Last Gun Alchemist

At the exact moment the explosion from Ezra’s Baske 1945 clash with Pamela’s AA-12 shook the maze corridor, the shockwave rolled through the stone passages like a warning bell.

Felix and his group heard it clearly.

They saw the smoke rising from a distant turn in the maze.

”So... it has started,” Gareth said calmly, standing with his hands folded behind his back as he stared toward the drifting cloud.

”That’s not my concern right now,” Felix snapped.

He slammed his fist hard against the stone wall beside him.

The impact echoed.

”Those bastard twins...”

His teeth ground together.

”Underestimating me.”

”Relax, Sir Felix,” Page said gently, pointing at the fresh bandage wrapped around his stomach. ”You don’t want your wound reopening.”

Page had treated Lyra, Freed, Matthey, and Felix using her Flora Alchemy. She moved quietly but efficiently, using green-glowing threads of Cognis after bringing out needed herbs to stimulate flesh recovery and stop bleeding. The others had rested just long enough to stand.

Felix didn’t care.

His pride burned hotter than the wound.

”Sooner or later,” he muttered, clenching his fist again, ”they will know that I am above them.”

His lips curled.

”And I’ll start with that lowline maggot who thought he could stand in front of me.”

His gaze shifted toward the smoke where Ezra fought.

”I will show those fools who follow those other useless rats what happens when someone tries to steal my title.”

His smile widened, not from confidence, but it was desperate.

***

At Ezra’s side, the needles flew toward him at terrifying speed, their thin bodies cutting through the air like a swarm of metallic insects determined to shred him apart.

Shit, what should I do?

His mind did not freeze, it accelerated.

Should I go all in, enhance my hand speed, and try to block everything with both daggers?

No.

If I burn through my Cognis now, I’ll become easy prey for this new group.

The second wave was coordinated and it showed how well disciplined they were.

They weren’t amateurs.

Ezra’s eyes shifted rapidly, not panicked, but calculating.

He observed the spacing between the incoming needles, he observed the spaces between the needles, he observed the space between himself and the ground. The space above and the angles.

Ezra, focus, focus.

He forced his breathing to steady.

The time it took him to process all variables was barely one and a half seconds.

In that small fragment of time, he made his decision.

He threw the Baske 1945 forward.

The heavy gun spun violently through the air and crashed into the first layer of needles.

Clatter!

Several needles were knocked off course.

Some bent.

Some shattered, but there were too many.

The remaining projectiles slipped past the rotating Baske and continued closing in on him.

Ezra’s left hand moved to his space bag.

Glock 17 and an already prepared magazine between his fingers.

His right hand drew a dagger.

In one smooth, continuous motion, he slammed the magazine into the Glock while raising it simultaneously.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

He didn’t shoot wildly.

Every bullet was aimed at a specific needle.

A single collision sent sparks flying.

One needle hit another, that second needle deflected into a third and the chain reaction began.

He pivoted left.

Slashed with the dagger and stepped forward.

Fired again.

Needles ricocheted off each other like steel rain colliding mid-air.

Some grazed his sleeve.

One sliced across his forearm.

A thin line of blood appeared, but he ignored it and kept moving.

No hesitation, no wasted motion.

The sound of metal striking metal filled the corridor, layered with the sharp cracks of gunfire.

Needles slammed into the stone floor around him, stabbing deep and creating small bursts of dust.

The dust thickened and visibility dropped. From the ambushers’ perspective, Ezra disappeared into a swirling cloud of sparks and smoke.

They could only hear it.

Clang, Bang and Shing.

A Metallic chaos.

Inside the dust, Ezra sharpened his movements further again and instead of just shooting to destroy, he began manipulating trajectories deliberately again, but this time faster.

He shot one needle at a precise angle so it would strike another.

That second one flew sideways, hitting a third cluster.

Several clattered violently against each other, scattering across different angles instead of converging directly on him.

Like metallic pinballs bouncing in controlled chaos.

Finally...

The barrage ended.

The sound settled into scattered metallic echoes.

