My bonafide, apoplectic confidante of firearm adroitness

[Corporal Light]

Wind...

It blew all across the landscape, sucking up the pellets of snow and tossing it everywhere. The gunsmith lay flat on his stomach in the middle of a field covered in snow. He did not stir, even if the elements around him were not being kind. Indeed, it was more than likely that he was in the middle of a large snowstorm, as it was nigh impossible to see two feet in front of one's face. It certainly did not help that the ground was flat, with no hills or caves around to provide variation to the repetitive nature of the land.

It was just like home.

The gunsmith opened his eyes, squinting as he lifted his head off of the ground. He immediately closed them again, feeling his cheeks sting as he disconnected his head with the snow covered earth. But the stinging was a minor concern at best. His temples and forehead, however, continued assaulting him with a maddening throb. He couldn't pinpoint the exact nature of his headache; it was certainly not a physical illness. So what, then, caused him this pain?

The green coated man pushed himself off of the ground, holding his hands up in front of his face to protect himself from the cold. He looked around, finding himself in the middle of nowhere once more. Immediately, his eyes widened, and he began to silently beg. He moved his hands to his eyes, covering them as he looked to the ground. The storm around him spiraled, the wind blowing the ends of his coat up into the air. It sounded shrill as it zoomed past his ears, as if determined to bury him underneath its mighty, invisible hand.

It went silent.

Cocking his eyebrow, he slowly lowered his hands, taking even longer to reopen his eyes, bracing himself for the dread of what sight he would see next.

Instead, however, he stared, gritting his teeth as he pinched the flaps of his skin as hard as his body allowed him to.

All around him, the snow had stopped. Not just stopped falling, but in the literal sense; it had stopped entirely. He took a step forward, his head brushing against some of the snow. They planted themselves on his hat, adding to the already stark white color. He raised his hand, waving it in a circle in front of him, knocking the snow onto the ground while leaving a circle where his arm had poked through. He stared tentatively at the phenomenon around him, lifting his head to look at the sky. It too had gone still, as if even it could not handle the cold and froze stiff. The dark grey clouds covered up the sky, with nary a sun in sight. Or anything, for that matter, as the snow proceeded to fall on top of him with a swift PLOP.

Ballad's mouth went agape as the snow landed on top of him, moving up to his knees. He held his arms above his head, blocking the rest from landing on his head and shoulders. He frowned at the sky, brushing off the pesky pellets as he turned to his right. As his glove slid off his coat to brush, however, he noticed that not all of the snow had fallen. It had instead landed on another figure out in the distance.

The figure was entirely black minus the snow on top of it. The gunner cocked his head to his left, scratching the base of his hat as the figure moved closer. As it moved closer, its features became recognizable. The darkness of its skin was not due to skin color, but due to smoke that bellowed out of every portion of its body, obscuring all but its eyes. Its eyes, too, were instantly noticeable. They were solid white, but not like the white of the snow. It glowed, and held enough of a tint to it that it could've been noticed in a blizzard. As the distance between the duo closed, however, Ballad couldn't help but scratch his head, perplexed.

Once it got within five feet, however, his eyes became as wide as dinner plates. The thing smiled, its shape identical to the sharpshooter's own. It held out a gaseous form that resembled a hand, as if they were old friends who were trying to reacquaint themselves.

Ballad hesitated, simply staring at the gesture offered to him. Eventually, the thing spoke.

"My soul mate, please, don't leave my palm dangling perpetually." Its voice was polite, but for the most part monotone. The gunsmith glanced from its hand to his face, still seeing the toothy smile displayed for him to observe. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed its hand, shaking it at a slow pace.

"Thank you, my bonafide, apoplectic confidante of firearm adroitness." The smoke man uttered, letting go of his "friend's" hand. He looked at him for a few moments, his smile completely stationary before walking to his left. The gunner's eyes followed the thing to a table with two chairs on opposite ends of it. The thing slid out the chair furthest away from him, planting himself in it before sliding forward. It raised its hand in a beckoning motion towards Ballad.

