Wild ARMs: Fantom Fiction

Bass galloped alongside the speeding train, his heart pounding in rhythm with the hooves of his horse. With a bold shout, he launched himself from the saddle and landed on the moving platform.

"Yee-haw!" his partner, Rin Vladislov, rode alongside him, his figure almost too eccentric for the dusty trail they traveled on. Rin’s long, purple cape fluttered behind him, catching the wind in a way that made him look more theatrical than any Crest Sorcerer Bass had ever known. The top hat perched on his head, slightly tilted, added to the oddity. His goggles, which rested just above his eyes, glinted in the sunlight, reflecting the endless horizon ahead. Bass couldn’t help but wonder how Rin could see much of anything through those tinted lenses, but somehow, the sorcerer managed.

Rin followed Bass off his horse and up onto the platform with a graceful leap, his lavender velour cape billowing dramatically in the wind.

Trailing behind them, their leader, Fonder, rode at a steady pace. Dressed in all black, with a round hat and small spectacles, his cold demeanor matched the eerie sight of his single black dot of an eye. His ARM—a black-plated handgun—was raised, gesturing for them to move forward. Fonder slowed his horse, lining up with a car further back.

Bass's pulse raced with excitement as he pulled out his own ARM, Peacemaker, a seven-chambered revolver gleaming in chrome. He tugged the bandana around his neck up over his face like a mask, ready for action.

“Windy,” Rin muttered as he adjusted his own mask, battling to keep his long blond bangs out of his eyes.

They carefully entered an empty boxcar, leaving the door slightly ajar for a quick escape if things went south. Bass repeated the plan, “Three cars up, then over the top of the fourth, down into the fifth.”

“Mail?” Rin asked.

“Yeah, it's mail,” Bass confirmed.

Cautiously, Bass stood on tiptoe, straining to peek through the window of the next car. Seeing nothing unusual, he opened the door. Inside, they were greeted by piles of person-sized mail bags.

“Is also mail,” Rin observed dryly.

Bass nodded. They crept through, encountering the same sight in the next two cars—heaps of mail.

When they reached the fourth car, they understood why Fonder had told them to climb over. The door was locked with no visible keyhole, only a smooth surface adorned with a gold inlay forming a six-pointed star, a blue gemstone set at its center.

“Is magic,” Rin said, his tone flat.

“Looks like we’re climbing,” Bass replied. Rin crouched, offering a boost, and once on the roof, Bass pulled his partner up. They moved cautiously across the top of the car, spotting their target—a hatch.

“Locked from the inside. What now?” Bass asked.

Rin produced a rigid playing card marked with intricate, geometric patterns. “Is also magic,” he explained, slipping the card into the hatch's seam.

“Careful. Is blast.”

Bass dropped flat as the card activated, releasing a controlled explosion that blew the hatch open, just as Rin had predicted.

The dust settled, revealing the inside of the car. Bass and Rin peered through the open hatch. The room was sparse, but not empty—two figures occupied the space. A young girl sat on a crate, hiding behind a woman. The girl wore a creamy overcoat that looked oversized and cozy, her face mostly obscured beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Her long blonde hair spilled out from under it.

But the real focus wasn't on the girl. Between them and the child stood a woman with ebony skin and long, flowing dreadlocks. She wore a sharp cowboy hat and a long duster, her presence commanding and calm. At her side hung a curved, katana-like sword, still in its sheath. Beneath the coat, she was dressed like a postwoman, though she looked anything but ordinary.

Bass hesitated, something in his gut warning him against drawing his gun in this situation. But he wasn’t one to back down easily, and he tried to mask his unease with a smirk. "A sword? Really?" he scoffed, hand hovering near his holstered revolver. "You’re bringing a knife to a gunfight."

Rin, less confident, shifted his weight uneasily. “Is strong,” he warned in his usual blunt fashion.

Bass chuckled, dismissing his partner’s concern. "How deadly can a lady with a sword be to a man with a gun?" He mused aloud, letting the cocky grin spread across his face.

The woman didn’t respond with words. Instead, she stepped into an iajutsu stance, her hand resting lightly on her sheathed katana. There was a moment of silence, the tension in the air palpable. Then, with blinding speed, she drew her blade in a single, fluid motion. A shockwave blasted from the sword, traveling fifteen feet in an instant and slamming into Bass with such force that it sent him sprawling onto his back.

The grin was gone.

Bass scrambled back to his feet, wincing but wide-eyed in awe. "What in the hell was that?" he gasped.

Rin, ever calm, replied, “Is Fast Draw. Is strong, like said.”

The woman calmly sheathed her sword, her posture never wavering. "Name’s Stagecoach Mary," she introduced herself, her voice steady and cool. The name hit Bass like a freight train. He’d heard of her—a legendary fighter who traveled with the mail, protecting it from anyone bold or foolish enough to interfere. Her reputation for defeating would-be thieves was as sharp as her blade.

“There’s no way you’re stealing my parcel,” Mary declared, her stance unwavering.

Bass dusted himself off, irritation slipping into his voice as he said, “I hate to harm a lady, but I’ve gotta have that parcel.”

Before Mary could respond, the small girl behind her tugged at her coat. “Am I the parcel?” she asked, her voice innocent and curious.

Mary sighed, shooting the girl an annoyed glance. “Don’t just give yourself away like that,” she muttered, clearly exasperated.

Bass and Rin exchanged stunned looks, realizing they weren’t dealing with a simple robbery anymore. They were supposed to kidnap someone. The prospect of being hired to abduct a child rather than steal mail hadn’t crossed either of their minds, and the weight of that revelation hit hard.

The two bandits slowly backed away, huddling together to confer in whispers, unsure of what to do next. They weren’t expecting this, and for the first time, they began to question the right and wrong of it all.

Bass leaned in close to Rin, his voice barely above a whisper, his expression tight with frustration. “Did I hear that right? We’re supposed to kidnap a kid? What the hell, Rin? No one said anything about kidnapping!”

Rin, as calm as ever, gave a slight shrug, his voice steady and measured. “Is parcel. Is girl. Same thing.”

Bass shook his head, his tone rising in exasperation as he tried to keep it down. “That’s not the same thing, Rin! I thought we were grabbing some high-value cargo, not snatching up some kid! This ain’t right.”

Rin blinked, his face impassive. “Job is job.”

Bass threw a glance back toward Stagecoach Mary and the girl, trying to piece it all together. “Job is a robbery! Not... child abduction! There’s gotta be a line somewhere, right? And this—this is over it.”

Rin gave a small nod, acknowledging the mess they were in. “True. Is... mess.”

Bass ran a hand through his hair, the weight of the situation sinking in. He muttered under his breath, “And that Mary—she’s no joke. She almost cut me in half from a distance, Rin! I don’t even know what kind of magic sword trick that was, but she’s dangerous. Way more than we bargained for.”