”Do you think he’s dead?” a girl standing near the ambush leader asked quietly, her voice uncertain.

At the center stood Jadon.

White and brown hair, Brown eyes sharpened by Cognis, Tall and Broad-shouldered for a fourteen-year-old.

He enhanced his sight, trying to pierce through the thinning dust.

”Why did you even expose us?” another boy to his left asked, arms folded. ”We should’ve finished everything from our hiding spot.”

Jadon didn’t look at him.

”It’s because that silky lowline already noticed our presence,” he replied calmly, though his eyes remained locked on the dust cloud.

He strained his perception further, pushing Cognis into his vision, but it was still difficult to find him.

”That’s why he provoked Pamela before they started fighting,” Jadon continued. ”Even if we attacked with the element of surprise, he would have sensed it coming, so there was no need for the ambush again.”

Behind them, five members quickly performed joint alchemy.

Steel scraps liquefied and bullet molds formed.

Fresh ammunition was made rapidly and inserted into Acu-Vector Mk.I. magazines.

Pamela arrived carrying Jimmy, whose face was pale from Cognis drain. Nile and Cale followed, both bruised and breathing heavily.

”Felix planned this perfectly, huh,” Pamela muttered as she watched the two groups holding identical Acu-Vector Mk.I. handguns, fully reloaded and aimed.

”The lowline is fine,” Jadon said.

The dust slowly parted.

Ezra stood there.

The ground around him was buried in needles, some were stabbed deep into stone and some lay bent.

Others were scattered from bullet collisions.

He had concealed his presence during the final moments, compressing his presence tightly so it was difficult to sense him precisely.

While hidden within the dust, he had already moved.

Steel bar., and five steel nuggets.

Cognis flared, an Alchemy circle formed between his palms and he slammed in on the materials, the materials liquifying and the liquid steel restructured into another Glock 17 and a Fresh magazine.

He slammed it into place, now holding two Glocks.

One in each hand.

The dust fully cleared and their eyes met.

Jadon’s expression did not change.

He smirked.

”Even if you create another gun, you won’t be able to do anything.”

He signaled.

”Fire.”

The second barrage exploded forward.

Needles surged like a metallic flood.

”No matter what you do today,” Jadon said with satisfaction, ”you will die, lowline.”

He believed Ezra was cornered.

Seven Handguns, continuous suppression.

Pamela watched silently as the second rain descended.

She did not smile.

There was no satisfaction in her eyes. This wasn’t what she wanted.

She had wanted to face him alone, to prove herself, to defeat him properly like Vera had advised and to finally avenge her brother, but after the rankings were released and she saw Ezra’s position...A certain set of thoughts took root.

What if she lost? What if he was stronger? What if she died before avenging her brother?

That doubt poisoned her confidence.

That fear pushed her to ask Vera the question she never wanted to ask.

And the answer had shattered her completely.

”Is Ezra stronger than me?”

Pamela had asked that question long before the week of the Fourth Trial arrived. It was around the week they finished their final class under Freya Ashenlocke, when tension about the upcoming trials had already begun to settle quietly in everyone’s hearts.

She had asked Vera directly.

She expected hesitation, maybe slight silence or at least a pause, but she got none.

”Yes.”

Vera answered plainly, without emotion, without cushioning the blow.

Pamela felt her heartbeat shift.

Then Vera added calmly, as if stating something obvious...

”And even if two of you fought him, you would still lose badly.”

That sentence did not just answer a question. It shattered something inside her.

For a moment, Pamela felt as if the ground beneath her had opened.

Lose badly, not even narrowly, not uncertainly, but badly.

After that, Pamela changed her approach.

If one-on-one meant defeat, then numbers were necessary.

She gathered Cale, Nile, and Jimmy.

They would attack together, they would plan how to approach the fight against Ezra, they would analyze Ezra’s tendencies and corner him. They would not allow him room to breathe, but even then...Even with that strategy...

There was still doubt.

It was not enough to guarantee victory.

Until...

Felix approached her.

He waited until Vera entered seclusion, then came with few of his people.

