second part of the Spell drags the target towards you, that don’t seem all that relevant. Even against regular sized Ferals, most humans can’t compete in raw strength, not pound for pound at the very least, so the Glassmaw eats the Electric shock and doesn’t budge so much as a single inch.

  Does stop in its tracks to dig its paws in as the Electric energies courses through it, making it the perfect stationary target for the hulking thug of a Ranger as he uses the Spell to pull himself forward and charge in Shield first. The spectral glow of the Spell is the same as mine, but whereas I summon a round shield that measures about two feet in diametre, Big Alfred’s rectangular tower Shield is big enough to cover his six-foot four frame from shoulder to ankle. Which is good because he needs the coverage considering how he done just run in to shoulder check a Glassmaw with force enough to knock it over onto its side. Man’s been putting in work at the gym, but he also hit the Feral in the sweet spot as it was rearing up to pounce atop his partner.

  Buys time enough for Kacey and Inari both to get out of dodge while he brings his big iron up to pop off a round in the Behemoth’s soft underbelly. Least that’s where he was aiming, but the agile lizard saw it coming and rolled with the punches. Literally, mind you, doing a big barrel roll to take the Bolt in its armoured back before bouncing back onto its feet. The Bolt hits home, but while a shot from an El-minister would’ve just sparked a flash on impact before bouncing off, Big Al’s hand cannon has got a thunderous retort that I’d recognize anywhere. Mostly because I’ve been dreaming about having one of my own awhile now, a dream that goes back a full year now and started after I bought the Model 10. I picked it because it’s a nice, compact pistol with Armour Penetrating power that I thought would come in handy against the armoured Orcs plaguing Pleasant Dunes. Alfred must’ve seen that and decided he wanted something similar, only he picked up the Model 10’s bigger brother, the Szass and Tam Model 29, a six-shot revolver that’s too big for my hand to comfortably grip. Got a kick to match, even though Big Alfred’s wrist barely even has to twitch to compensate for it.

  Don’t go so well for the Glassmaw though, who falters mid roll as the Intensified, Empowered, and Maximized Armour Penetrating Bolt goes clean through its ribcage to make a mess of its internal organs and set it to screeching something fierce.

  Ain’t fair. Not only is he already a hulking mass of man muscle that’d make a professional linebacker look underfed, he even had a growth spurt in the last year because six foot nothing wasn’t good enough for him. Least I’m still more handsome and smarter to boot, but no amounts of smarts can make up for pure mass and muscle in a straight up fight. After the first Bolt, Big Alfred puts two more into the lizard kitty and drops it for good, then goes back to covering for Kacey as even more Glassmaws emerge from the tunnel in search of a good fight.

  While all this is going on, Old Tux is bringing me closer to the fray with my new rifle readied for action and three kiccaws poking out of my pockets to see what’s what. Was sorely limited in legal options considering I been Exiled from town and couldn’t qualify for any permits for the really fun guns. Like my first choice, the M4 Gromph, a semi-automatic designated marksman rifle that fires overpacked 44-80 rounds, the weapon of choice for top Sharpshooters in the Rangers like Tim ‘the Revenant’ Hayes. Even Rangers gotta wait in line for their M4 Gromph though, so as a civilian, it was far out of reach for me. My next choice was the m1903 Springtide sniper rifle, a bolt-action, magazine fed repeating service rifle weapon that packs enough punch into a standard 44-40 round to take an Orc’s head clean off from over a klick away. Could’ve gone to Clayton’s connection for something of Soviet make too, like the Manfred-Nagash, an iconic bolt-action sniper rifle that’s chambered in 7.62x54R, which is pretty much the largest round readily available for civilian use. Rugged, effective, and precise as all hell, but I wasn’t really looking for a sniper or marksman rifle.

  What I needed was a mid-to-long range rifle for everyday use, something with a whole lot more stopping power than the Ranger Repeater I’d been using, but not so much that I’d have to lock it away every time I go into town. While I briefly considered just getting the 44-40 version of the same rifle, I figured that even though it ain’t entirely ideal, I wanted an everyday rifle with Armour Penetrating Metamagic on it. While that would limit its usage in an urban environment where innocents might be involved, I could always go back to the 22-10 Ranger Repeater if necessary, because chances are, I’d be using it against an unsuspecting and therefore unarmoured target.

