The Armory
"I am so, so, so unbelievably fucked right now." Miles muttered as he strapped his sniper rifle onto his back. It was a dangerous weapon, meant for hunting a variety of multiversal opponents much like his other weapons, but he doubted it would matter for this foe.
"How's he so dangerous anyway?" Hawthorne replied as he grabbed a communicator from a cabinet. "I've never seen you this nervous."
"He can kill anything, and I mean anything, with one shot," Miles said as he picked up the file that was left for him. "And he's immune to most abilities."
"Then how are you expected to kill him?" Hawthorne said incredoulously. "That makes him virtually impossible to kill."
"I don't know," Miles said grimly. "He's superhuman, and he killed one of God's avatars, right along with the Devil's too."
"What?" Hawthorne asked, and Miles nodded.
"He used to be that universe's Angel of Death," He said, before a calculating look took hold. "But...maybe I have a trick of my own."
"Like what?" Hawthorne demanded. "You can't really be–"
"If I can separate him from his revolvers, I might have a shot." Miles replied. "And I have a ton of tricks up my sleeve."
"Any that will let you bring down a former Angel?" Hawthorne asked, and Miles nodded.
"Definitely yes. Perhaps my time manipulation won't be completely useless." He said, then opened the file. "Last seen in Percy Jackson's universe. Probably out to try his hand on other gods."
"Great." Hawthorne muttered. "But one more thing. Why are you so scared of Miller?"
"Other than the fact that he's my superior who could damn well erase me from existence if he felt like it?" Miles asked.
"Yes," Hawthorne said. "If it were anyone else threatening you, you wouldn't care, but this man actually has you nervous. Why is that?"
Miles was silent for a long moment before he replied. "Because he was the man who brought me in."
"What do you mean?" Hawthorne asked, and Miles shook his head.
"When we get there, I'll tell you." He began to walk toward the portal. "Take us to Percy Jackson."
"Right," The operator said, and the two Witnesses soon found themselves on a New York Street.
"Ah, the Mist." Miles said as he looked around. "Convenient stuff."
"You're gonna tell me now?" Hawthorne asked, and the gunslinger frowned.
"Yeah, I've got the time," He said. "Now where was I?"
"He brought you in." Hawthorne replied as they walked up to a bus stop.
"Ah yes." Miles snapped his fingers, but grimaced as he recalled bad memories. "This had been some years after we'd killed the Hopkinses, and a lot of people had ended up getting reason to want us dead."
"You told me this already." Hawthorne said, and the gunslinger shot him a look.
"I'm getting there," He growled. "Now, at the rate we were going, we were getting shoved out of the country, so we planned one last series of scores before leaving the country. The plan was to hit banks around the East, before pulling out to someplace in South America."
"But it didn't go according to plan?" Hawthorne asked, and Miles nodded grimly.
"Not for me," He said. "For my group, I got paired up with a partner of mine, Chester Clay. He and I did the killing business together, and we ended up getting along fine, at least, at the time."
"He enjoy the work?" Hawthorne said before he could stop himself, but to his surprise, Blackwater nodded.
"He did. Too much, looking back." He said. "We went with another man and a woman, Frank Allen and Helen Campbell. Frank was a safecracker, one of the better ones in the crew. And Helen...she was a great actor, but she could shoot it with the best of us."
"There was one last one though..." Miles said, and his face soured. "James Matthews. A man who loved talking shit and ended up getting into more trouble then he was worth."
"He caused your current run of bad luck?" Hawthorne guessed, but the gunslinger shook his head
"No, that was all of us." He said. "You don't stiff our gang on a deal and live."
"Aaaalright then." Hawthorne said slowly. "Continue."
"Thank you," Miles said. "So we went down there, made sure we were well armed. Got ourselves some dynamite. Place didn't seem well guarded, but I guess that didn't matter with what came next."
"What happened?" Hawthorne asked, and the other Witness's face darkened.
"The law." He said bitterly. "Someone had tipped them off. I don't know who, but I swear I will kill them if I find out. Halfway through the job, we ended up getting trapped in the building."
"And you got caught?" Hawthorne frowned.