“Fast Draw,” Rin repeated matter-of-factly. “Strong. I said.”

Bass sighed heavily. “Yeah, well, I should’ve listened. But now what do we do? Can’t exactly walk away, can we? Fonder won’t be happy if we come back empty-handed.”

Rin’s brow furrowed slightly. “No. Won’t be.”

Bass paused, the moral weight of the situation pressing on him. “But kidnapping? That’s a whole other beast. I ain't built for that. I rob banks and trains, not... whatever this is.”

There was a moment of silence as Rin seemed to mull over their options. He glanced over at Stagecoach Mary, his expression thoughtful. “Could... talk with Mary. Find other way.”

Bass arched an eyebrow, considering the suggestion. “You think she'd bargain? That woman looks ready to split us in two if we even blink wrong.”

“Could try,” Rin replied seriously. “Better than kidnap?”

Bass narrowed his eyes, considering the possibility. “You’re thinking we bluff our way out of this? Make it seem like we’re leaving with something else?”

Rin gave a small nod. “Is possible.”

Another heavy sigh escaped Bass as he glanced back at the imposing figure of Stagecoach Mary, then at the girl. “Alright. Let’s try it. But if she swings that sword again, we run—fast.”

Bass glanced at Rin, clearly torn. Before he could say anything, Rin leaned in closer, his voice low but firm. “Remember Fonder? He crazy. If we come back empty-handed, we dead. All of us.”

Bass flinched, the weight of Rin’s words landing hard. He knew Rin was right. Fonder wasn’t the kind of man who tolerated failure, especially not from his own gang. The cold, calculating leader might’ve been absent from this particular car, but his presence was always felt, hanging over them like a shadow. Fonder had a reputation for handling failure with swift brutality, and Bass had seen firsthand what happened to those who crossed him.

“Hell, you’re right,” Bass muttered, his fingers tightening around the grip of his gun. “Fonder won’t just let us walk away from this.”

Rin nodded grimly. “Nope. Won’t matter if it’s girl or gold, he just want something.”

Bass swallowed hard, looking between Rin and the girl. The pressure was mounting. If they backed down now, they were dead men. But if they went through with this, they were crossing a line Bass wasn’t sure he wanted to cross. His chest tightened as he tried to think of a way out—something, anything that didn’t end in either Fonder killing them or them kidnapping a kid.

“Damn it,” Bass growled, frustration boiling over. “I don’t like any of this.”

Rin’s voice remained steady, though there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. “Is no choice. Fonder don’t care.”

Bass rubbed his temples, the gravity of the situation crushing him. Fonder’s wrath was unavoidable if they failed, but doing this—taking the girl—was a step into darkness he hadn’t anticipated.

“We gotta figure out how to deal with Mary,” Bass said, his voice tense but resolved. “And fast.”

Rin glanced at Bass, his expression calm and composed as always. “Want me to figure it out for you?”

Without thinking, Bass muttered, “Yeah, that’d be great.” The words were out of his mouth before his brain had fully caught up. His eyes widened as realization hit him like a freight train. He knew exactly what Rin was going to do, and panic surged through him.

“Wait—no! Don’t—”

But it was too late. Rin had already stepped away, his hand glowing with the unmistakable energy of Crest Sorcery. His fingers traced intricate patterns in the air, a shimmering light forming between them. Bass’s heart sank as he recognized the spell forming. Rin was going to blast the car coupling apart, separating the final four cars from the rest of the train.

“Rin, don’t do it!” Bass shouted, rushing toward him, but Rin was already too far along in the casting. His eyes were focused, his body still as he powered up the spell.

With a soft hum, the energy swirled and built, crackling in the air. Rin’s Crest Sorcery, a force of destructive precision, was about to unleash itself on the train's coupling.

Bass skidded to a stop, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it now. “Damn it, Rin!”

The surge of energy exploded from Rin’s hands, streaking toward the coupling with a blinding flash of light. A thunderous boom followed as the spell hit its mark, sending shockwaves through the metal. The car coupling shattered, the sound of tearing metal and screeching wheels filling the air.

Bass could only watch in horror as the final four cars, including the one they were standing on, began to slow, disconnecting from the speeding train ahead.

As the blast reverberated through the train, Stagecoach Mary reacted instantly, her keen instincts and combat-honed reflexes kicking in. She staggered briefly as the car lurched, the train’s rear section decoupling from the rest. The rumble of the wheels began to fade as their section of the train slowed, but her sharp eyes remained locked on Bass and Rin.

Without missing a beat, she drew her katana, the blade flashing in the light as she jumped up through the hatch in the ceiling of the traincar, and landed into a ready stance. Her gaze was intense, every muscle in her body coiled, prepared for whatever came next.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she barked, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. The train may have been breaking apart, but Mary remained as unshaken as ever. Her grip on her sword tightened, and the air between her and the two bandits seemed to thicken with tension.

Bass, still recovering from Rin’s unexpected move, stumbled over his words. “Look, it—it wasn’t my idea! Rin’s a little... impulsive.”

Rin, unfazed, merely glanced at Mary and then back to Bass, as if the situation were completely normal. “Is necessary.”

Mary’s eyes narrowed, not a flicker of fear in them. She stepped forward, placing herself protectively between the girl and the two bandits. “You’ve made a big mistake,” she said, her tone deadly calm. “You think separating the cars will stop me? You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

Bass raised his hands defensively, trying to calm things down before the situation escalated any further. “Hey, whoa, no one wants this to get ugly. We didn’t realize the kid was the parcel, alright? This—this wasn’t the plan!”

But Mary wasn’t buying it. Her grip on the katana remained steady, her eyes calculating. “You think blowing the train apart will let you get away with her? You’d better rethink that.”

There was no doubt in Bass’s mind—if they made a wrong move now, Mary would cut them down without hesitation. He shot a nervous glance at Rin, who seemed eerily calm despite the growing threat.

“Rin...” Bass whispered through gritted teeth. “We might have made things worse.”

Mary’s focus shifted back to Rin, her expression hardening. “You’ve got one chance to fix this, or you’ll regret crossing me.”

Fonder, having hung back to watch from a distance, noticed the moment the train cars separated. Without hesitation, he spurred his horse into a furious gallop toward Bass and Rin. As soon as he reached them, he barked his orders, his voice cold and commanding.

“Grab the loot and get moving!”

Rin, still as calm as ever despite the chaos, glanced at Fonder and clarified, “Is person.”

Bass, looking between Rin and their gang leader, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’s not just mail, boss. The parcel—it’s a kid.”

Fonder’s eyes narrowed, his patience clearly wearing thin. “I don’t care if it’s a sack of gold or a sack of bones! Your job is to rob this car, and that means getting the damn mail.”

