Chapter 30: That thy beloved may be delivered: save with thy right hand

Bang. Bang. Bang. Three shots followed by three consecutive thuds of bodies dropping to the floor. There were more where that came from as the Kid slammed the hammer, blowing one abomination’s jaw off and his brain shortly after. They jumped at her, teleporting erratically, yet somehow, more of them kept on dropping dead. Meanwhile the girl herself, despite looking very solid, was seemingly intangible as she slipped away from their reach, always with that smile on her face.

Behind that pretty face, however, was a mind pushed to the limit. Every single moment the Kid worked herself to overdrive. After her latest near death experience, her birthmark no longer stung. Without the ability to detect the eldritch, the Kid had to rely solely on her own ability of perception.

Every slight change in color, a single sign of dusts shifting in an off direction. Even the way the air felt on her skin was important. A single missed detail could mean half of her body displaced by a Mutant.

The girl was so focused that she did not realize a drop of blood running from her nose. Her intense concentration was enough to pop a vein.

“I am so gonna sleep in after this!” The girl remarked as she gunned down another one.

The onslaught had seemingly slowed down, reaching the end. The Kid had gunned down nearly every single raiders that had ever been born in this land even since their inception. But not all that was brought back was a mindless raider.

In the dark, a giant figure approached. It was a Mutant no doubt, but his proportion was of a normal human being. His face was filled wrinkles, a sign of his advance age, yet his body was inhumanly muscular, with vitality far surpassed and youngster. The Kid had heard about his legend, the immortal founder of the Mutants, devoid of human empathy, Father Foxglove.

“So you are the beginning of all of this.” The Kid said, unaware of the larger plot. “You seem like someone with a lot of stories to tell. Too bad I will have to put you down now.”

Drawing blood had never brought the girl any joy. Yet it was something she had to do.

Father Foxglove opened his mouth and from within, an inhuman screech echoed throughout the Stairway. It soon turned to one of agony as blood started to stream from all of his orifices. The Kid’s eyes were wide opened as Father Foxglove was torn in half by his own son.

The iron-child came, metal jutted out of his hands forming two bloodied blades. His leather apron nowhere to be seen, the raider showed his bare chest with a metallic plate on his heart.

Knowing there was no time for introduction, the Kid pulled her revolver and fired at him. She fanned the hammer, pumping all six bullets into him. Just before the lead came into contact, a blot of metal flowed out from his heart, going around hardening all points of impact. The bullets bounced off harmlessly.

The iron-child looked down then gazed in front again. Letting out a war cry, he dashed at the nearest abomination, tearing its head off. He came over to the Kid, ripping apart all of his siblings on the way.

Despite that, the girl knew he was not her ally either. Pulling out one revolver after another, she fired rapidly. But the iron-child slashed at them with his blades, the rest bounced off his hardening skin. No matter how many lead she pumped into him, none of them left a single scratch. The iron-child was bullet proof.

“Now this is bad.”

Outside of shooting, the Kid did not exactly have another card up her sleeve. While she did have a machete and was more than capable in using it, his skin was definitely blade-proof as well. Besides, in a close range bout, she could not compete with his strength and ferocity.

Kicking the bag of guns down the stairway, the Kid made a run for it. While the iron-child was still busy with slaughtering his own brethren, she needed to make as much distance as possible. But as the girl turned around, he was right behind, preparing to swing his blade.

The Kid took a dive to dodge the attack and tumbled down the stair. Sensing vulnerability, the iron-child jumped at her with both his blades ready draw blood. The girl landed on her back, knocking the wind out of her lungs. But as she grasped for air, the raider was already on top of her. The Kid drew her machete to deflect the stabs. It worked for a moment but the iron-child spun his hand down, his blades cutting into her arms.

Mustering all her strength, the Kid kicked into his stomach, flinging him further down. The girl tried to stand up again, but the iron-child had already recovered from the fall and once again dashing up to her.

At this rate, he would wear her down and death would be a guaranteed outcome.

In a close range bout, it was not possible for her to win either. ‘Come on, think, darn it!’ The Kid tried to find a way but there was no time for that as the raider was right at her. One thing for sure, she needed to make distance and buy enough time to find a plan. An idea flashed in her mind, undoubtedly stupid one but it would make quite a sight.