The pickaxeman slid towards his seat, looking around as he pulled it forward. He continued to do this as he sat down, finally settling his gaze on the shade after a few moments of looking.

"It is rather tactless of me to acquaint myself with you after such a sanguinary annihilation. You have to be bewildered at present, experiencing such an abnormal occurrence." The figure spoke, its voice consistent, with nary a hint of sarcasm nor condescension.

"Umm... yeah. I am. Very much, actually." Ballad replied, crossing his arms as he glared at the thing in front of him.

"I am aware, fellow kindred spirit. Thus, I will do my utmost to clarify to you what happened. So, gratify me, and permit me to communicate it."

The shadow being took in a deep breath, setting its arms on the table. It leaned forward, staring directly into the gunner's bisque glowing ovals. It fluttered its eyes like a baby deer as it talked.

"Firstly, you are in the Astral Realm. The landscape where all organisms in slumber visit. We are in a particular section of it, but there are extras. Perennial ones."

"Perennial?" The gunsmith muttered, shaking his head as he cocked his eyebrows.

"Permanent. Forgive me. I am not used to individuals with a less extensive vocabulary in their vernacular."

"Uh... sure..."

"Back to what I was saying. You are here because you are sleeping. But not the traditional sleep. The expired sleep, what the expired experience."

"Wait... I'm... dead?" Ballad nearly shouted, staring in shock at the shade.

"Not entirely. The pale, smiling deity endowed you with immortality. You will reawaken later on, in the Nexus, in two days time." He answered, leaning back onto his own chair, "which means we have plenty of time to discuss our next move."

"Next move?! What the fuck makes you think you're my buddy all of a sudden?"

"Don't you desire for additional assistance, though?"

'I..... who ARE you?!" Ballad said, the last part of his sentence quiet as a mouse.

The shade closed it's eyes for a few moments, looking down towards the drape covering the table. It then opened its eyes, peering at the gunner like it was staring at his very life essence.

"I'm you."

[Corporal Light]

The gunsmith leaned back against his chair, holding his hands out in front of him as if to push the shadow away from him. The being slid its face closer to Ballad’s until they were almost touching. Its shark-like teeth were visible through its gleeful smile as it stood up from its seat, rising into the air. It towered over the deceased man, smoke rising like the aftermath of an inferno. The gunner slid down into his seat until he was barely looking over the edge of the table, closing his eyes. He held his hands close to his face, looking away from the apparition as sweat appeared on his forehead, sliding down his cheek.

“Don’t be so frightened, dear gunman. I desire no ill will for an organism like you.” The apparition whispered. It floated up above the seat the soldier sat in, its legs disappearing to form a wisp of smoke. It zipped to Ballad’s side, grasping one of his hands. It tenderly stroked his palm, the touch soothing and warm.

“Rather, I yearn to assist you on your quest to remove this universe of its depravity. It is the only objective that I covet more than knowledge itself.”

The green man opened his eyes, staring in bewilderment at the shade. He glanced down towards his hand, seeing it was still being petted like it was a stray cat. He quickly snapped it back, glaring at the shadow. The phantom’s smile faded away, its eyes dimming as it looked down to the ground.

“I merely desire to support you. Why won’t you allow me?” It uttered, for the first time showing a tiny bit of emotion.

Ballad closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to tell the ghost off as he opened his eyes.

“Why do you want to help me?” He asked, trying to sound less annoyed and more polite.

The shade paused, locking its fingers together. It appeared to twiddle its thumbs for a moment before coming up with an answer.

“I am a spirit of logic, dear glaucous warrior. I have existed as such for more than a regular amount of calendar years. Within that time-frame, however, I have sought living organisms such as you for one particular purpose: knowledge."

"Knowledge? Aren't you a being of literal thought? Don't you know practically everything?"

"I wish that were so. However, it is inaccurate to describe me as being made of pure rational thought, while also not inaccurate. It is true that I am a being of thought, but I do not yet understand the universe I reside in at the moment. Not everything about everything is comprehensible to me... yet."