Stagecoach Mary, who had been watching the exchange, stepped forward, her katana gleaming in her hand. “Over my dead body,” she spat, her voice as sharp as her blade.

Fonder didn’t hesitate. He drew his ARM—a sleek, menacing revolver—and raised it toward her. The tension was electric, the train still rolling beneath them as Bass and Rin braced themselves for what was about to happen.

Before Fonder could fire, Mary moved with lightning speed and dropped down the read end of the car. With a powerful slash, she tore open the side of the car behind the girl. In a fluid motion, she grabbed the child, and the two of them vaulted onto the roof of the next moving car, propelled by the momentum.

“Damn it!” Fonder growled, his grip tightening on his gun as he shot in anger. The bullet flew wide, slamming into Rin’s leg instead. Rin let out a pained cry and lost his balance, tumbling off the moving car and disappearing from sight.

Fonder barely gave him a second glance. His eyes were locked on Mary, now scrambling across the roof with the girl. “Move, Bass!” Fonder snarled, still firing shots at the roof. “Get going and deal with her, or I’ll deal with you next!”

With Fonder’s ARM pointed at him, Bass had no choice. Reluctantly, he holstered his own revolver and scrambled onto the roof, his heart pounding in his chest. The wind whipped around him as he pulled himself up, coming face-to-face with Mary, her katana still drawn.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The standoff was tense, both of them locked in a deadly game of who would draw first. Bass’s hand hovered near his ARM, while Mary’s grip on her sword tightened.

Then, as if the universe itself had intervened, a gust of wind blew across the roof, catching the girl’s oversized hat and whipping it away into the air. Her long blonde hair streamed out behind her, and in that moment, something strange and unmistakable was revealed: her ears—long, pointed, and distinctly non-human.Bass froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. “An Elw?” he muttered, the word escaping his lips in a whisper.

Mary’s gaze flicked to the girl, her shock momentarily breaking her combat stance. The revelation hung in the air, changing everything. The girl wasn’t just some random parcel—she was something far more rare, far more valuable.

And now, both Bass and Mary knew it.

Bass broke the tense silence with a dry smirk, his voice carrying a hint of sarcasm. “So, uh... the Postal Service hiring?”

Stagecoach Mary didn’t lower her blade, her eyes narrowing in response. “Not outlaws like you.”

Bass chuckled, though there was a bitterness behind it. “Outlaw? Nah, you’ve got me all wrong. I’m not some hired killer.” He glanced briefly at Fonder below, who was still shouting threats and orders, oblivious to the shift in the air. “I’m a dream chaser. A migratory bird—free to fly wherever the winds take me. I don’t want this life.”

Mary studied him closely, still keeping her guard up. She didn’t seem convinced.

Before she could respond, Bass took a deep breath and, with a slow, deliberate motion, drew his silver ARM, Peacemaker, from its holster. The chrome-plated revolver gleamed in the sunlight, its polished surface reflecting the sky and the speeding landscape below. Bass leveled it directly at her, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. Mary’s eyes hardened, her muscles tensing, ready for whatever came next.

But Bass’s expression shifted, almost pained, as he squeezed the trigger.

Click.

Nothing happened.

The revolver didn’t fire. Not a single sound followed the pull of the trigger.

Bass sighed, lowering the weapon. His voice softened, losing its usual swagger. “This old thing? As long as I’ve had it, it’s never fired for me. Or anyone else.” He gave the gun a resigned glance before looking back at Mary. “I use it as a prop. Just something to scare people. Rob them without actually having to shoot.”

Mary’s stance loosened ever so slightly, her expression turning from suspicion to something more like understanding. Bass wasn’t the typical ruthless bandit she’d been expecting. He was something else—something more conflicted.

“Then why carry it?” Mary asked, still wary but curious.

Bass holstered the revolver, his face a mix of frustration and weariness. “Because sometimes, people see what they expect to see. A man with a gun... and they don’t ask questions. They don’t see what’s really there. And if they think I’m dangerous, well... it keeps me alive.”

He glanced again at the girl, now peeking out more fully from behind Mary, her wide eyes filled with fear and confusion.

“But this?” Bass gestured toward the girl. “This ain’t me. Fonder’s out for blood, out for gold, but I’m not his hired gun anymore. Not today.”

The wind howled between them, and in that moment, Bass felt the weight of his words sink in. He’d drawn his line in the sand. Whatever came next, he wasn’t going back to who he was.

Mary didn’t lower her sword, but her stance had shifted from aggression to consideration. “So, what’s your next move, dream chaser?”

Bass smiled faintly, though there was a sadness to it. “I’m not sure yet... but I think it’s time I stop chasing other people’s dreams.”

Mary shook her head, glancing sideways at Bass. "You picked a helluva time to have a life-altering epiphany," she muttered, her voice tight with frustration.

Bass shrugged, trying to keep his grin from wavering as gunfire crackled in the distance. “What can I say? I’m a complicated guy. We should just run.”

Without hesitation, the two of them sprinted toward the edge of the train car, leaping from roof to roof, the disconnected train cars still rolling but slowing as they lost momentum. Behind them, Fonder was relentless, riding hard and firing his ARM with reckless abandon. Bullets whizzed past, and Bass ducked instinctively, feeling the heat of each near miss.

“He’s blowing through a small fortune in ammo,” Bass croaked between breaths, half in awe. “That girl’s gotta be worth something big to somebody with deep pockets.”

Mary shot him a sharp look. “If you can’t shoot, what good are you?”

Bass, still running, gave her a lopsided grin. “I play a mean harmonica.”

Mary stared at him for a beat, deadpanning. “Great. A musician. Just what I need.” She didn’t slow, but her frustration was clear. “I don’t trust you with the girl. If I go after Fonder, I’m leaving her with you.”

But before Mary could argue further, the girl tugged on Bass’s sleeve from behind. “I trust him,” she said softly, her voice clear despite the chaos. “I trust Bass.”

Bass nearly stumbled, his surprise genuine. “Wait—how do you know my name?”

The girl giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just do.”

Mary cursed under her breath, eyes darting between Bass and the approaching Fonder. She hesitated for only a moment before making her decision. “Fine,” she growled. “But if you do anything stupid, I’ll gut you myself.”

With that, she spun and bolted back across the rooftops, her hands hovering near her waist, ready to draw her katana at a moment’s notice. Fonder’s gunfire followed her, the rhythm of the shots slowing as he realized he was running low on bullets.

Bass watched as Mary leapt from car to car, her form sleek and practiced, dodging bullets as she closed in on Fonder. The outlaw leader, sensing her approach, stopped firing and held his position, his eyes narrowing as he waited for her next move.

Mary, gathering her breath and focus, prepared for her strike. She launched herself from the roof of the slowing train car, her momentum carrying her forward with incredible speed. Her katana flashed in the air, and with a single powerful motion, she unleashed an aerial shockwave from her blade, aiming to cleave Fonder where he stood.