“Heh, why am I doing this to myself?” She muttered with a smile.

The Kid dashed at the iron-child as he thrusted his blades at her. Normally, her upcoming maneuver would not succeed, however, they were on a Stairway. Gritting her teeth, the Kid jumped up onto the metal blade, her other foot squared on the iron helmet. The girl launched herself up, flying through the air.

‘So this is what flying would feel like.’ She said to herself.

In midair, the Kid turned around and drew her revolver, firing at the iron-child. The raider was disoriented from the kick, and just as he turned around, a hail of bullets was already upon him. Slashing around wildly, the iron-child caught some with his blades, the rest bounced off his reinforced skin.

Now for the painful part. The Kid came down, rolling down the stair before slamming her back once again at the bottom of the Stairway to Heaven. But this time, she did not get off with just a loss of breath. Crack! That was the sound of her ribs crackling under the impact.

Gathering the bag next to her, the Kid tried to stand up. Her back was screaming out in pain but she gritted her teeth, all the while trying to keep the smile on her face.

The girl knew she could not beat this foe by herself. Thus, she thought about her mentor while soaring through the air. Her mind casted back to his fight against the Dolls. The Doctor was nowhere near as fast as the Kid during her fight with them. Yet, the twin could not deflect all of his bullets. How could that be? Was it just because of the unending fire?

That was not it, and the Kid knew that.

She stood up, body freezing up from the pain. Her legs refused to move, this was her last stand. No longer had the power to swing her machete, if the iron-child got close, it was the end. But the Kid had intention of letting him did so.

It was not speed that the Doctor used to beat the Dolls.

The Kid drew her revolver and fired at the iron-child foot. Just as expected, the skin around that area hardened, blocking the shot. Not deterred, the girl flicked her next shot onto his shoulder and immediately moved to the hand on his other side then back down again.

The Doctor did not fire wildly as the Dolls could block all of his shots. No, the man aimed so that every bullet would somewhere far away from the previous one. He made it so blocking the follow-up shot required movements most awkward. This method would not work with a single or even two revolvers. In that case, the opponent could bear to take a few non-lethal shots. But with an unending hail, unimportant wounds would quickly stack up.

From her observation, the Kid realized that to harden the skin, the iron heart did not send out a new blot of metal. Instead, it was the only one, quickly travelling around the veins.

But it was not all, she bet her life on a guess, that the iron-child did not have control over his own metal. His body unconsciously react to every incoming blow. This would be a major boon as it allowed him to block attacks faster than what he could comprehend. But it also meant the iron-child did not have control in what blow to take.

The metal rushed through his vein, hardening then breaking down to travel once again. Such rapid defense soon falter. A shot to the foot followed right up with one to the bicep. Even with his blood pumping as fast as it could, the iron-child’s body could not keep up to the barrage. Blood and metal spurted out as the bullet pierced through his bicep.

Around the Kid, countless revolvers laid, smokes still bellowing from their barrels.

“Six shots were not enough to draw your blood.” The Kid adjusted her hat, pulling out yet another revolver from the bag. “But the 108th one seemed to do the trick.”

The iron-child staggered back, gazing down. Even through the helmet, he could see blood streaming out of his wound. How could this be? His primal mind could not comprehend. He was hurt?

Was it all just a dream? The iron-child wondered. Alas, it was not.

“No longer would you hurt another soul!”

The Kid declared with great conviction and fired wildly again, every other shot aimed at his wound. As metal streamed out of the bullet hole, the iron-child’s defense weakened. More and more blood was spilt, his blood. The raider shrieked as pain torn his body apart.

In this moment, as the primal call within him was drown out by the unending thunder, the iron-child could remember who he was. ‘Mother.’ The raider thought. ‘Where are you?’ He could remember his hands stained with blood, mother’s blood. The iron-child could recall his scream and anguish as he placed the razor at her throat.

‘You promise… you promise me…’

He never wanted to hurt her. But mother spoke to him, she asked him an important favor. And as a good child, of course the raider would accept. Mother gave him the razor and asked that he slit her throat. She wanted to do it herself, but could not do it in the end.

The iron-child refused, so mother whispered into his ear.

‘Worry not, my child.’ She said. ‘With this, we will be a family forever.’