"Which is why I am here to help you, my pugnacious destroyer of brigands. You are an opportunity for me to understand. To study, shall we say. In return, I will utilize my vast reserves of knowledge to your benefit."

"So... what you are saying is... you want me to be a test subject for... studying..." The gunner replied, his hand slithering down towards the edge of his coat.

"I speak no untruth, but please, consider it before your palm caresses your firearm." The shade said, its eyes looking down towards his hand as he slid it into his coat. He paused, his digits an inch or two away from his revolver.

"I've observed the deep recesses of your mental faculties. I am fully aware of what you intend to distribute throughout the Omniverse. However, I am afraid to admit to you that you are unprepared for what is out there. There are other realms disparate from the rest, and a plentiful amount that both the Empire and Camelot have influenced. If any of them descry you, you are sure to be banished forevermore."

Ballad kept his hand inside his coat, remaining silent. Part of him wanted to just walk away, but something else wanted him to stay. At least just to see where the thing was going with its speech.

"But... with our combined intellect, you stand a chance at triumph. You see.... a spectre of logic and sense cannot operate efficiently without emotion. No drive to commit to any plan it can concoct. You possess the drive, but lack the thought process for a complicated process such as a holocaust. Ponder. How much do you comprehend about this universe, and will it matter when you find yourself resurrected at the fountain?"

The gunner looked away from the shade, drawing his hand a ways out of his coat. The shade leaned a bit closer towards him, its voice mannerly and calm, as if it was trying to placate a child that knew what it did was wrong.

"You only know a macrocosm of an entire cosmos, my friend. Yes, I am not omniscient, but by comparison, my reserves are vast. Confide with me on this matter, and both of us will be rapturous when we are complete."

The gunsmith curled his fingers, taking in a deep breath. Eventually, albeit half-heartily, he removed his hand from his coat, looking towards the shade. Its smile grew wider than ever as he quietly replied.

"Dammit... you got a point. Fine. What do I need to do?"

"Nothing, in truthfulness. There are terms, however, that I will disclose to you, and that we can agree upon as needed."

"Get on with it already..."

"First, there is the topic of who will take control of your physical form. I propose I be the one to possess it."

"Hold on a damn moment. You aren't just TAKING my body from me, alright? It's fucking mine, so I get to be the one to walk around in it."

"Of course, but how will I study? How will I be able to record what I see? It is unreasonable for you to take complete control of it all the time. And besides, what if your impetuous temper gets us into undesirable inconvenience? How, then, will we be able to accomplish our respective goals?"

"It'd certainly be a lot better than if you stood still, thinking about how pretty the sky looked for ten hours straight, if your "logic spirit" crap is to be believed!" Ballad shouted, standing up from his seat. The shade remained motionless for a few moments before hovering backwards.

"See? If you weren't a fucking ghost, I would've brained you right there."

The shade nodded after a second. "Admittedly, my reaction time is.... less than satisfactory."

"See why I should control it? You'll get us BOTH killed."

"Not if we compromise."

"Hmmm?"

"Clearly, your battle prowess is superior to my own. In terms of diplomacy and overall communal tendencies, however, I am worthier. Therefore, I propose the following: I can handle the everyday aspects of life, but as soon as something... extreme happens that can cause vehement responses, you will take the lead and I will be reduced to a mere voice in your head. This includes combat."

The gunsmith peered at him for a few moments, nodding as he sat back down in his chair.

"In any case... secondly, you do gain some rather... mystical powers of mine that you are inclined to utilize at any opportunity."

"Like?"

"You are familiar with at least one."

Ballad gripped the rests on his chair, shuddering a bit. He shook his head, muttering dejectedly.

"Anything else, uh..."

"Just call me SPB."

"Alright... SPB... you have yourself a deal." He spoke, moving up from his chair. He walked forward towards the specter, seeing the wide smile on its face. He stretched his hand out towards it, feeling its silky palm touch his hand as they shook.

"Where do we start?"