But just before her strike could land, Fonder fired his last bullet. The shot struck Mary in the shoulderguard, the impact spinning her out of the air and sending her crashing to the ground with a heavy thud. She rolled once, twice, before coming to a stop in the dust.

Fonder, however, didn’t escape unscathed. The shockwave from Mary’s strike hit its mark, cleaving his cybernetic horse clean in two. The mechanical beast sparked and sputtered as it collapsed beneath him, throwing Fonder to the ground with a heavy crash.

For a moment, everything was still.

Fonder groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, bruised and furious. He leveled his gun in the direction where Mary had fallen, ready to finish her off—but there was nothing. No sign of her at all. The space where she’d landed was empty.

He cursed under his breath, kicking at the dirt in frustration before turning his gaze toward the far-off train. Bass stood atop the last car, silhouetted against the sky, the girl clutching his arm. Fonder raised his ARM to aim, but it was hopeless—too far. He cursed again, his voice rising in rage as he kicked the remnants of his cybernetic horse.

“Damn you, Bass!” Fonder shouted, his words echoing across the open plain.

Bass, watching from the roof, exhaled slowly. He didn’t know what would come next, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he’d made the right call.

Bass helped the girl down from the traincar, his hands quick but careful. “C’mon, we gotta move,” he muttered, casting a quick glance back. Fonder was probably close by, and sticking around wasn’t an option.

Once they hit the ground, Bass gave a half-hearted shrug, glancing up the tracks. “Left my horse somewhere up there. Not that it was mine, anyway… didn’t even know its name.” He looked down at the girl, curiosity sparking. “What’s your name?”

The girl’s face lit up, and she replied in her native Elw tongue, her voice flowing with a melodic quality, the sounds slipping out like a song. “Zzz'riph...ra Zzph'ryl…”

Bass blinked. “Uh… whut?”

She giggled, the musical tones of her laughter blending with the wind around them.

Bass scratched his head. “Can I just call you… Zipper?”

The girl burst out in delighted laughter, the sound light and airy like a small bell ringing. “Zipper!” she repeated, the word seeming almost foreign on her lips, but she found it endlessly amusing. “Yes! Zipper!”

Bass smirked, a little relieved. “Alright, Zipper it is then.” He cast a look ahead, the endless Filgaian wasteland stretching before them, dry and unforgiving. “Let’s get going,” he said, his voice quieter. “Downhill—there’s gotta be water somewhere.”

Still giggling, Zipper followed him as they descended into the dust-covered landscape, the sounds of their footsteps and the wind blending into the eerie quiet of the wasteland.

They trudged through the dusty wasteland, trying to look like they had a plan. In truth, Bass had no idea where they were headed, but he kept walking, hoping downhill would eventually lead them somewhere. The heat pressed down on them, but Zipper didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she was bouncing along like this was some kind of grand adventure. She hummed a little tune under her breath, giggling as she skipped over rocks and patches of dry earth.

Bass’s stomach let out a loud, unmistakable gurgle.

Zipper turned to him, her eyes wide with amusement. “You’re hungry,” she said, more like an observation than a question.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Bass muttered, rubbing his stomach. “Problem is, I can’t hunt, and there’s nothing out here but cacti.”

Zipper’s face brightened, her curiosity piqued. “Cacti! I want to try cactus!”

Bass chuckled, shaking his head. “I was being facetious. You don’t actually want to eat a cactus, kid. Trust me.”

Zipper tilted her head, confused. “Fa-see-shus?”

“Yeah, means I wasn’t serious.”

She stared at the nearest cactus, looking like she was still considering it. “But how do you know what to eat and what not to? How do you know how to survive out here?”

Bass kicked at a rock, his mind drifting for a second. “I was raised by the Baskar,” he said, his voice a little softer than usual. “They’re nomads, live out in the wilderness like this. They know the land, the animals, everything. Taught me how to get by out here.”

Zipper blinked up at him, listening intently, her playful energy momentarily calmed. “Baskar?”

Bass nodded. “Yeah, and that’s how I knew you were Elw. They revere your kind—sacred, they say. The Baskar have stories about the Elw, stories that go way back. So when I saw those pointy ears of yours, I knew you weren’t just any kid.”

Zipper looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled brightly. “So, I’m special?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Bass said with a small grin, his gaze drifting to the endless horizon. “More special than you know.”

She seemed satisfied with that answer, resuming her humming as they continued walking, even though neither of them had a real plan. The wasteland stretched out endlessly before them, but somehow, with Zipper skipping along beside him, it didn’t feel quite so empty.

As they continued walking, Bass's eyes narrowed. Far uphill, silhouetted against the shimmering horizon, he spotted a figure. Instinctively, he pulled Zipper behind a nearby rock for cover, gesturing for her to stay quiet as he drew his ARM, Peacemaker.

The silver handgun gleamed in the sunlight, a striking weapon with a pearl-white grip that shone with an almost ethereal glow. Its large seven-cylinder chamber held enough rounds to make a statement, though Bass had never fired it. Along the barrel, an intricate engraving of a winged lion spiraled down its length, fierce and majestic. Though it was a rather large handgun, most ARMs were designed for more than just simple combat—Peacemaker, with its artistry and heft, was no exception.

Zipper, crouched beside him, gazed at the gun in wonder. “Wow... why haven’t you bonded with your ARM yet?”

Bass blinked, caught off guard. “Whut?”

Zipper didn’t seem bothered by his confusion, but he held a finger to his lips. “Shh,” he whispered. “Quiet now.”

He peered back over the rock, his eyes scanning the spot where he’d seen the silhouette. But now, it was gone—nothing but dust and the heatwaves rolling over the landscape. His gut told him something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t see anything. Still, he kept Peacemaker ready, tension settling into his shoulders.

Then, suddenly, a faint noise came from behind.

Bass froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the unmistakable gleam of a katana’s beveled tip, gently resting on his shoulder. His heart skipped a beat. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Hi, Mary!” Zipper chirped cheerfully from beside him.

Bass let out a long breath, his grip on Peacemaker loosening slightly. Of course it was Mary. She apparently had the uncanny ability to appear exactly when he least expected it.

Bass sighed, his shoulders slumping as he dropped Peacemaker to the ground. The silver revolver clattered softly in the dust. “Alright, alright, I surrender,” he muttered, though the tension in his voice had faded.

Mary, still holding her katana at his shoulder, chuckled softly—a rare sound from her. “Why’d you even bother pulling it, Bass?” she asked, her voice light with amusement. “We both know you weren’t gonna use it.”

Before Bass could respond, Zipper jumped in, beaming up at Mary. “Bass named me Zipper!” she declared, her excitement clear as she hugged Bass’s arm like a favorite toy.