  Out on the wild Frontier though? I’m seeing less and less reason to go without Armour Penetrating Bolts, so I went with the best and most expensive option available to me. The Merlin 45-60 is a gorgeous beaut of a weapon, a lever-action carbine with a light-weight frame built out of a Mithril aluminum alloy. Might only have a fingernail’s worth of the precious magical metal added to it, but that’s enough to make it tough as nails, while also sleek and sturdy as blued steel. Shiny too, to the point where I should probably dull it down with ash, soot, or just plain dirt, but it’s too pretty to dirty up like that. I love seeing that metallic sheen really pop against the anodized steel lever and trigger, as well the dark walnut stock that’s polished to perfection and sits so very comfortably against my shoulder and cheek as I raise the weapon and stare down the iron sights.

  Which I prefer, even though this particular Merlin got built in picatinny rails for any matching sight, with added rails on the handguard for a foregrip, flashlight, and or laser sight. Could even do a long-ranged optic up top and a canted reflex sight on the side, though I’ve never been a fan of ‘modern’ Frankenguns with attachments out the wazoo. Or 1x sights in general, really. Why bother when I got two good eyes? I get that there are a whole slew of upsides, but I prefer to just get good with hip firing anything within close range, while taking a little more time for distant shots if I need them. I ain’t no Sharpshooter after all, just a fella who likes to fight in close to mid range because that’s where the fun’s at.

  Okay, I admit melee is pretty fun too, but I ain’t about to go hacking and slashing at no oversized armoured lizard-cat. Not when I got this Merlin 45-60 to test out, with it’s 20-inch barrel that uses the same half-overpacked 45-60 ammo as my Nagas. Which is an upside, no two ways about it, as I use that ammo the least out of all my ammo types, yet still carry enough to really do some damage. With my new standard sidearm being chambered in 44-40, having my rifle in a different calibre means I won’t ever have to worry about using too much ammo at long range and having nothing left for my sidearm.

  Yeah, the Merlin 45-60 fits in my hands like a dream, so well that I don’t even need to use my Wildshape Ability to fire it with accuracy. Not on the shooting range at least, but seeing how I’m riding downhill in the saddle, I give myself a break and Conjure it up all the same, then rack a round into the chamber and take aim. A gentle squeeze of the trigger is all it takes, and the recoil is a dream to manage, even though the Bolt got that trifecta of harder hitting magics plus Prime, Efficient, and Penetrate to boot. Got a whisper of snap to its crack of a shot thanks to the Silence Metamagic, and that sound could be reduced even further if I fit a mechanical silencer to the end of the threaded barrel, but I went with the compensator instead. That’s why the barrel barely even bounces after I fire off the first shot, allowing me to keep my target in sights as I work the lever and chamber a second round.

  Ain’t all that relevant in the here and now though, as my first shot strikes true and drops a Glassmaw mid-swipe to save some runt of a soldier’s life. Least I think I saved it, as momentum do be a thing and the Glassmaw arm continues in its downward arc and thuds heavily into the dirt even though its already dead. Got no time to see if the soldier still lives though, as the Glassmaws keep pouring out of the tunnel with six already engaged and still more darting out with each passing second. Someone was smart enough to throw down an Entangle at the cave entrance, but these be clever and cagey cat-lizards, as one goes leaping out as far as it can to land dead centre in the Spell, only to stay standing upright while remaining stock still to keep them grabby vines from pulling it down.

  All so the next Glassmaw in line can leap onto its back and shoulders without impaling itself on the first’s lowered spines, then using it as a stepping stone to leap across to empty ground and avoid the Spell entirely.

  Ferals are animalistic, but that don’t mean they’re dumb. Not all of them at least, and these ones are downright smart, and I hate smart Ferals. They’re already strong and fast to start with. Add in smart, tough, and armoured and you got yourself a real handful, as I soon learn myself. My first shot was dead lucky, as I caught it clean in the neck to pass a Bolt through its brain and kill it in one go. My next shot shows me that a torso shot ain’t enough to stop a Glassmaw though, barely even enough to slow it down, so I pop two more rounds into the Feral as Old Tux bellows out a challenging neigh as we approach the fray. He’s a spirited and fearless one he is, but he knows well enough not to charge in headlong against these Abby, and instead takes me on a diagonal so I gun down any and all Abby emerging from the tunnel, as I ain’t about to risk friendly fire shooting into the chaotic fray.

  Puts me in a unique position as the seconds tick by. Ain’t no Abby charging at me and only a limited number of targets I can shoot at in an even more limited time frame. Means I gotta make my shots count, which is tricksy seeing how the Merlin 45-60 only got room for six cartridges in the tube plus one in the chamber. All of which I use to take out a piddly three Glassmaws, so while my Mage Hands get to reloading my fancy new rifle, I bring out a Naga to provide cover fire in the interim. Problem is, much like most higher calibre revolvers, my hands ain’t big enough to comfortably wrap around the Naga’s oversized pistol grip, not even after I did a bit of finagling with some custom polished redwood grips to sand in some recessed finger grooves to make for a better fit.