"It wasn't that simple. We were barely through the heist when they had ended up coming in." Miles said. "Matthews, Campbell, and I ended up having to hold them off while Allen and Clay tried figuring out a way out. I know what I said about Matthews, but I'll give him his credit. He was fast on the draw. Complete garbage in a fistfight, but with guns, he was inhuman."
"So how did Miller do it?" The magician frowned, and Miles sighed.
"Clay ended up eventually blowing his way out of there." He said. "He and Allen tried giving us cover fire, but only Campbell, himself, and Matthews got out when they broke in. I ended up trying to hold the cops off."
"And you failed?" Hawthorne guessed.
"I did," Miles grunted. "Halfway through raining down suppressive fire, I ended up catching more then a few wounds. Allen had to try dragging me out of there himself, but we ended up getting left behind and caught on a rooftop. That's when he came."
"Miller," The gunslinger sneered. "If there was ever a man who I had wanted to beat more, it would be him. Came up there himself carrying nothing but a rifle and his own two hands."
"He beat you in a gunfight?" Hawthorne asked incredlously
"In a way." Miles said grimly. "Allen and I both got the first shots off, but he managed to hide behind cover. There also happened to be a water tower up there. Draw your conclusions."
"He destroyed it," Hawthorne said.
"I nearly got sent to my death right then and there." Miles growled. "Allen had only barely grabbed onto me in time, and after that, we got our asses beat barehanded. It was the most humiliating experience of my life."
"I see," Hawthorne said, then motioned for him to continue, but Miles raised a hand.
"No more, for now." He said. "Assuming I don't survive this, you can get the rest of the story from Miller. Right now, I need to focus on this coming fight."
"Right," Hawthorne said, before looking up towards a nearby balcony. "Do you know where he is in particular?"
"If I'm lucky, he's still at–" Miles was cut off as the sky darkened. "Well that's not good."
"What?" Hawthorne asked, but Miles just broke into a sprint. "Hey!"
He rushed to follow as the other Witness began dodging through traffic as he ran to the Empire State Building. Hawthorne tried keeping him in his view, but time suddenly accelerated as Miles pulled further ahead, streaking through the doors.
Of course he did that. Hawthorne thought, panting as he finally made it himself. He walked in to see a petrified security guard, who didn't even take notice of him as he walked in. "Hello? Do you know where my friend went?"
The man turned to him with mouth slightly open in fear, before finally talking. "Who?"
"Cowboy looking asshole, carries a pair of revolvers." Hawthorne replied, and the man flinched. "What, did I say something?"
"Which cowboy?" The man whispered, and Hawthorne tensed.
So that's why he ran.
"Which floor did they take?" He demanded, and the man had hardly given him the answer before he was inside the elevator, mashing the button to the 600th. When he reached the top, it was a nightmare.
Bodies of gods, dryads, and satyrs were everywhere. Buildings were burning and the edges of the mountain itself was crumbling. It was the end of Olympus.
All at the hands of one gun wielding psychopath.
He really wasn't kidding when he said he was fucked, was he? Hawthorne thought numbly as he began to walk up the hill. Distantly, he could see Miles walking into the Council chamber of the Gods. Good luck Miles. You'll need it.
The Council Chamber.
Here we go. Miles thought as he entered the building. Good grief, what happened here?
The bodies of the gods were strewn everywhere. Hephestus was crushed by his own throne, Hera had several shots through her womb, Hestia was burning in her hearth, and Artemis was stuck to the ceiling by her own arrows. Some of them were missing, most likely having escaped and were trying to keep the world from falling into Chaos.
A shot rang through the temple, and Zeus slumped to the ground.
The old cowboy who stood over the body looked up at Miles. "Now who the hell're you?"
The gunslinger swallowed. "Miles Blackwater. Witness."
"Here to kill me then." The Saint said, raising his revolver.
Time accelerated.
Miles fired twice from the hip, sending the revolver flying into the darkness. The man cursed, pulling out the second gun, but Miles fired again, sending the other revolver spinning near a throne.
"The old-fashioned way then, is that it?" The Saint muttered, before running up to Miles with surprising speed. The gunslinger only barely managed to block the fist heading to his face, but was still sent crashing into a wall as the man growled.
"You all think to go for my revolvers, but always forget about the rest of me." He said as he charged forward again, and time accelerated once more as Miles threw himself to the side, then fired away. The man grunted as the shots penetrated through him, but the wounds soon faded.