Mary raised an eyebrow, glancing between them, watching the way Zipper seemed to cling to Bass like they'd been friends for years. The sight of them, looking like peas in a pod, seemed to soften her demeanor, though she kept her stoic edge. “Zipper, huh? Well, that suits you,” Mary said with a small grin, letting her sword fall to her side. “Guess I don’t need to worry about him anymore.”

Bass glanced sheepishly at Mary. “Yeah, she’s... real attached.”

Mary just shook her head. “Seems like I can trust you now, Bass. You’ve really lost most of your threatening vibe.” Her voice was calm, but there was a playful glint in her eye.

Zipper, clearly thrilled to be included in the conversation, piped up again. “Bass says he learned survival skills from the Baskar!” She said it with such pride, as if she were telling Mary about a grand adventure.

Mary, still amused, tilted her head. “So if you’re so good, why’d you leave such an easy-to-follow trail?” she asked, crossing her arms as she stared Bass down, though her tone was far from accusatory.

Bass gave her a sideways smirk. “I left it because I figured you could track better than Fonder,” he said, shrugging. “Fonder couldn’t track a mudslide if it swallowed him whole. I was the one doing all the tracking in that gang.”

Mary laughed—a rare, short bark of genuine amusement. Zipper, caught up in the moment, started giggling as well, though she clearly didn’t understand the full context. Bass couldn’t help but chuckle along with them.

Mary leaned on her sword for a moment, her eyes scanning the horizon. “Well, it’s probably safe to say no one’s coming after us this way, then. If Fonder’s that useless, we’ve got some breathing room.”

Bass nodded. “Fonder’s terrifying, sure, but deep down, he’s spoiled. Can’t live without his luxuries. He’s used to having everything handed to him, not out here roughing it. We’ll need to be careful near highways and the like—he’ll go for the easy route, send others to do his dirty work.”

Mary’s expression grew serious, though there was still a trace of her earlier amusement. “Makes sense. We’ll keep an eye out.”

After a pause, Mary asked, “Do you even know where we are?”

Bass, ever the optimist, gave her a lopsided grin. “Not exactly, but I can tell by the stars once night falls. My sense of direction’s not so bad.”

Mary nodded, accepting his answer. “Good. That’ll help.”

The group settled into an easier silence, the dust of the wasteland settling as the tension between them faded. They didn’t have a clear plan yet, but with the stars as their guide and the open land before them, they had a sense of purpose. For now, it was enough.

As darkness began to blanket the wasteland, the trio trudged onward, their steps quieter as the weight of night settled around them. The desolate landscape stretched endlessly, each rock and patch of dry earth casting long shadows in the fading light. It was an empty, eerie place, but Bass seemed unfazed. In fact, he seemed right at home, his voice breaking the silence with a thoughtful tone.

“You know,” Bass began, glancing back at Zipper and Mary, “Filgaia’s full of weird paradoxes. The kind that don’t make sense until you’ve seen ‘em yourself.”

Zipper tilted her head curiously, her ever-present energy subdued by the encroaching night.

Bass continued, gesturing around them. “Like this: you’d think in a place this barren, there’d be nothing useful, right? No food, no water, nothing but dust. But Filgaia’s strange that way. It’s in the spots almost completely devoid of life that you find something truly... amazing.”

He trailed off, stepping quietly ahead and peeking around a boulder. His eyes lit up as a grin stretched across his face. “Ah-hah!”

Mary and Zipper came up behind him, both curious about what he’d found. What they saw beyond the boulder stopped them in their tracks.

There, standing tall in the middle of the barren landscape, was a magnificent tree. Its trunk was smooth and straight like a palm, yet sturdier, more resilient. The lush green leaves, shaped like six-pointed stars, danced slightly in the evening breeze. Hanging all over the branches in large clusters were plump, vibrant berries, each about two inches in circumference. The sight was almost otherworldly, a burst of life in the midst of desolation.

Bass couldn’t help but admire the tree. “Now that,” he said, nodding toward it, “is a Heal Berry tree. You don’t see these every day. In fact, they’re pretty rare. But if you’re lucky, you can find one—always in places like this, where nothing else grows.”

He stepped forward, reaching out to touch the tree gently, as though it were sacred. “No one really knows why,” he continued, “but Heal Berry trees only grow in the most desolate spots. Like all the life that should’ve been out here... just gathered into this one tree. Its fruit’s got the ability to heal even the worst injuries, and it can sustain a person with food and water for days.”

Zipper nodded slowly, her bright eyes reflecting the soft glow of the tree. “That’s actually totally correct,” she said, surprising both Bass and Mary with the depth of her knowledge. Her tone, though light, carried a sense of wisdom far beyond her years.

Bass raised an eyebrow, glancing down at her. “You sure know a lot for someone your size.”

Zipper just smiled, her eyes twinkling with a knowing look, but she said nothing more. Mary, standing beside them, crossed her arms and looked up at the tree, her usual stoic expression softening slightly. The unexpected beauty of the tree, and Zipper’s strange wisdom, seemed to hang in the air like a quiet revelation.

For a moment, the desolation of the wasteland didn’t seem so bleak. There, under the shadow of the stars and the glow of the tree, they had found something rare, something magical, something that made even the most barren places feel full of life.

As the night deepened, the group decided to make camp beneath the shelter of the Heal Berry tree. Bass, eager to prove he was more than just a rogue with a fancy gun, built a firepit out of the nearby rocks. With expert skill, he struck a flame and stoked the fire, his movements practiced and sure. He wasn't much of a fighter, but survival? That, he could do.

The crackling of the fire filled the quiet evening, casting flickering shadows across the rocky landscape. Time passed as Mary returned, dragging two large, skinned creatures behind her. She dropped them beside the fire with a thud, their strange shapes momentarily catching Bass’s attention.

Bass frowned, looking at the unfamiliar bodies. “What the heck are those?”

Mary hesitated, eyeing the creatures with a reluctant frown. “They’re... not exactly animals-animals.”

Bass raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Well, what exactly are they?”

Mary sighed, clearly not wanting to elaborate but knowing she had to. “They’re Crash Bunnies.”

Bass blinked, then burst out laughing. “Wait, the ones with the big watches?”

Mary, deadpan as ever, nodded and shook a small bag in his direction. Inside, the sound of countless tinkling watches rattled together. “Yep.”

Bass chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Crash Bunnies... who knew?”

More time passed as Bass cooked the meat over the fire, the aroma filling the air. His experience in the wilderness shone through as he expertly roasted the rabbit-like creatures. When he served up the portions, Mary, for the first time in a while, gave him an approving look.

“You cook a good Crash Bunny, pilgrim,” she said, taking a bite.

Bass smirked at the praise, but before long, he finished his portion first, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. Mary, ever keen, turned toward him with a challenge in her eyes.