  Course, that don’t matter much when you free to use both hands on the grip, a stance I don’t often take but do in the here and now since there’s still a good fifty meters between me and the emerging Glassmaws. Ain’t nothing for a carbine, but for a pistol, it’s considered a long-range shot. Most folks can’t hit a bull’s eye from 10 meters away, much less 20, while I’m aiming at an armoured, fast moving target that’s air bound for most of the time it spends in my sights. So I slow it down, take a breath, and thumb the Naga’s trigger back, a necessity seeing how it’s a single-action weapon, but in this case, the movement does double duty as the Somatic Component of a Cantrip, one that I activate with a focused effort of will to guide my next shot.

  Time slows as the True Strike Cantrip takes effect and stretches out the moments to really make them last. All perception, as the world continues on at normal speed, but as I stare down the barrel of my shiny steel Naga at the Glassmaw bounding out of the cave’s mouth, it’s like there ain’t nothing but me, my target, and all the time I need to line up my shot just right. The Behemoth soars through the air with its front talons raised and ready, while its hind legs be stretched back and arced like a diver making ready to jump. Looks silly as can be, but the fact that its body is so still and straight while sailing through the air is a testament to its grace, strength, and poise. It knows exactly how far and how fast it’s going, calculated exactly where it wanted to land and executed the leap perfectly. That’s why its limbs are locked in place, because it’s poised for the next move after that, one that will see it land lightly atop its Entangled companion and spend all of half a second before bounding right off and into the fray.

  And while it might seem obvious to aim at where the Glassmaw will be during that half a second as it lands, figuring out where that’s gonna be is easier said than done. With True Strike active though, I can almost see an image of where it’s gonna be before it arrives, and I aim the Naga accordingly. Leading the target ever so slightly, I exhale and squeeze the trigger as Old Tux is on the down step, giving me the maximum amount of stability and accuracy possible while riding horseback towards the threat.

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  The Naga’s heavy click sounds off a hair’s breadth before its booming retort, a sharp and explosive crack and sends both my arms up until I’m pointing the gun at the skies. In the meantime, I crack a toothy grin as I take in my handiwork and see the leaping Glassmaw catch the half-overpacked Bolt clean in the neck and the Metamagics do their thing. Distant and Extend Duration are standard, ensuring the Bolt lasts long enough to reach the ranges needed for a gunfight, while Intensify, Empower, and Maximize are fairly straightforward, giving the Bolt enough punch to really do some damage. Penetrate sees the Bolt pierce clean through its armoured hide, while Siege goes the extra mile and shatters its metallic scales, not just where the Bolt impacted, but all around it in a rippling effect like a stone thrown into a still lake.

  The last two be the real winners though, or at least in this specific scenario. The Concussive force of the impact don’t do nothing to the target in question, as that Glassmaw is dead as a doornail on account of its spinal column and brain stem having been pulped and shredded by the force of the Bolt spread out through its innards. It does affect the Glassmaw that gave itself up as a stepping stone though, as the Dazing effect disorients it the same way a Flashbang makes your head spin from just being in range. Makes it flinch away like it too was hit, and in doing so, it drops low enough for the grasping tendrils of the Entangle Spell to grab hold of its frame, not so much dragging the Glassmaw into the dirt but rather holding it down so it can’t stand back up again.

  Credit where credit is due, the Glassmaw stays mostly upright in spite of the Spell, its feet flat and belly raised while its muscles tense and flex in visible effort to get away. That lasts right up until the next Glassmaw in line comes barrelling out of the tunnel to land on its ailing ally’s back, only to go head over heels as it stomps the first Glassmaw flat into the Spell and end up Entangled itself soon after the fact.

  Which I do so love to see, as it brings a cackle to my lips as I laugh and cheer at my handiwork. The rest of the fight ain’t going great, but them soldiers be handling it well enough as in I ain’t seen them break and run just yet. Got no time to spare though, as Old Tux is following my lead to get me an angle on the cave entrance itself, as I’ve got an idea in mind. Keeping my Naga at the ready with my right hand, I utter the chant for a Spell I don’t use all that often, but really enjoy using all the same. That’s why I embedded them Elemental stones into the wrist strap of my new watch after all, one each of Flame, Acid, Electric, and Frost. For these Abby in particular, I’m thinking agility and coordination is a big part of their strength, so I figure I might as well take some of that away with an Element I also rarely make use of, because frankly, it’s the least deadly option of them all.

