Gunmage-Chapter 32: If only I had a gun

Lugh inhaled deeply, and stepped through the wall. He braced for the expected resistance, a jarring, physical sensation, but it never happened.

Instead, what he got was a weird fluidity, as if slipping through the very fabric of reality.

He felt disoriented, as he was piloting Dain's body too. The dual consciousness was a real burden.

Together, they—he—plunged into the depths of the wall and was suddenly thrown into a dizzying freefall.

Lugh plummeted.

He descended through an endless, featureless void, an expanse that he had become disturbingly familiar with.

As he plunged downward, he braced for the encroaching fog, th haze that usually rendered him unconscious.

It did not come.

Instead, a startling transformation unfolded. Lugh found his surroundings abruptly altered, the void replaced by a tangible world.

Looking through two sets of eyes, a panoramic view unfolded before him. He saw a rustic settlement perched atop a hill, its humble dwellings clustered together like scattered stones.

Surrounding this place were the crumbling ruins of a colossal, ancient city, its skeletal structures reaching towards the sky like the bones of a forgotten giant.

He was falling towards the outskirts of this desolate city.

He was falling!

"Arghhhhhhh!!"

His screams echoed, a chorus emanating from two seperate throats.

"^@%@^&* !!"

Strange syllables spilled involuntarily from his lips, words that made no sense yet rang with familiarity.

The phantoms, those ethereal shadows that haunted his perception, gathered once more.

Their presence was chilling, a spectral touch that seeped into his very bones.

He did not question them—he commanded them.

"Slow me down!"

They obeyed.

The phantoms swirled, twisting and contorting, morphing into a terrifying, swirling vortex of inky blackness.

He was trapped at the heart of this spectral tempest, his momentum reduced to a weightless drift.

To an outside observer, he would appear to be floating gently downwards. The storm's chaotic energy remained unseen, it was something only he could perceive.

Lugh landed with deceptive grace, but the moment his feet touched the ground, his legs buckled.

His eye burned with agony, as if molten lead had been poured into the socket.

He felt a crushing pressure in his throat, a sensation of being strangled from the inside.

He gasped, and spat out a thick stream of blood onto the dirt.

The intricate runes carved on his hand flickered erratically, their luminous glow fading until they were almost extinguished.

Power. It came at a steep price.

If that cost were merely pain, he would endure it willingly. However, something told him that the consequences would not always be so simple.

Magic.

The word echoed in his mind. He had carved runes, whispered incantations, and witnessed their effects. Did this mean he was wielding magic?

Magicians were said to be godlike beings. Lugh felt anything but divine.

Against mindless beasts, perhaps. But against a man with a gun? That's an entirely different story. What sort of god gets shot to death?

Feeling dizzy he pushed himself to his feet. Then he glanced at Dain, his other self, and saw his own form from an unfamiliar, elevated perspective.

He still needed to concentrate intensely to control the extra body, the mental effort was a constant strain he was far from mastering.

A sudden draft of wind brushed against his skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. He turned, and there she was, the enigmatic lady.

"What the—why are you here?!"

"Good question,"

Lugh's eye twitched.

She had played a great role in his escape from the Labyrinth.

He had assumed her role was complete, her purpose fulfilled. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined she would follow him into this place. Yet here she was.

He was about to voice his thoughts when the rustling of leaves broke the silence. One set of eyes scanned north, the other, south.

Lugh's 360-degree vision revealed a landscape dotted with trees, shrubs, and patches of undergrowth. It was a sparse scattering of vegetation, not dense enough to be called a forest.

Then, from the left, Dain's eyes registered a projectile slicing through the air. Lugh reacted instinctively, ducking just in time to feel the arrow graze his flaxen hair before embedding itself in the bark of a tree beside him.

He mentally sifted through his inventory, a desperate search for a weapon. An invisible dagger. That was all. He had thrown the other one at Lyra. Lyra!

He was given no time to dwell on the thought. In the next instant, a vivid projection materialized in his right eye: an arrow piercing Dain's neck.

He jerked Dain's body to the side, but his control was still clumsy and imprecise. The arrow grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

The wound began to darken.

Poison.

Lugh knew he had to flee. The enemy was concealed, while he was out in the open. The conditions were too unfavorable.

Just as he began to sprint westward, a figure dropped from the trees, landing with a soft thud, blocking his path.

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It was a human figure, bare-chested and tall, wearing a crudely carved wooden mask.

'There are people here?'

Lugh's mind flashed back to the aerial view he had witnessed during his descent. An ancient city encircling a settlement. He had never anticipated it to be inhabited by humans.

His thoughts were cut short as the strange people emerged from their hiding places, popping out from behind trees and beneath bushes.

They had surrounded him. His control over Dain was rudimentary, but now he had to adapt, he had to learn.

A spear whistled through the air, aimed directly at his skull. Lugh dodged, his right eye providing a crucial warning.

It didn't look like they planned on taking him alive.

He reached for the sheath tucked into his tattered clothing and drew the invisible dagger.

Another arrow, fired by a female archer—he could tell by the smaller frame and covered chest—hurtled towards Dain.

Dain dodged without even a glance. The attackers were taken aback. They paused for a moment, scrutinising the two of them.

Then—

The melee fighters advanced, their weapons gleaming ominously in their hands.

'If only I had a gun'

Lugh cursed inwardly, but he steadied himself, preparing for the onslaught.

The first attack came, four at once, closing in from the cardinal points. Lugh's eye worked in overdrive, processing a multitude of projections and attack patterns.

'The first is a feint, which means the second—'

He jerked his head back, narrowly avoiding a blade that whizzed past his face. In a fluid motion, he extended his right leg, smashing into the knees of the first attacker.

The man stumbled, thrown off balance. Lugh used the momentum to propel himself towards the second attacker. The assailant stabbed, aiming to destroy his right eye, but a sudden scream of pain caused him to flinch, a momentary lapse that Lugh exploited.

He moved his head at the last second, allowing the blade to shear off a few locks of his yellow hair. The invisible dagger plunged down with brutal force, sinking into the man's shoulder.

He let out a tortured cry.

Lugh twisted the blade, dragging it downwards in a swift, savage motion, nearly severing the man's arm. He backstepped, then threw a straight punch at the man's face, aiming to shatter the mask.

The blow landed with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in his knuckles and his hand recoiled in agony. The mask was unyielding.

Lugh muttered curses as he retreated, eventually standing back to back with Dain, his puppet, whose left hand dripped with fresh blood while his right wielded a stolen blade...