“Prove yourself, or I’m gonna call you a liar,” she said, her tone serious but with a hint of teasing.

Bass blinked, glancing at her in confusion. “About what?”

“You said you played a mean harmonica.”

Bass scratched his head, realizing she hadn’t forgotten his earlier boast. “Well... I only play for pay.”

Mary smirked, shaking her head. “I’m not paying one Gella till I hear you play.”

Bass laughed, leaning forward. “I play when people tell stories. It’s better that way. I adjust the music, y’know?”

Mary eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright, but I’m gonna need to smoke first.”

Bass nodded, reaching into his pocket to pull out his harmonica. It was an old instrument, battered and worn, but it had a shine to it, like it had been well-loved over the years. He lifted it to his lips, and the first notes that escaped were soft and haunting, a slow melody that drifted into the night. The sound was melancholic, almost like a whisper on the wind, but it carried a richness that wrapped around the campfire, filling the space between them.

As the harmonica played, Mary pulled a small pouch from her coat and loaded her pipe with weed. She puffed it a few times, the smoke curling up into the dark sky, blending with the stars above. She passed the pipe to Zipper, who puffed it lightly with a grin, giggling as she exhaled. Mary, meanwhile, leaned back, her gaze drifting as the music stirred something deep inside her.

The tune Bass played shifted with the mood—at times bright and playful, as if urging a story forward, and at times slow and reflective, like the music could pull the past from the deepest parts of someone’s soul. Each note felt deliberate, yet effortless, as though the harmonica spoke through him, weaving a story without words.

Mary took another long drag from her pipe, eyes half-closed as she exhaled the smoke and thought about what to say next. There was a weight in the air, a quiet moment of contemplation as the music swirled around them, urging her to speak.

The fire crackled softly, and all around them, the night seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her story to begin.

Mary took another long drag from the pipe, letting the smoke swirl out slowly, as though she were stalling, gathering her thoughts. The harmonica’s tune shifted, a bit softer now, more reflective. After a moment, she began.

“I grew up with a broom in my hand,” she said, her voice steady but with a hint of nostalgia. “My mother, she was a housekeeper. Worked for the Fenril Lords up on the northern continent. From the moment I could walk, I was sweeping floors alongside her. I don’t even remember a time before that.”

She chuckled, staring into the fire as if seeing her past flicker there. “First memories I got are of sweeping those damn training halls. The Fenril Lords, they practice the Fast Draw technique, right? Well, those halls... they were always busy, always full of people training, fighting, yelling. And me? I was there every day, sweeping before, during, and after their sessions. My hands had callouses by the time I was old enough to realize there even was a ‘yesterday.’”

She paused, taking another slow puff. “Kept that up for years. Then, when I got older, maybe around eight or so, I started to take an interest in letters, in writing. Factotum working for the Fenril Lord—Vambrace the Bold—saw me hanging around and let me practice my reading by dictating the mail to him. I’d read all the letters when they came in, and eventually, I started writing the responses too.”

The harmonica played a gentle rhythm, guiding the story along.

“One day, I realized something. When they brought in new students, I already knew what they were gonna teach ‘em. All those hours in the training halls, sweeping while they practiced... it had soaked in. I’d never picked up a sword, but I knew the movements, the patterns, like muscle memory I didn’t know I had.”

She shook her head, a half-smile on her face. “Then something happened. I was around ten years old. There was this big rat creature—nasty thing, big as a dog—that got into the training hall one night. Climbed over the garden wall, looking for food or trouble, I guess. The other keepers—well, they freaked. It was late, no students or instructors around. My mother and I lived in a shack not far from the hall, and I heard the shouting. So I ran out, wondering what the fuss was about.”

Mary leaned forward, the firelight catching the glint of her eyes. “And there it was—this big, dirty rat thing, chasing the poor woman who cleaned the fish every day. Must’ve been the smell that drew it. Now, everyone else was screaming and trying to hide, but me? My first instinct wasn’t to run. It was to grab my broom.”

She laughed, the sound rich and warm. “It’s funny now, looking back. But at the time, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. I’d been holding a broom since before I knew who I was, so that’s what I grabbed. And without thinking, I put it between me and that rat creature. I don’t even remember what I did, it was all instinct. Next thing I know, the broom’s broken in two and the rat’s been knocked halfway across the hall.”

Bass’s harmonica softened, a slow, amused tune slipping into the air.

“Now, Lord Vambrace, he’d come down the stairs just in time to see it happen. He stood there, laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. The rat wasn’t dead, but it wasn’t getting back up right away either. Before it could recover, Vambrace walked over to the wall, took down one of the wooden training swords, and handed it to me. He said, ‘Can you show me that again?’”

Mary shook her head again, smirking. “And that’s how it all started. From that day on, I wasn’t just sweeping anymore. I was practicing. Learning. Turns out I didn’t just have a knack for cleaning floors—I had a knack for the sword, too.”

She leaned back, the memories playing behind her eyes as she watched the fire flicker. “That was the day I stopped being the girl with the broom, and started becoming the one with the blade.”

Bass slowly lowered the harmonica, the last notes fading into the night. Zipper stared at Mary, wide-eyed and awestruck, clearly absorbed by the story she’d just heard.

“Wow,” Zipper breathed, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “You were only ten? That’s amazing!” Her excitement didn’t stop there, though. With a curious tilt of her head, she asked, “So how old does that make you now?”

Mary blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Uh, let’s say... 29,” she answered, her tone casual.

This seemed to blow Zipper’s mind. Her eyes grew even wider, and she whipped around to look at Bass. “Wait... Bass, how old are you?”

Bass scratched the back of his head, looking a bit sheepish. “I dunno... I never really kept track. Probably no more than twenty or so, give or take.”

Zipper gasped dramatically, throwing her hands up in the air. “You’re both babies!”

Bass and Mary exchanged a look, both of them clearly unsure how to respond to Zipper’s sudden outburst. Before either of them could ask what she meant, Zipper continued, her expression serious yet amused.

“I don’t know exactly how old I am,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “But I’m pretty sure I lost track somewhere between 150 and 200 years.”

Bass nearly dropped his harmonica. “What?!”

Mary raised an eyebrow, though her surprise was more contained. “You’re joking, right?”

Zipper shook her head, her playful smile never leaving her face. “Nope! I’ve been around for a long time.”

Bass blinked, still trying to process the revelation. “So... you’re... like... ancient?”

Zipper giggled, her eyes twinkling. “Well, I wouldn’t say ancient, but I’ve seen a lot! You guys are just getting started.”

Mary leaned back, taking this in stride, though a hint of amusement danced in her eyes. “So, we’re the babies, huh?”

Zipper nodded enthusiastically. “Yup!”

Bass rubbed his temples, still reeling. “Well, that’s... something.”

Mary chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Looks like we’ve got more to learn from you than we thought, Zipper.”