Thus, the raider spilled her blood. As she laid dead, mother gazed at him. At that moment, the iron-child could see, she was not truly looking at him. It was a gaze that was so familiar but one he always tried not to notice. But her dying moment, it was painfully obvious. Not once did mother look upon him or his brother.

‘Mother, where are you? You promise we would be together forever, as family… Are you around, because I can’t see you, I can’t see brother either.’ The iron-child was driven into a state of panic and anguish. ‘Where’s everyone… Please save me, the iron, it kept on whispering, trying to drive me mad… I’m scared…’

A shot rang out and finally, his arm was torn away, ripped out by lead. The iron-child looked down at his tattered body, covered in his blood. He collapsed to his knees, no longer able to even lift a finger.

The iron-child could feel the metal within him and… ‘It’s so cold…’

The Kid watched as her opponent finally fell. She did not want to torment him, but no matter how many shots he took, the raider kept on coming. Until he could no longer do so. The girl also collapsed and laid down, leaning at the Stairway to Heaven. She had fired the final bullet of her final revolver.

“If there’s a raider remaining, I would be in big trouble…”

She said to herself, weakly. Fortunately, the Mutant was no more, every single last one of them slain… perhaps all but one. The Kid did not have to worry about it, however, as she slowly drifted into unconsciousness, surrounded by smoking barrels.

When the Kid woke up again, Doc was with her. And the sun was shining brightly.

She was not the only one to see the blue sky. The deformed medic and his people also gazed at the bright sky, safe and sound in their base. Joined with them was the young scout Carina, who was brought here with the battered but still very much alive, Rohan. She would make a full recovery. The Adjudicator left, ignoring all those that tried to block him. With their swords and spears unable to pierce his skin, the Knights watched as he simply walked away.

Meanwhile, the Executioner sat, surrounded by a countless corpses, but none of them was her mark. While it was frustrating that the Ghost had escaped once again, the bloodshed was pleasant to say the least.

“Look what we have here.” X said, gazing at the sky.

___

“The landscape the meadow was forever altered, but the apocalypse was over. The world was saved once again.” Said the nomad as the tale came to a close. He then chuckled. “Until the next threat that is, but there will always be heroes rising up to stop it, until [The World’s End] that is.”

There was only a bit left in this story about End of the Line, an epilogue one might say. While a few decided this was the time to leave the tavern, Mikey decided to stay till the very end. Feeling quite thirsty, the young man stood up only to trip on a chair and fell.

As he stood up, Mikey could see up the nomad’s hood. There, the young man saw a white cloth, covering his eyes.

“So you saw it.” The nomad said with a wide grin on his face.

Knowing it was time to act, all the other guests suddenly rose up, drawing swords and baring blades galore. Mikey was wondering who they were, all these unknown faces.

“As lieutenant of the 18th Chapter, I sentence you to death, Ghost!” One of them bellowed.

All this time, the tavern was filled with knights, undercover.

The nomad was surrounded. He simply rose from his sit and from the rags, pulled out two revolvers. “I implore you to try.” The Ghost calmly said.

The following fight was a noisy and bloodied one. Mikey crawled under the table, shivering in fear as sounds of gunshot, blades clashing and screaming echoed around him. The young man retreated deep into his mind, trying to phase out his chaotic surrounding.

When he came back, Mikey realized there was no sound to be heard.

Crawling out of his hiding spot, the young man was surrounded with death. There the knights and their lieutenant lied dead, bloody streaming out of their mouths and their wounds.

Outside, Mikey saw the street was littered with people trying to run away and failed. Among the corpses were two of his siblings, clutching one another in a pool of blood. In shock, the young man did not notice the sound of footsteps until it was too late. As he turned around, faced with him was a smoking barrel.

Mikey expected death, but it did not come.

The Ghost holstered his gun and said. “I like your eyes, boy.” With that final remark, the nomad walked away from the carnage he had left behind. It was a shame he could not finish the story. ‘Oh well’, the Ghost told himself, he had always preferred to end on a happy ending anyway.

Meanwhile, Mikey walked around and found the rest of his family, slaughtered in their home. From babies to the elderlies, none was spared.

Seeing all these bloodshed made a feeling rose up within Mikey. It was a fire that would only burn brighter till its host was snuffed out for good.