Path of Dragons

Most people were under the impression that, if someone wanted to be a sniper, the most important skill to possess was being a good shot. While being able to hit what you were aiming to hit was necessary, Gun held a different opinion. To him, the most important trait was patience.

He'd never been on a mission where completion didn't hinge on it.

Once, he'd spent two days lying in a field as fire ants ate at his legs, creeping forward a couple of feet an hour so he could get in range of his target. He didn't eat. He barely drank. He just focused on doing what was necessary to complete the mission. If he'd moved any faster, the patrols might have found him. If he'd come from a different direction – one with real cover – they definitely would have. So, he'd done what he had to do.

And he had completed his assignment, much to the surprise of the probably-CIA operatives who'd recruited him for what they thought was a suicide mission. After that, he'd become their go-to assassin, and they'd made a habit of, every now and again, showing up and snatching him out of the barracks to take out high-value targets well behind enemy lines.

No spotter. No squad. Just him and the mission.

It was meditative, in a way. Even with all the hardships and danger that came with going it alone, he found the simplicity of it soothing.

The same feeling enveloped his mind as he lay in a crevice between two rocks, observing the man he was going to kill. He'd watched Elijah Hart for almost three days – no easy feat, given the man's ability to transform into what appeared to be a rainbow-colored dragon. Still, Gun was more than capable of following his path, which had led to the camp of oddly large goblins.

To Gun, they seemed perfectly at home in what had once been the Himalayan Mountains. Impressive, really, considering how much larger and more dangerous the range had become. The wildlife had followed suit, with mountain goats as big as horses and predators capable of hunting prey of that size.

But nothing in the area could hold a candle to Elijah Hart.

The man moved through the wilderness with impunity. A rarity in a world fraught with threats that would make anyone think twice about traveling overland. Of course, Hart flew as often as he ran, and any creature stupid enough to attack him would soon find itself on the wrong end of natural selection.

Gun watched through the scope of his new rifle as that monster-in-human-skin pretended to be what he so obviously was not. He played the role of jovial wanderer, but anyone with a lick of survival instincts would recognize him for what he was – an apex predator.

Still, Hart stuck to his part, even handing fruits to the goblin children. Even from so far away, Gun could see them sway on their feet, evidence that those were no normal fruits. Likely, they were packed with ethera – and he'd watched Hart eating them like candy.

And then it happened.

Mid-conversation, the man jerked his head in Gun's direction. His heart leaped into his throat, but he didn't move a single muscle. He didn't even blink. His finger crept to the trigger as he readied himself to take the shot.

By all rights, there was no way Hart could sense him in any way. Gun was hidden beneath a ghillie suit that perfectly matched the terrain, and on top of that, he'd used Low Profile as well.

On paper, it seemed such a simple ability, but it was one of the most useful skills he'd been granted. With it active, he could walk through a city entirely unnoticed. Even in a surveillance state like Seattle, he could fly under the radar. He trusted it to keep him hidden, especially when his target was so far away.

A little less than three-thousand yards, by his calculation. It was not the extent of his range – he'd killed creatures from twice that distance, which would have blown the old-Earth records out of the water – but in the mountainous terrain, it was as far away as he could get and still maintain sight lines.

Still, Gun knew that he couldn't kill Hart. Not with a single shot, certainly. The man was too strong. Even if Gun loaded him up with everything all at once and somehow managed to hit him in the head, he might knock him out. Maybe he'd get lucky, though. Maybe he'd be rewarded by seeing that head explode like a watermelon.

But he was almost positive that wasn't going to happen.

Because Gun had done his research. He'd watched Hart move so fast that a level ninety-five Tamer couldn't even react before his head hit the ground. More importantly, he saw that the guild leaders of New York – four of the most powerful people on the planet – just let him do it.

That Tamer had been a member of Ram Khandu's guild, Indra's Edge. By all rights, the leader should have challenged Hart to a duel, right then and there, if only to show his members that he would protect them when they couldn't protect themselves. But Khandu had let it go without a response.

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He knew that if he attacked Hart, he'd end up much like his guild member.

Did Gun believe he was more powerful than the guild leaders? Probably. Especially in the right circumstances. He could punch well above his weight class when it came to killing a single target. The tradeoff was that that was pretty much all he was good for. Sure, he could defend himself in close combat, but his abilities were almost all focused on assassination or escape, with very little in between.

If he was going to fulfill his contract, he needed to wait for the perfect moment. And there in the mountains, with the man's eyes boring into him, Gun knew this was not it. So, if it came down to it, his goal was to wound and evade. With such a large head start, maybe he'd survive the encounter.

But probably not.

After a tense moment, Hart shook his head, then returned to his conversation. Gun resisted the urge to let out a long sigh of relief. In fact, he didn't even breathe until he saw the hill goblins hoist their overly large packs – each one stood at least four feet above their shoulders – and headoff to the east. Meanwhile, Hart set off to the west, passing out of Gun's sight after only a few minutes.

