A deafening bang rang out through the warehouse and punched a hole through Maxwell's side, drawing a loud curse from him and a sptter of blood.

  I suppose it's time I finally stop pying coy about what my on is.

  A long time aght after the Mountainhomes of the Dwarves were first invaded by the Hikaano Empire, the dwarves experimented with a novel form of non-magical on, sisting of an iron tube that was sealed at one end, with a charge of explosive powder and a heavy projectile i. The powder was lit, went boom, and the projectile, taking the path of least resistance, flew out the barrel at obse speeds- faster than any ordinary arrow, and hitting hard enough to punch through the tall, thin stone walls that typified Hikaano fortifications of the time.

  Despite the dwarves now having a on that could break castles in the course of a few hours when scaled up, and sughter an armored man in a single shot when scaled down, they still weren't able to win; the on was still primitive, the supply lines weren't mature or stable, and it simply could not be used enough to defeat the Hikaano Empire's endless legions of heavy infantry.

  And so, the on was relegated to the dustbin of history- a curiosity, a sort of distant precursor to the steam-driven piston engine, and maybe a symbol of dwarven nationalism, although the hammer was a far, far more on symbol.

  Maybe, deep in the Mountainhomes, a hiddeance group is cursing my name for having the same idea they did and not keeping it a secret until the dwarven people were ready to win their independence from the Hikaano. Or maybe they haven't figured it out yet. But I had found a way to take these guns of turies past and turn them into a viable on.

  Step one: repce the powder with a bsting hammer.

  Another bang echoed out, tearing through the side of Maxwell's chest, just below the armpit, likely shattering ribs.

  Step two: find a way to load lead bullets into the firing chamber. Anything that was better than stuffing it down the barrel backwards with a ram-rod. For my part, I'd found a way to do it that let me just hold dowrigger and tinuously fire bullets until the spatially-expanded magazine finally ran out of bullets- which would not be anytime soon.

  Step three...

  I lept backwards as Maxwell swung a glowing shortsword through where my midse had previously been.

  "Fine!" Maxwell yelled as he charged me. "Fuck me f to py hen! I'll just py dirty like I should've from the start!" He screamed as he caught a third bullet, this ohrough the stomach.

  ...put it in the hands of an Elven Mage-Knight.

  I shot once more, finally missing him and shattering a vase that robably of goblin make, or in imitation of their style. I'd caught Maxwell by surprise with the first two shots, but that was over now, and the fact I hadn't mao shoot him in the head yet meant I was uo mahat anytime soon.

  He dud wove through the withering hail of bullets like an absolute champion, moving with a fluid, unnatural grace that even my father would be impressed by. Once he was within arm's reach, I pulled my gun back, as he came up with his sword in hand...

  ...and was then bsted straight into the air with an overcharged force bolt, putting him into a predictable arc that let me nail him with two more bullets before he hit the ground- although I still couldn't quite mao hit that little pissweasel's head. But, well... I'd put, what, five slugs of lead through his body by this point? There was no way he was in any shape to keep fighting-

  "YEARGH!" I screamed, as his bde rammed through my kidney, ing out the other side covered in blood and piss and everything iween.

  "You think it's gonhat easy to take me down?" Maxwell whispered, as the illusory double disappeared. Didn't know he could do that... "Bitch, please. Now, if you could just give up the fight like a good little knife-ear-"

  I was dead certain that Maxwell Tenpenny's real body was, in fact, right behind me. I'd checked with mage sight, and I could feel his vital essence humming behind me, holding a magic sword.

  So I eled everything I had into the most hideously lethal spell I'd learned: Ariel's Wrathful Lightning Bolt.

  Maxwell was thrown off his feet, as lightning traced a path down from his head down to his feet, ign every path of lesser resistahat didn't involve human flesh. Smoke wafted off of him, his sweat fsh-fried by the heat of the bolt.

  With a grunt of pain, I pulled the shortsword out and s in half over my knee. Dad had given me a primal amulet that'd let me slowly regee from my wounds like a cave troll, and I could already feel it w on my kidney... but it was slow, and I'd likely only be ba top fighting shape after the fight was already over.

  Okay. So there's a differen bat effectiveness between John Courser the Thieves' Guild apprentid Maxwell Tenpenny the King of Thieves. Could've stood to learn that in a way that hurt less, but... what's happened has happeime to deal with the present and the future.

  Maxwell grunted as he cmbered to his feet, golden light washing over his wounds. Not for the first time, I found myself wishing that I had some kind of healing magic I could cast, but nope, I had to get stuck with a talent for the are, and a plete inability to ect to the primal. Not that I'd be able to heal myself right now- I had, after all, burned all my magicka on a killshot that hadn't even disabled him.

  "You are... a real pain in the ass... aren't you?" Maxwell said, breathing heavily as he produced a neon from somewhere on his person.

  "Even the King of Thieves is barely a match for the gree of Knights," I said, leveling my gun at him once more. If magic wasn't an option, then fine- I'd shoot his dumb ass to death and decorate my house with his corpse.

  Maxwell, for his part, went straight back to dug and weaving, dodging the spray of bullets without issue. o self for the version of this: develop a kind of ammunition that sprays even more so that it 't be dodged by someone as nimble as the King of Thieves. A golden glow maed in Maxwell's hands, and I bolted for cover, but it was too te to hide from his wrath- a bst of holy fire erupted before me, flinging me back with its sheer force, aing my hair and clothes alight in the process. I hurriedly put it out with a quick roll, but that gave Maxwell all the time he o cast another spell, this time a pilr of earth that shot up beh me, kig me in the ribs hard enough to unch me into the wall of the warehouse.

  I groaned as I slumped down, losing my grip on my gun. Fuck. Fuck. Everything hurt so fug bad...

  "Well, now you're cooperative," Maxwell muttered darkly, stalking towards me with heavy footfalls. "Let me expin how things are going to go now, boy." He lifted my with the tip of his sword. "Yoing to go in a dark closet with a succubus, and she is going to ruin your life. And once she's doh you, I'm going to take what's left, and live forever as the immortal King of Thieves. And yoing to die iter, as nothing more than a footnote in my legacy."

  "Big words... little man..." I hacked out, before he kicked me iomach, driving the breath from me. Fuck, that hurt. But if I was gonna die here... at least I could make sure he couldn't enjoy it.

  "Yoing into this closet," Maxwell said, repeating himself, as an invisible force picked me up and threw me through an open doorway. "And you're not ing out until that succubus is doh you." He lifted the reliquary that was now ba his off hand, which began to glow with a sickly purple, and tossed it into the closet with me. "Have fun while you , boy."

  The door smmed shut as the reliquary bouny chest, and rattled to the floor. From the end with the , purple smoke began to leak out, pooling and coalesg into the silhouette of a woman.

  The smoke began to solidify, until, at st, a beautiful woman in a dht i dress stood before me, looking me over with bck eyes whose ters burned like dlelight.

  I closed my eyes a limp, hoping that if I pyed dead, she'd lose i. After all, she was a succubus- a demon, sure, but also a creature of occult magic.

  "Mother, please protect your wayward son," I prayed in my head. "Give him the strength to make this right."

  As with all my prayers, though… this o unanswered.

  She sighed wearily, and with the sharp clicks of a woman wearing hard-soled dress-shoes walking on tile, she came to kneel beside me, putting one hand on my wrist to check my pulse. I sighed, admitted defeat, and opened my eyes, to find her gaze meeting my own. All that was left now was... fag my doom with some level of grace.

  "...Not again," she said, rolling her eyes.

  Well. Wasn't expeg that.