"Firstly.... we must discuss where to go next."

[Corporal Light]

"Well, SPB, don't you have any suggestions?" Ballad questioned, bringing his hands together before leaning up against the table. The shade was twiddling its thumbs, rocking back and forth in its chair. The gunsmith let out a sigh, placing his forehead on top of his clenched fists.

"I am currently operating my intellectual capabilities to extract data on all of the realms in this land. Forgive me for taking a protracted period of time." It spoke, sliding its hands towards the edge of the table. Its tendrils grasped a drape covering the table, pulling it out from underneath the gunner. Ballad leaned off the table, staring down at the stand. Below the drape was, evidently, eight distinct, gate-like structures. Each of them were rather small, obviously nowhere near the size of the real thing, and were just wide enough to cover the entire table.

"These are the realms currently in existence. There are eight of them, but you have only examined one, which is this." It pointed towards a structure with expertly crafted stone to Ballad's right.

"Camelot..." The soldier whispered.

"That is correct. To its very opposite, in more ways than just one, is Coruscant." It replied, shifting its digit towards an archway of steel, "The land of the Empire. Camelot and Coruscant are currently in perennial war with one another, and they have been since anyone could remember. Camelot is led by King Aragorn, who leads it benevolently and with a certain degree of autonomy. Coruscant is led by the dictator, Emperor Palpatine. He's already dealing with rebellion problems in Coruscant, which is quite potentially the only thing preventing his full might from removing Camelot from existence."

"You're certain about that?"

"I'm a logic spirit, peevish one. I'm more than certain."

"Then I'm certain there is a catch to this."

"There is. I lament this, but it is inadvisable to start in either realm for several reasons, the least important being your current criminal status in both lands. The most important is their sheer power. Their lands were established since the dawn of the Omniverse, so whatever plan you may have for them will not likely work."

The gunner nodded, standing up from his spot and moving towards the right side of the table. He looked towards the spectre, saying "I figured that. I nearly died fighting both. What's next?"

"I'll show you three of the more... desirable landscapes." SPB floated up into the air, smoke bellowing out of its underside. It proceeded to glide towards an archway of eroded stone, pointing towards it.

"This is the portal to the Endless Dunes. You might have heard of it on the Dataverse, though you most likely did not. A recent battle in it has crippled a faction."

"Faction?" Ballad questioned, his voice rising as he glanced towards the shade.

"New Bablyon. It's city, Nippur, got burned to the ground by a gang of, from my understanding and observations, anyway, primes. Specifically two: Thaal Sinestro and Mickey Mouse."

"Mickey.... Mouse..." The gunner repeated, feeling unnatural coming from his own mouth.

"In any case, they assisted in the act. They aren't the only threat, either. There have been more than a few cases of banditry occurring in that region, some very powerful indeed. Without names, however, I cannot assist you in that endeavor."

"So, let me guess, the catch is I'll take a huge risk going up against Thaal and this.... Mickey.. by going here?"

"Of course."

"I think we'll start elsewher- what's that?!" The soldier said, jabbing his finger towards a gateway of ice.

"Ah... yes. This is actually the one realm I wanted to recommend the most."

"Well, what the fuck is it? Don't leave me hanging here!"

"Remain quiet, and I shall. It is the Frozen Fields, home to a wide variety of organisms."

"Such as?"

"Dwarves, trolls, giants, dragons, and wampas. All of which are hostile to newcomers except for the Dwarves."

"Why not the Dwarves?"

"They are at war with the trolls, and have been for some time. They've fought long and hard, but for the most part, it's remained simply as skirmishes and the occasional raid."

"But if it gets escalated.."

"Then the chances of full-scale genocide is assured."

The gunner smiled, leaning against the table. "I like this plan. Question is, though, how do we handle them?"

"I've calculated that for a while, and my best answer is the following: The trolls are, for the most part, to blame, as they slaughter any non-troll that happens to pass through. The Dwarves are, at the very least, making the best of a bad situation, to quote a metaphor."

"Then I think we know what to do.."

It begins