Zipper just beamed, clearly enjoying the fact that she had shocked them both. The night air settled around them, but the strange, timeless weight of Zipper’s words lingered, adding an unexpected layer of mystery to the already unusual journey.

The peaceful night was cut short by a sudden shift in the breeze. A rank, foul stench drifted into their camp, thick and nauseating. It seemed to hang in the air like a warning. Bass wrinkled his nose and looked around, squinting into the darkness beyond the firelight.

“Ugh... what is that smell?” Zipper asked, her face scrunched up in disgust.

Mary covered her nose with the back of her hand, her usual stoic demeanor breaking slightly. “Smells like something crawled outta hell itself.”

Bass narrowed his eyes, staring into the night. “Well, we can follow the stink right back to whatever it is,” he muttered. “Though I’m not sure we want to.”

Zipper glanced nervously at Bass. “Do you think it’s dangerous?”

He shrugged, half-serious and half-joking. “Wouldn’t surprise me if the smell of our cooking drew something else hungry.”

Before they could ponder further, a sound cut through the night—a deep, baleful call that reverberated across the wasteland.

“Bufooooooooh!”

The eerie cry echoed out over the Filgaian night, and a low rumble followed as something huge moved in the distance, shaking the ground with every step. Another mournful wail rang out, closer now, and the stench grew worse, unbearable. It was thick and foul enough to make their eyes water.

Mary gagged, pressing her hand to her mouth. “I’m gonna barf up my beans.”

Zipper huddled closer to the group, and Bass drew his gun, though his expression was tense, not confident. “Get ready. Whatever that thing is, it’s coming this way.”

They braced themselves, eyes locked on the darkness beyond their campfire. The creature emerged from the night—a hulking, frog-like abomination, towering over them at nine feet tall. Its bloated, green body shimmered under the moonlight, its skin slick and mottled. Four long, yellowish spines protruded from its head, twitching slightly. Its massive feet slammed into the ground, sending tremors through the earth with every step, and its wide, bulbous eyes seemed to lock onto their camp.

Without hesitation, the beast moved straight toward the fire. Its enormous maw opened wide as it lumbered forward, ignoring the group for a moment as it descended upon the campsite. With disturbing speed, it began devouring everything—logs, leftover food, even the rocks around the firepit—as if nothing could sate its ravenous hunger.

“It’s eating everything!” Bass shouted, backing away, his heart racing. “We gotta move!”

The three of them scrambled back as the beast inhaled their camp like it was nothing more than a snack. But it wasn’t finished. Sniffing the air, the creature turned toward them, its nostrils flaring. Its massive head swung toward the Heal Berry tree, and in a grotesque display of gluttony, it began devouring the berries in massive bites, ripping chunks from the tree.

“No! Stop it!” Zipper cried, her small voice desperate. She stepped forward, but Bass quickly pulled her back.

The beast paused its feeding, turning its enormous head toward them. It sniffed the air, eyes locked onto the group. A guttural growl emanated from its throat, and then, with a sudden lurch, it opened its maw wide and charged.

“Move!” Bass yelled, shoving Zipper behind him as they all scrambled to dodge the creature’s attack.

The monster barreled toward them, its enormous feet thundering against the ground as it closed the distance, hunger burning in its bulbous eyes.

Mary, her expression grim, stepped forward, locking eyes with the hulking creature as it devoured the remnants of their campsite. The foul stench hung in the air like a suffocating fog, but she steeled herself, drawing her katana.

“No more games,” she muttered under her breath, sliding into her Fast Draw stance. The blade gleamed in the flickering firelight as she focused, ready to strike.

But just as she prepared to unleash her attack, the creature reared its head back and spewed forth a massive glob of disgusting, thick fluid from its gaping maw. The odious solution splattered all over her, drenching her in a revolting, slick mess. The nauseating stench hit her like a wall, immediately overwhelming her senses.

“Ugh—” Mary groaned, her voice ragged as she staggered backward, clutching her stomach. The stench was unbearable, and her body rebelled, threatening to empty her stomach right there. She couldn’t focus, her vision swimming as the world tilted around her. The sword hung limply in her hand, her attack forgotten.

“Mary!” Bass shouted, but the situation was spiraling fast. He whipped around, his heart hammering in his chest as he held his Peacemaker.

The massive creature, now satisfied with its destruction of the campsite, sniffed the air. Its bulbous, beady eyes locked onto Zipper, drawn by some strange, unseen force. Slowly, it crept toward her, its enormous feet thudding ominously against the ground, each step sending tremors through Bass’s bones.

Bass stood frozen for a moment, panic rising. Without thinking, he raised Peacemaker, the silver barrel catching the moonlight. His hands trembled, and he pulled the trigger. Click.

Nothing.

He pulled again. Click. Nothing.

“Come on!” Bass growled, desperation crawling into his voice as he clicked the trigger over and over again, the hammer falling uselessly. The massive beast sniffed closer, creeping toward Zipper like a predator closing in on its prey.

“I need this to work!” Bass yelled, his voice strained with frustration and fear. His hand shook as he aimed at the beast, every click of the hammer landing like a blow to his gut. “Come on, damn it! Just fire!”

The creature was closing in, its maw opening, hunger gleaming in its eyes. Zipper clung to him, trembling, her trust in him unwavering, but Bass could feel the weight of her faith pressing down on him, crushing him beneath his own failure.

“Why? Why won’t it work?!” he shouted, his voice cracking. He looked at the gun in his hand, berating himself, his voice raw with self-doubt. “What’s wrong with me? I can’t even pull a trigger when it matters. I can’t—”

He was powerless. The bullets wouldn’t move. The Peacemaker wouldn’t fire. The monster, a looming symbol of his failure, kept moving forward, each step a reminder of how weak he felt. Bass squeezed his eyes shut, his frustration spilling out in desperate words.

“I’m so weak… why won’t it work?!”

Bass stood there, gun in hand, feeling utterly defeated. The creature loomed closer, its foul breath filling the air, the ground trembling beneath its steps. His heart pounded in his chest, every failed trigger pull echoing his growing frustration. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t protect Zipper or Mary. He was useless.

“Bass,” Zipper’s voice came, soft but steady.

He barely registered her at first, too consumed by his own self-loathing. But then, she tugged on his sleeve. “Bass!”

“What is it?!” He snapped, but when he looked down at her, his anger faded. Zipper’s face was calm, unafraid, her wide eyes filled with certainty.

“Your ARM,” she said, matter-of-factly. “It’s an Adaptive Resonance Module.”

Bass blinked, still in disbelief. “What... what does that even mean?”

Zipper sighed softly, as if explaining something to a child. “It means your ARM adapts to you. It only works when you work.”

Bass stared at her, the words washing over him. “It only works when... I work?”