He watched as, in the distance, a giant flying reptile burst into the sky and took off to the north. The path took Hart dangerously close to where Gun had set up, but he had no choice but to remain motionless and rely on his ability to keep him hidden. Hart flew by only a couple hundred yards away, then disappeared over a mountain.

Still, Gun didn't move.

Instead, he remained in place for another three hours until he was certain that the danger had left him behind. Even then, the tense moment lingered in the back of his mind, preventing him from climbing to his feet.

He knew precisely how close he'd come to being killed.

Looking at Hart was like encountering a grizzly bear in the wild. Survival was entirely out of your hands. If that monster wanted to kill him, then there wasn't a lot Gun could do about it.

It was an oddly freeing thought. Gun had faced death countless times, both before and after the world's transformation. He'd been in enough firefights to have come to terms with his own mortality. And knowing the stakes – that if Hart ever saw him coming, he would assuredly die – was comforting.

With that in mind, he finally pushed himself to his feet. One good thing about all those attributes was that he didn't get as sore as he once might have. Though he did suspect that if he ran into another swarm of fire ants, they'd be a lot more dangerous than they had been before the world's transformation.

A shiver went up his spine as he imagined getting eaten alive by the insects.

He spent a few minutes stretching, then shouldered his weapon and set off down the mountain that had been his perch. The Mark 9 was a masterpiece of ethereal engineering – or so he was told. It fired a projectile nearly a foot in length, propelling it at supersonic speeds with a surge of ethera filtered through a pressurizing rune. It also instilled that round with enough energy to explode an ascended creature. He'd tried it out a few times, and unless the foe was better than level one-fifty, there wouldn't be much left but scattered gore.

And that was without even using his various abilities.

The Mark 9 was a weapon that could, at last, keep up with him, and it was the only reason Gun thought he had a chance of success. He had various traps he could deploy as well, but that required him to predict where and when Hart would arrive. And given the way the man flitted about the world, that was exceedingly difficult.

It was only because one of the members of the League of Ancients, stationed near Bogota, had run his mouth about Hart meeting with the guild leaders in New York that Gun had ever found him. Even then, he'd been forced to wait for almost a week before the man showed up, decapitating a Tamer before heading into Central Park.

Gun hadn't followed into the park itself. It was too enclosed, and the defenses surrounding it were strong enough to detect him. So, he'd waited and watched for weeks until Hart emerged and immediately left the city.

But Gun knew he would return. He'd seen the way Hart looked at the refugees of the ongoing war north of the mountains. So, he waited near the Conclave Spires until, at last, Hart had reappeared.

And he'd been following the man ever since.

He had made and discarded a number of plans, but even though he'd failed to figure everything out, there was light at the end of the tunnel. It was only a matter of time before he cracked it. He just needed to remain patient.

So, he set off to the north, thanking his high attributes that allowed him to traverse the mountainous terrain with relative ease. Due to Low Profile, he managed to avoid detection by the occasionally powerful creatures that made their home in the mountains, so he made good time.

Of course, Hart would outpace him.

He knew that.

But he also had a good idea where he was going. He'd already investigated the Third Army, and he'd made contact with the nomadic hill goblins. There was only one other side to the conflict, and though Gun hadn't visited the Seat of Benediction, he knew roughly where it was located.

With that in mind, he crossed the mountains, eventually coming within sight of the war elf encampment. Gun generally considered himself an accepting person. He'd met and even befriended a few off-worlders. However, seeing the Third Army and knowing their intentions, he couldn't help but consider taking out a few of their commanders.

He chose not to, though.

Not yet, at least. The time for that kind of thing would come. He didn't have the skills to kill them all. And what's more, he already had a mission. It was no different than any other warzone where he'd been forced to ignore atrocities in favor of doing the job he'd been given.

But still, he expected that it wouldn't be long before Earth's powers were forced to respond. Right now, they were effectively trapped on this side of the mountain range, but at some point, they would attack one of the passes leading to the other side. That was when New York would join the fray.

And they'd likely drag others – like Seattle – into it as well.

Either way, the war elves were not his problem. At least not right now. So, after watching them for a little while, he moved on, passing the burned out husk of a city – Bhabua, he remembered, though the humans had long since perished or abandoned the place. It had since been rebuilt to house an eclectic mix of off-worlders who'd renamed it Alabique.

Not anymore, though. The Third Army had seen to that.

Gun considered heading to Kalki, which was the last standing bastion of humanity in the region. However, that fortress city was buttoned up so tight that even if Hart went there, he wouldn't stay long. No – he was going to the Seat of Benediction. Gun was certain of it.

Gradually, Gun cut across the steppes, eventually arriving at the foothills of another mountain range. It wasn't as large as the remnants of the Himalayas, but it still formed a natural border.

He ignored the locals, and they didn't even notice his presence as he passed one village after another. There were dozens scattered across the area, each one with a pyramid at its center. Gun wasn't interested in those. Instead, he was headed toward the center of the kingdom.

The Seat of Benediction.

He shuddered at some of the stories he'd heard of the place. But he quickly pushed those thoughts aside. Dealing with unpleasant people was often just part of the job. So, he forged ahead, ready for whatever he might find.