  Fire is great for killing, especially if you add Ignite Metamagic to it. Electric will stop you in your tracks for a bit, enough time for someone to draw a bead and end you with a pull of the trigger if it don’t kill you outright. Acid will melt bits and pieces of you away, then stick to those melted bits and spread along to melt even more of you over time, making it the nastiest option of all. Frost though? Frost only slows you down some, like you aged a whole century in an instant and stepped out into a snowstorm, one so cold you can’t feel your face no more, much less any of your limbs.

  Which is less than ideal since you really want to kill in one hit, but perfect for this scenario here as I Conjure and lob an Elemental Orb of Frost at the mouth of the cave entrance. As the shimmering ice orb crashes into the ground, it shatters into a thousand pieces and coats the area in a shimmering field of Frost. Damages the next Glassmaw coming out, which eats the injury without breaking stride, only to slip and fall flat on its face as its hind legs lose all traction the moment it tries to jump while stood atop a puddle of ice. Its front paws get off the ground easily enough, but its back legs go straight back without any purchase and drags the rest of it back down to earth, where it crashes smack dab into the Entangle to be covered up by the grasping white grass in the blink of an eye.

  That Magical ice won’t melt until the Spell’s effect ends, while damaging anything that walks into it same as if it was hit. Being Frost damage, it’ll also magically slow anything that touches that puddle to boot, meaning that the next Glassmaw that tries to make the jump needs to jump over the frost and into the Entangle, but the angle of the cave’s mouth means they can’t get as much height or distance. One tries to barrel through the Frost effect, but its muscles move too slowly for it to time the move proper and ends up crashing right into its first buddy who got clipped on his way out. Makes them both easy pickings for my next shot as the Naga blows a hole through both in a single, scale shattering shot. It’s such a spectacle, I go right ahead and put a Bolt through the two Glassmaws caught in the centre of the Entangle despite them both being caught good and well. Not much of a threat really, but ain’t much else for me to focus on as I’m too angled out to provide any covering fire to the soldiers without risking a through and through clipping someone on the other side of my target.

  Nor am I willing to get off of Old Tux to go toe to toe with a bunch of dragon kitties. Partly because I ain’t speedy as Kacey or tough as Big Alfred, but also because I don’t see no point in risking my hide like that for no real gain at all. If the Rangers are involved, that means I don’t get diddly squat from this hunt, though if the ranking Ranger in charge is feeling generous, he or she might apply to get me a reward for my efforts. So far, my kill count is seven Glassmaws, and while you might argue one or two is courtesy of the Entangling Grasp Spell, that’s still five sizable Abby I done killed that I ain’t getting paid for.

  The other reason I’m reluctant to do more is because aside from whoever threw down that Entangle, the soldiers are all focused on the Glassmaws in their midst, which is pretty amateurish all things considered. With how many bodies there are and how most are dressed in fatigues, I’ve long since realized this ain’t strictly a full Ranger operation. These be some sort of allies, and now that I’m closer and got the time to spare, I see that they’re Nipponese allies who likely won’t take too kindly to me on account of the slant of my eyes. Their eyes are just as slanted, but there’s difference enough between Qinks and Nips that I can tell them apart. And if I can do it, so can they, especially considering how the Nipponese see the Qinese as their most hated enemies.

  So I stay a good forty meters away from the Nipponese soldiers and keep watch on the cave entrance fifty meters away. It’s a pocket of calm amidst all the chaos unfolding nearby, so calm that Frowny pops out of my duster pocket and hops on up to my saddle to poof up with Ablative Armour. Got no time to put him away though, as I spot a Glassmaw poking its head out into the sunlight at the cave entrance, only to back away when it sees that there ain’t no way to make the jump. To keep them from getting too brave, I pop a few shots into the cave mouth with the Naga and empty it clean, then switch back to the fully loaded Merlin to stand overwatch for the Nips. A good thing too, because soon the duration on my Elemental Orb runs out, I spot a tell-tale orange glow inside the cave that’s got my butthole puckering something fierce as a torrent of flame comes gushing out to incinerate the Entangling Growth away.

  Which will grow back soon enough, assuming the Spellslinger continues to maintain Concentration on the Spell. One that’s got the same duration as my Elemental Orb mind you, and requires Concentration from the get-go, so I’m guessing it’s a veteran Ranger who threw it out. Here’s hoping I’m right though, because as even before the flames die down, a whole bevy of Glassmaws come a rushing out, moving quick as a blink and eager to close in. Two come barreling down right towards me, but my readied True Strike helps me snap to the first and put it down right quick. The other tries to bob and weave, but I stopped Old Tux a full 50 plus meters away from the cave entrance, instead of getting right in close like them idiot Nips who dug in so close to the exit. Means I got plenty of time to draw a bead and make my shot count, and as the whisper of a snap sounds out again, I don’t even gotta look to know I put my second target down.

