Jasper froze in the hall as she raised her Revolver to the door, eyes darting between the door, Dwarven, and the Onyxsmith.
Dwarven rushed over and peered through the window, jaw tight. More bandits but now they were with mercs. Mercs were different from the Bandits, they were organized, had hierarchy, better gear, and more importantly Mechanicas.
He stepped back to the old man, hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, old man. Time to get out of your hair. Stay safe, yeah?"
"You keep your studies up," the Onyxsmith said firmly. "That purifier was scrap, and you fixed it with nothing but salvage and gun parts. You've got talent. Remind me what it is you do again?"
Dwarven smirked faintly. "Me? I wait around to be somebody's headache."
Dwarven went and grabbed his two heavy bags and swung them over his shoulders, then without warning grabbed Jasper by the back of her shirt, hoisting her up across him.
Her eyes went wide. She shook her head violently on contestment.
"See? We can communicate after all, but you're gonna have to bear with me, Courier." Dwarven muttered.
He tossed a chunk of strange metal onto the desk he took from the bag. The old man's breath caught as he grabbed it. "Is this—?"
"That should cover the door and then some."
"The—door—?"
Dwarven didn't wait.
He rushed forward and kicked the door clean off its hinges. The slab of metal slammed into the mercs waiting outside, toppling them in a heap.
"Sorry, fellas! Gotta bolt!"
He barreled through, pivoted midair, and smashed another merc with a wild kick, clearing the path.
Then he was sprinting through Tyla's alleys, Jasper slung over his shoulder, mercs cursing and charging after them.
They tore down side streets, cut across crowded markets, then ducked into a narrow lane—only to skid to a stop.
More mercs blocked both ends.
Trapped.
Dwarven skidded to a stop, boots grinding in the dust.
Merc rifles rose, blocking both ends of the alley.
He set Jasper down, steadying her.
A huge man pushed through the line, a gatling slung across his chest, laughter rumbling deep in his throat.
"Well, look at this. Two wanted sonsofbitches. The illusive Courier of Death half the south is hunting…" He took the cigar from his lips, grinning through the smoke. "…and Dwarven the Grave Digger. One of the Undermountain's finest killers."
He struck a match, lit his cigar proper, and blew a thick plume toward them.
"Name's Lobby Dennis. The Bullet Storm. Maybe you've heard of me."
Jasper's stared unphased by his name. Dwarven just scowled.
Lobby tapped the barrel of his gatling against his shoulder.
"Used to run a mean bandit crew out here. But times are changing. Shriek's got the juice now, and I've been doing business with her and her crew." He gestured at the riflemen circling them.
Another drag, another cloud of smoke. His grin widened.
"And once I hand you two over, think they'll let me in on that big deal they've got cooking. So don't make this hard. I'll do whatever it takes to make my place at the table."
He raised the barrels of the gatling, grin sharp enough to cut.
Dwarven looked around the alley, then chuckled. The chuckle grew into a laugh.
"Are you done with your audition tape?"
Jasper spat, then cracked a laugh of her own.
The moment died when Lobby spun up his gatling. WHIRR. A storm of bullets chewed the dirt at their feet, spraying sparks off the walls.
"Oh, you've got jokes?" Lobby roared over the thunder. "Well, Grave Digger, let me fill you in. The Sage wants the thief who stole from him kept in one piece… but he didn't say a thing about keeping you pretty along the way. You hear me pretty boy? Your gonna have a painful trip back to the Undermountain"
Dwarven frown intensified "What did you call me?"
Lobby's men howled with laughter.
Dwarven's scowl deepened when he glanced at Jasper—then at the revolver in her hand.
"You even know how to use that thing?"
She didn't answer. Her jaw tightened, eyes steady, unblinking.
Then she moved.
Her hand swept down, fingers locking around the grip. In one fluid motion she drew and snapped the revolver up, the strange grooves along its frame catching the light as if they were alive.
For a heartbeat, the street froze—Lobby's men caught between mockery and disbelief.
Then the thunder came.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
The revolver roared, five shots sparking against cobblestones and walls. Dust and stone chips flew. The mercs flinched hard, expecting the reload.
But the rounds hung in the air, glowing faintly, humming with Luzid charge.
A sneer broke across one merc's face. "That's it? That's your trick?"
Jasper's revolver flared with Luzid energy. She spun it once around her finger, smooth and practiced, then leveled it at her hip.
CRACK.
A single round snapped forward—ricocheting off the stone, slamming into the next bullet… then the next.
The alley erupted in chaos. Bullets screamed in wild arcs, sparking off metal, ripping into mercs. Bodies dropped. Shouts turned into curses as survivors ducked and scrambled.
Jasper dropped behind a quarter wall, exchanging fire in the chaos, her red eyes flashing under the brim of her glasses.
Dwarven smirked.
"Not bad."
Lobby stepped forward, "Thats enough, looks like you all chose the hard way." Gatling spinning up with a menacing high-pitched whirrr.
The barrels flared—
BRAAAAAT.
Dwarven moved first. Reaching to his tool belt he pulled not one hammer from his belt but two, crossing them at his chest. Luzid energy surged through the metal, grooves glowing white-hot.
He planted his boots. The hammers sparked—
Bullets, sparks and smoke filling the alley. Jasper flinched, but nothing pierced, when the smoke cleared a luminous shield blossomed in front of them, crackling with Luzid energy
A voice rang out in the chaos.
"They're Luzers!"
The merc line wavered, panic in their shouts. Everyone knew what that meant: only Luzers could breathe life into Mechanicas. Luzers were at the top of the food chain.