Zipper nodded, her small hand still clutching his sleeve. “It resonates with you. When you understand it, when you understand yourself, it’ll fire. But right now,” she said, her voice softer, almost sad, “you don’t believe in yourself, so it doesn’t either.”

Time seemed to slow as her words sank in. It resonates with you. The hammer of his gun clicked uselessly in his mind, over and over. His own disbelief, his self-doubt, all of it—that was the barrier. Not the gun. Him.

Bass looked down at his Peacemaker, the silver gun gleaming in the moonlight. In the flicker of the fire’s dying glow, the engraving of the winged lion seemed to move, almost breathing with life. His reflection stared back at him in the polished metal—small, uncertain. He took a deep breath, his mind racing but slowing all at once.

Adaptive Resonance.

The world seemed to blur around him. The stink of the monster faded. The tremors in the ground dulled. It was just him and the gun now. The Peacemaker. His ARM.

His breath caught, and a strange warmth flooded his chest, like something deep within him was stirring, waking up. The weight of the gun in his hand felt different—familiar, yet suddenly more... real. He had spent years carrying this thing, calling it a prop, something flashy that never worked.

But now he knew. It had never been the gun. It was him. He hadn’t believed.

The gun hummed softly in his hand, a faint vibration that resonated through his bones. He could almost feel the connection now, the unspoken link between him and the weapon. As if the Peacemaker had been waiting all this time for him to get it. Waiting for him to finally trust himself.

Bass’s grip tightened around the handle, the pearl-white grip feeling warm against his palm. He raised it slowly, the motion fluid, natural. The creature loomed closer, its monstrous maw wide, ready to devour.

Time seemed to stretch and bend as Bass lifted the Peacemaker, the world around him growing still, each second dilating into an eternity. The monstrous creature's slow, lumbering steps faded into the background, as though it were trapped in the space between moments. Everything around him blurred, except for the gun in his hand—the ARM. Adaptive Resonance Module.

It finally clicked.

As Bass took a deep breath, Zipper’s words echoed in his mind. “It only works when you work.” It was no longer just a gun; it was part of him, a reflection of his own inner resolve. His doubts, his fears—they had always been the thing holding him back, not the ARM itself. But now, with every heartbeat, every pulse, the Peacemaker began to hum with life.

The intricate engraving of the winged lion on the barrel seemed to shimmer, its wings spreading, its form alive with energy. The once dormant weapon in his hand now thrummed with power, responding to the trust he finally placed in himself. The connection was more than mechanical—it was instinctual, emotional.

The moment slowed further, the air around him thick with potential. He looked ahead at the monster, which seemed frozen in its charge, its grotesque maw hanging open, the stink of its breath lingering in the stagnant air. The revolting creature was still coming for them, still a threat, but Bass was no longer afraid.

He squeezed the trigger again, this time not out of desperation but with certainty.

A flash of brilliant light burst from the barrel, not just a simple bullet but something more—like the very essence of the world bending to his will. The sound echoed across the night, powerful and resonant, as if the stars themselves had heard the shot.

Time snapped back into place.

The bullet struck the creature square in the chest, and for the first time, it recoiled. Its grotesque form trembled, the impact rippling through its massive body like a wave. It let out a horrific, gurgling screech, stumbling back in shock and pain.

Bass lowered the Peacemaker slightly, his chest heaving as reality returned. The world around him felt different, clearer, sharper. The gun in his hand no longer felt like a burden. It was part of him now—an extension of his will, his strength, his belief.

Behind him, Zipper grinned. “Told ya.”

Bass glanced at her, still catching his breath, then back at the wounded monster. His lips curled into a determined smile. The battle wasn’t over, but for the first time, he knew he was ready.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “You did.”

Bass glanced at the Peacemaker in his hand, chuckling to himself as the monstrous creature lay wounded before him. “Y’know,” he said, smirking, “I called it Peacemaker because it couldn’t hurt anything. But now... looks like it’s gonna have to keep the peace.”

The gluttonous beast let out a low, guttural moan as it struggled back to its feet, its massive frame wobbling. Bass’s smirk faded into a focused frown. He turned to Zipper, who was watching with wide eyes.

“Zipper, go check on Mary. Give her one of those Heal Berries. She’s gonna need it.”

Zipper hesitated for a moment, then nodded and dashed off toward where Mary lay, still weak and covered in the disgusting residue from the earlier attack. Bass turned his attention back to the creature, his Peacemaker steady in his grip.

“Alright,” he called out to the hulking beast, his voice calm but with an edge. “I’ve got six more reasons why you’re not gonna eat any of us. But I’m hoping you’ll only need to hear this once—nicely.”

The creature stumbled, swaying on its legs as if it were about to retreat. Bass kept his gun trained on it, but after a moment, he lowered it slightly, turning his shoulder as if to give the monster an out. “Go on, then.”

But the creature wasn’t done yet. In a last, desperate move, it reared its head back and hawked another toxic, vile glob of spit right at Bass. This time, though, he was ready.

With a swift sidestep, Bass dodged the disgusting loogie, and in the same fluid motion, raised the Peacemaker and fired. Two sharp cracks echoed in the night, each shot ringing true. The bullets slammed into the creature, and with a final, gurgling screech, it collapsed like a ragdoll, its massive body hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

But there was no time to celebrate. Almost immediately, a thick, green gas began to billow out of the creature’s lifeless body, swirling and spreading in all directions. The air grew foul, thick with the acrid stench of the toxic fumes.

“Damn!” Bass cursed, spinning around. He sprinted toward Zipper and Mary, who had just begun to recover from the poison’s earlier effects. “We gotta move! Now!”

The three of them fled from the area, Bass helping Mary to her feet as they hurried away from the growing miasma. The toxic gas spread outwards, covering a thirty-pace radius around the fallen monster. In the distance, under the cold light of the moon, they could see the Heal Berry tree, its leaves wilting under the poison’s deadly touch.

Breathless, Bass looked back at the tree, frowning. “Looks like we did all that for nothing now...”

Zipper, still catching her breath, shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “No,” she said, her voice calm and confident. “On the contrary... this land is special. The poison will be absorbed, and over time, it’ll make the Heal Berries even stronger.”

Bass blinked, looking from Zipper to the land around them. “Really?”

Zipper nodded, her eyes twinkling with that same quiet wisdom. “Just give it time.”

Relieved but still cautious, the trio continued walking through the desolate wasteland under the moonlit sky. Hours passed in silence until, finally, they stumbled upon a small stream winding through the barren land. The water shimmered softly in the night, and without a word, they sat down beside it, exhaustion finally catching up to them.

The gentle babble of the stream was the only sound as they leaned against the rocks, the distant memories of the battle slowly fading. They had survived the night, but as the first hints of dawn began to touch the horizon, there was still much more ahead.

For now, though, they would rest—sitting by the stream, waiting for the sunrise.