  Can’t do nothing to the Glassmaws already thick in the fray, but I got my eyes locked on the cave because I know there’s still more to come. Namely the Abby who shot out that gout of flame, who emerges in a storm of muscle, scales, and fury. Looks like any other Glassmaw, only about half again as tall and twice as thick. Otherwise, there ain’t nothing all that special about it, though I pray for whoever gets in its way, as not even Big Alfred can do anything to slow it in its tracks. Luckily for them all, it’s got no intention of diving right in to wreak havoc, as the giant of a Glassmaw slows to breathe real deep at the edge of the fight closest to me. Which is good and bad, as it could do some real damage up close and personal, but will likely do a whole lot worse considering it was the source of all that flame earlier on.

  I know this because its throat and chest start to glow with an orange red-hot light, one that peeks out from between its deceptively thick scales that jut out more than finger’s length from its hide. Fortunately for everyone involved, it ain’t a Spellcaster slinging Dragon’s Breath like Cowie, but rather a Feral who was born with an extra organ used to carry out a bio-Alchemical process which emulates the Spell’s effect. It’s a little extra work that can be done anytime the Proggie wants, even after a Feral been born and grown, but is also much cheaper to produce than a Second Order Spell Core. Won’t do nothing besides what it was designed for, so there are ups and downs of course, though from where I’m sitting, it’s all upsides for me.

  All this passes through my head in the blink of an eye and don’t slow my reaction none. See, I’ve seen that orange-red glow before, and if I seen it once, I seen it a thousand times and know exactly what to do. Much like the roly-poly Exploders that plague the Badlands with their kamikaze explosions, I know good and well that whatever biological process they use to produce that Alchemical Fire is far from stable. So rather than get out of dodge, I throw a Hunter’s Mark on the Behemoth, and feel time slow as my perception stretches the moments out. Same as True Strike really, but it aids me with each and every shot as I unload all fiver remaining Bolts from the Merlin 45 into the big beastie’s throat with a snap, a clack, a ting that sounds so sweet to the ears as it repeats again and again, and again.

  And again.

  And again, with each Bolt setting the beastie back on its haunches as it’s made of sterner stuff. Armour is at least twice as thick around the throat compared to its kin, and maybe three or four times, so it takes all five shots to punch a hole through its armour and pierce the hide and muscle underneath. Reeling from the shots, the Behemoth turns towards me with rage in its yellow, reptilian eyes, but again, I’ve picked my spot well so I got plenty of time to react even though my target didn’t go down like I hoped it would. Switching to my other Naga which is still fully loaded, I quick draw, thumb the hammer, and let the magic guide my shot while aiming down the sights. The one-handed shot kicks with enough force to make me almost lose my grip, but I ride the recoil like always and bring it down for a second shot.

  One that ain’t needed as the Siege Metamagic shatters the Behemoth’s scales and clears the way for the Penetrating to do good work. Hide, muscle, and bone don’t stand a chance against the half-overpacked round, and the Bolt pierces right through the organ designed solely to control and contain that bio-Alchemical process. I reckon it’s a lot like mixing two liquids with an explosive finish, though I’m sure Astrid and Harald would both talk my ear off telling me how that’s wrong. The end result speaks volumes to my interpretation though, as the Behemoth’s head explodes in a gout of Alchemical Flame that shoots straight up into the sky for a good three seconds from start to finish.

  Then and only then does the beastie collapse, slamming down into the dirt with a thud never to rise again. The fireworks are glorious to behold, and better still is everyone’s reaction, as most of them Nips turn to see how close they all came to death while the Glassmaws turn tail to run back into the safety of their cave. Had the Behemoth gotten its Dragon’s Breath off, it could’ve cooked at least half the soldiers still fighting, while leaving all of its allies more or less untouched, a poor trade off if there ever was one.

  So rather than target the fleeing Glassmaws, I soak in the startled looks and raise my smoking Naga to my lips and give it a good blow to cool it down. Fighting the urge to grin from ear to ear, I give the pistol a good twirl and showboat just a little bit before tossing it over my shoulder for the right Mage Hand to catch, as the left is busy reloading the Merlin after depositing the other Naga fully loaded into its holster on my hip.

  I admit it’s a little much, but after the fiasco with the Cliffstriders the day before yesterday, I could use a little boost in confidence to get me going again. Yeah, I was a little too cocky before that, but there’s a fine line between confidence and cockiness that is difficult to tread. Day before yesterday, I was too far over the line, then dipped too far below it, but now I’m feeling right as rain again.