"Well, shit." Miles panted, before switching to the Hound. "Well, time for plan B."
The man frowned, and Miles grinned as he slapped a pair of volatile shells inside. "So long."
"Wha–" The Saint scowled before everything in front of Miles was obliterated.
Zeus and Hera's thrones were both destroyed as a purple wave of energy burst forth, engulfing the man as half of the council-room was destroyed. Parts of the ceiling fell out as Miles reloaded the gun, and he noticed that the revolvers had been spared from the blast, having been left in corners of the room. Still, there were more pressing matters at hand.
"Did that kill him?" The Witness muttered, before hearing a growl from the outside. "Figures."
He walked out to see the man climb back up from the edge of the mountain. "You bastard."
"You can easily kill me," Miles retorted. "And unlike the others, I don't intend to give you the chance."
With that, he pulled the trigger once again, and the saint threw himself to the side as the resulting blast caused an avalanche behind him. He snarled, drawing a sword with a make that Miles hadn't seen since he was a kid, then dashed forward, dodging as the gunslinger fired again.
"Shit!" He cursed as the man reached him, then was forced to duck as the sword came swishing for his head. He slammed the Hound into the man's gut, but was only rewarded with a slash to the chest faster then he could react, forcing him to drop the gun.
With no weapon, the Saint kicked him backward, and he was forced to sidestep as the former angel executed a vertical slash. Undeterred, he swung again, forcing Miles further and further back as he continued his onslaught, until finally, he found himself backed into a corner.
"Just another damn fool." The saint said before unceremoniusly stabbing forward.
BANG
The saint staggered forward and turned as he hit the wall before looking down. A gaping hole was in his chest.
"Not bad." He chuckled, coughing up blood before he collapsed.
"That was too close," Miles muttered as he lowered the gun, the purple fire fading away from him as he slumped to the ground. Although he doubted it would heal his wound, time began to reverse as he refastened the device, the effects of time acceleration being undone as he rested.
"Well I'll be damned," He heard a voice from the entrance of the destroyed chamber, and he turned to see Hawthorne standing there. "You lived."
"I did," Miles groaned before forcing himself to his feet. "Barely."
"Still, good job." Hawthorne said, before pressing a hand to his ear. "The Saint's dead. Miles succeeded."
"What in the–perfect," Miller replied over the intercom. "Tell him that he's going to be rewarded this time. And he'll like this one."
"What do you mean?" Hawthorne frowned, but Miller just chuckled.
"You'll see when you get back. I'm gonna send some of the boys over." He said excitedly. "Tell him to keep those revolvers on him. They're his now."
"Are you sure?" Hawthorne replied incredulously, and Miller grunted.
"There's no one else I'd trust more with them." He said. "And don't tell him I said that."
"Roger." The magician replied, before logging off. He turned to the gunslinger. "By the looks of things, you have yourself a new pair of very powerful revolvers."
"Great," Miles muttered as he crossed over and picked up the other gun. "I take it Miller has prepared another of his 'rewards'?"
"He says you're gonna appreciate this one," Hawthorne replied. "But for someone who loves his guns, you don't seem to enjoy taking those. With that, you're definitely gonna get a promotion."
"Maybe," Miles grunted. "But I get the feeling that no one anticipated me surviving."
At the magician's look, he pressed on. "I've stayed where I was for about 75 years, and but just a few hours ago, they sent me on what was supposed to be an impossible mission. Does that not seem the least bit suspicious?"
"I can see that, yeah," Hawthorne admitted. "But it's not like we can do anything about it. Let's go."
"Give me a minute," Miles said as he looked back at the Saint's corpse. "I'm going to give him a proper burial."
"What the–but we gotta go!" Hawthorne said urgently. "Who knows when they'll return?"
"I don't care. This man is worthy of respect." Miles retorted. "I'm not gonna leave him here to rot."
With that, he picked up the Saint, and in a flash of purple fire, a grave was dug outside. Miles grunted as he heard Hawthorne walk up.
"Are you done?" The magician asked, and Miles nodded. "Then let's go."
A portal opened up, and Miles gave one last look before he stepped in. "Good fight old man."
And with that, they left.