  “No need to thank me,” I say into the ensuing silence, as many of the Nips are staring just a little too much, though I think most are just shocked to realize the fight is over and won, in no small part thanks to me. Well, not all of them, as there be a good number of medicos rushing in to treat the downed and wounded, which is something I can’t really help with. I know enough about first aid to get by, as it done been drilled into me by Uncle Art, but I’m more of a wrap ‘em and slap ‘em sort of guy when it comes to treating injuries. Put a bandage on, then rub some dirt on it, though you know, not real dirt because that might get it infected.

  As for lacerations, broken bones, and other sorts of serious injuries? I figure best to leave those to a specialist, and I’ve no desire to become one no matter how much the job might pay.

  Instead, I move Old Tux around to get a closer look at the downed Glassmaws, especially the big one who’s head exploded. The piebald don’t love the smell of blood and death, but he’s a veteran through and through, so he keeps his nerve and plods onwards until we’re standing over the Behemoth. Gives me a much better perspective of the sheer size of the beast, as its two to three times bigger than Old Tux, though mostly in width and length. Honestly, up close, it looks like a slightly bigger Glassmaw that’s wearing the skin of another Feral altogether draped over top it. That’s how thick the armoured scales are, like palm length bricks you could beat a man to death with. Means it ain’t that much taller than the other Glassmaws, but it’d still tower above me even while mounted atop my horse, and I’d hate to go toe to toe with a beastie like that. Even Penetrating rounds from my Merlin 45-60 weren’t enough to punch through, and that’s a First Order Bolt with more Metamagics than you can safely stack without fear of cracking a Core. Only about 50% more, and Bolt Cores are pretty plentiful so you don’t gotta worry too too much about getting a replacement, but that just makes this Behemoth Glassjaw all the more terrifying to go up against.

  How many Fireballs would it take to punch through those thick scales and what I imagine is an even thicker hide underneath? Too many, that’s the answer, though there’s something to be said about hammers and nails. Might be time I stopped thinking about how I can solve all my issues with Fireball, as I done good work with a few other Spells today. Elemental Orb was the big one, but I dunno if it’s useful enough to keep on me at all times. Hunter’s Mark was also kinda a downer, as it’s like a True Strike that stays on a single target. While it’s also supposed to deal Mental Damage with every attack I land, I’m not sure if it worked with the Bolts, because I sure as shit didn’t notice it do much of anything at all. The Behemoth ate up five shots from the Merlin, and while they most certainly hurt it, they wouldn’t have slowed it down none if it was charging headlong towards me.

  The Whumper with a Condenser could’ve put it down, and a BAR might have the volume of fire to really bring the hurt, but otherwise, I’m not seeing any standard guns in the crowd that could’ve taken this thing out. Maybe the Nips got soldiers with Elemental Weapons or other Spells such as Lance or something, but I didn’t see any of them jump out. Now that all the fracas has died down, I spot one Ranger in their midst, some dour looking baldy I don’t recognize. He’s got a bronze Divination Orb pinned over his breast pocket. Sits next to a bronze Conjuror’s Horn, which makes him a good Mentor for Kacey, but that’s it. No third pin, and neither one in silver, so even if the Ranger knows his stuff, he wasn’t all that and a bag of chips before coming to the Frontier.

  Nor does he seem all that pleased. At least that ain’t my fault, as he’s got a dark glower for anyone and everyone that catches his eye. Me included, but he don’t hold eye contact or wave me over for a chat, so I just sorta hang out in hopes of getting a word in with Kacey or Big Al as it’s always nice to see a friend so far away from home. I know Antoni and Ike were sent this way too, though I doubt they were put into a squad with Kacey and Alfred both. From what I hear, they try to keep it to 1 newbie per Strike Team, and full Strike Teams at that, so if the new Recruit needs help from their Mentor, there are still 4 Rangers available to cover for them. The fact that Kacey and Big Al are both here with only one Ranger in sight is a little worrisome, as that seems like they’re putting two eggs into one basket with a whole lot of rocks that might break them before they’re hatched.

  Which is why I’ve been looking around in search of other Rangers, only to see nothing besides Nip soldiers dressed in their camo fatigues. Old world camo mind you, featuring a smattering of black, brown, and green that stands out amidst the white grass of the Frontier, and probably even more in the Fuschia Flatlands which ain’t called Fuschia because they’re earth toned. Some pencil pusher probably decided regulation and tradition was more important than useable camouflage, and the Nip soldiers ended up like this. Technically, they ain’t even soldiers, as the Nipponese Army was disbanded in its entirety after World War Two, with its newfangled constitution including a stipulation that said Nippon would never maintain a military ever again. Which is silly, but after the Nazi’s, they were pretty much the big bads of the War, committing all sorts of heinous atrocities along the Pacific Front. Under the orders of their Immortal Monarch who was also Emperor, but never bothered to hide it. Historically, people just thought the Nipponese regime played things close to the vest and never let on when an Emperor died and a new one took the throne. Turns out that wasn’t the case, but it’s not like it was any different for a lot of countries, as we call them Immortal Monarchs because most used their power to become a head of state.

  Unlike the Prussians though, the Nipponese have pretty much scrubbed their heinous history clean, because they surrendered to the Federation who stepped in and decided the Nipponese would make for great allies and debtors seeing how the Qin, their actual allies in the war, had also lost their Immortal Monarch and were looking like a big juicy pie that everyone wanted a bite of. Either way, most folks never really mention the crimes the Nipponese committed during the war, but you can’t go two minutes in a conversation about Prussia without someone bringing up Nazi’s, even though they were both pretty atrocious.

  Course, it ain’t like they were the only two Nations that did horrible things to achieve victory. Those were some different times then, with tech coming out swinging to prove they had the upper hand over magic, while Spellslingers were extra motivated to show that wasn’t the case.

  That said, the Nipponese were particular eager to commit war crimes against the Qinese, as they’d been warring and feuding for millennia. No one knows exactly why, but if old Tian Zi was to be believed, the Nipponese Immortal Monarch actually started out as one of his disciples who ultimately betrayed him. The Nipponese deny it of course, and get real pissy if you ever bring it up, but knowing what I know about the Qinese, it’s possible Tian Zi wrote that into his autobiography just to really piss off the Nipponese, as one of their favourite insults is to call themselves “your father”. Going one step further to call yourself another Immortal Monarch’s Mentor would be totally in line for the Qinese Immortal Monarch, so I don’t put much stock into the rumours.

  Or the feud really, but the same can’t be said for the Nipponese. The whole reason why I beat up Kacey’s little brother was firstly because he looked older than I did, and two, he was glaring at me from across the way just because I was Qinese. Tolerant, the Nipponese are not, as to this day, they believe in the purity of the Nipponese blood, so much so that the Nazi’s declared the Nipponese as honorary Aryans because they were just that racist. Birds of a feather flock together, so even though they both hated folks of other races, they bonded in that hatred and worked together to eliminate all the inferior races together.

  Like a bad romance novel it is, but it looks like the Nipponese eat that shit right up, as they’re all mad dogging me despite having just saved most of their asses. Fact is, the heat’s so uncomfortable, I stay mounted on Old Tux just in case I gotta make a quick exit, and the longer I sit and wait, the more likely that seems necessary. I ain’t one to run from a fight, but I’ve also learned to pick and choose them wisely, so after waiting around for a minute or three and seeing Kacey and Alfred are much too busy to talk, I figure I ought to get gone while the going’s still good, only to realize I waited just a hair too long as some snot-nosed little shit with a fancy cloak thrown over his pristine uniform comes a marching over to see me.

  With a retinue of fairly elite looking soldiers at his side, as they do march real pretty with their ironed uniforms and fancy rifles resting on their shoulders, to say nothing of their fancy Nipponese swords sheathed in their belts. The kid’s got a sword too, and is dressed to impress as he moves with perfect posture and nose pointed up at the sky like he better than everyone else. The quality of his sword with its fancy wrapped hilt and the shiny pistol with the ivory grip speaks of wealth, but other than that, the kid don’t look like much. Maybe a year or three younger to match Kacey’s shit head of a little brother beside him, but nowhere near as tall. Mostly because Kacey’s little brother has grown since I last seen him, and is even sporting a full chin of beard fuzz to boot. Nothing too fancy, as it’s mostly scuff, but thick enough to look like it could become a proper style once groomed and grown out. Ain’t fair, as he’s three years younger than me and I still can’t grow a beard worth a damn, as the only place it grows is on my upper lip. Don’t come in thick either, so I keep it shaved to avoid looking like a creep, while only having to take a razor to my neck and chin once a month to get the dozen or so sparsely scattered hairs growing here and there.

  Again, I ain’t one to run, so I stand my ground and watch the kids come in alongside their babysitter soldiers. The dapper one stops and looks up at me, then turns his head away like he don’t like me sitting high above him. Then he says something in his singsong tongue, addressing Kacey’s little brother who answers in the affirmative. The dapper kid asks something else, and Kacey’s little brother bows, like literally bows. I heard the Nipponese bow a lot, but I didn’t think a kid would have to bow to another kid, so I sit tight and watch as Kacey’s little bro turns to address me.

  “You stand in the presence of Minamoto Akihisa,” the kid says, glaring daggers at me like that’s supposed to mean something. When I don’t move, he sneers and adds, “Even a dog has better manners than you, to remain mounted when addressed by your betters.”

  Which is a funny turn of phrase, seeing how there’s a three-headed doggy poking its heads out from between his legs. Adorable little thing it is, almost fox-like to match Kacey’s Inari, but with dark, satin-black fur and six pairs of big, brown eyes that are glaring at me same as their Summoner. I give the doggies a smile, one that stays fixed on my face as I reply to the kid. “First off, he ain’t better than me. If he was, he wouldn’t have needed me to help save the day.” Sensing the tension, Frowny puffs up some more as he throws on yet another Ablative Armour, but I tuck him into my pocket to keep him out of harms way. “Second, I ain’t standing. I’m sitting, as you yourself pointed out, I am currently mounted. Lastly, he ain’t addressed me. You did it for him, so even if I was inclined to play nice, it’s hardly good manners to speak through a snot-nosed little shit with milk in that tangle of face pubes you think be a beard.”

  Furious as Kacey’s little brother might be to hear it, that don’t stop him from translating in real time for the other little shit to hear. And little shit he be, as he don’t much care to hear it, getting all hot and bothered enough to forget he was trying not to look up at me. Got a glare to match his toady’s, and I’ve an urge to teach him a lesson too, but I’m smart enough not to act on those urges while there are at least twenty Nipponese soldiers in fighting condition carrying fully loaded guns around me.

  Whatever the kid says though, it ain’t addressed to me, but to his guards behind him who bring their weapons down to the ready, but stop just shy of turning them on me. Kacey’s little brother ain’t none too pleased about it, probably because he’s standing at ground zero should the fireworks kick off, but he translates all the same. “You have five seconds to dismount and beg for mercy,” the kid says, darting his eyes back and forth then away in search of outside assistance, “Else you will be dragged off and beaten as a lesson in humility.”

  I don’t answer. Not with words at least. Instead, I pull my duster aside to reveal my Mage Hands pointing both Judges at the kid and his guards, which really throws them for a loop. Letting the guns float out to get a better angle on my targets while keeping Kacey’s little brother and his adorable three headed dog out of the Blast cone, I let my duster drop back down before drawing my Naga’s once more, because if we gonna fight, I’m gonna kill as many Nips as I can without a care for how it might look. The snobby little shit is frozen in fear, his eyes stuck on the Judge that’s a foot away from his head, and his guards look petrified for fear that he might die. Or themselves, though I don’t think that’s the case, as they got that air of intensity about them that says they can talk the talk in addition to walking the walk.

  “Well?” I drawl, looking calm and collected as can be as I ready up with the Naga without pointing them at anyone in particular. “I’m waitin’. How you gonna teach me that lesson when you and yours are all dead?” I give him a few seconds, and don’t get a response, so I heave a little sigh and say, “Didn’t come here expectin’ any thanks, but I sure as shit ain’t gonna take no lip from a snot-nosed little brat still stinkin’ of his momma’s milk.” Pausing for a breath, I give Kacey’s little brother a tilt of my head and ask, “How come you ain’t translatin’? Get to it. I’m teachin’ him a lesson in humility here.”

  The kid don’t look none too happy about it, but he does as asked, and the dapper one snaps out of his fugue to almost give a snap order when he hears it. Stops himself short though, which is good, because if any of his people so much as twitch in my general direction, he’s gonna get a whole slew of Kinetic shard to the face. I wait until the translation is done, then say, “All right then. I can see that I ain’t welcome, so I’ll be leavin’ now.” Using the Judge to point at the snotty kid, I use my Naga to gesture back the way I came and add, “Get to marchin’ thataway. I’ll follow behind, keeping a Judge and Naga trained on you the whole time. Soon as I make it up to that crest over there, little lord shit head is free to come back. He won’t ever leave your line of sight, but if I so much as even think y’all are gonna try something, I’ll give him both barrels and leave just enough for you to scrape into a tin to bring home.”

  And now comes the tricky part. All good and well to defend myself, but getting away intact is a whole other kettle of fish. Here’s hoping this shit head is actually valuable enough to keep the Nips from coming after me right quick, but seeing how they only got horses hitched to wagons and no other mounts to speak of, I’m pretty sure I can get away relatively clean. Don’t matter though. This kid’s mouth wrote a check his ass couldn’t cash, but that’s the difference between him and me. I pulled my guns knowing I can handle whatever may come, and now he’s gotta pay the piper.

  And if he doesn’t? Well, if push comes to shove, I suppose I’ll just have to get in touch with my Qin roots and slaughter some Nips for the Republic.