His smile was thin and calculated.

”I plan on killing the lowline who killed your brother,” he said casually, as if discussing something trivial. ”He angered me and I plan to kill him mercilessly in the Fourth Trial. So you should join me, since we have the same goal.”

Pamela’s eyes sharpened.

”Why should I help you?” she asked coldly, suspicion clear in her tone.

”Pamela, Pamela,” Felix replied with a soft laugh. ”I am not asking for your help. I’m offering mine. I’m offering you the chance to avenge your dear brother, Palmer.”

That name.

The moment it left his mouth...

Pamela grabbed him by the collar.

”Don’t you dare mention his name, you bastard!” she snarled, her voice shaking with rage.

Steel rasped.

Page drew a dagger instantly.

Cale and Nile raised their wooden training swords.

Felix’s group shifted, hands reaching for weapons.

Tension filled the air like a drawn bow.

”Let go,” Felix said quietly, though his eyes were no longer playful.

Pamela gritted her teeth.

”Tsk.”

She released him.

”You were one of the people who bullied him,” she said, her face tightening as memories surfaced. ”Because he was too kind. Because he didn’t fight back. You don’t deserve to say his name!”

Felix adjusted his collar.

”Well, that was just for fun,” he replied lightly, as if brushing away dust. ”I needed someone to pass time with after Veda stopped being amusing.”

He sighed.

”But that’s not why I’m here.”

Weapons lowered.

Pamela watched him carefully, every instinct telling her not to trust him, but the weight in her chest told her to listen.

”We both want the same person dead,” Felix continued. ”So let me set the stage for you. I will handle the arrangement, I will guarantee the environment will be perfect and I will even allow you the honor of delivering the final blow yourself.”

He extended his hand toward her.

”Don’t worry,” he added smoothly. ”You’re not joining my group. I don’t need Vera breathing down my neck.”

His smile widened slightly.

”It’s a good offer. You get revenge without risking your life unnecessarily, also you get to watch him struggle, to watch him bleed and when the time comes, you can slice his throat yourself or put a bullet in his head and watch the light leave his eyes.”

He inhaled as if imagining it.

”That would be beautiful.”

”Take my hand, Pamela.”

He moved it closer.

Confident and certain.

Pamela stared at his hand.

She hated him, she hated the fact that she needed him, but fear had already eaten away at her pride.

If she fought alone...

What if she died?

She grabbed his hand and shook it roughly.

”Okay,” she said stiffly.

Her face did not soften.

Her eyes did not change, but the decision was made.

”Good,” Felix said with satisfaction. ”You made the right choice.”

”What’s your plan?” she asked, her voice slightly tired.

”That’s not your concern,” Felix replied. ”Continue your part. When the moment comes, I’ll send my people and everything will unfold perfectly.”

He raised his hands lightly as if presenting a stage.

”Because I am Felix Ashenlocke,” he continued, smirking. ”The one who controls minds like puppets. The master who plays chess, three moves ahead of everyone else.”

He leaned slightly closer.

”Setting up the execution of one lowline will be effortless.”

He turned.

His group followed.

Pamela stood there long after he left.

Her hands clenched.

***

Pamela stared at Ezra. Not with pity, not with mercy and not even with hatred.

There was disappointment in herself, in the fact that she could not face him alone.

In the fact that she had chosen certainty over pride, but it didn’t matter, all she had to do was watch and let everything unfold.

Ezra stood in the corridor gripping both Glocks tightly.

His breathing was controlled, his stance steady.

Needles were already coming again.

Then...

A long staff shot past his left cheek from behind.

It stabbed into the stone ground in front of him with tremendous force.

Crack.

The floor fractured.

Aliya descended from above, landing on the shaft of the embedded staff with both feet.

She channeled Cognis into her legs and slammed downward hard.

Boom!

The stone floor responded.

A massive slab of earth lifted upward, forming a jagged barrier that intercepted the incoming rain of needles.

Metal crashed against stone.

Needles embedded deeply into the raised wall.

Dust surged outward.

”Aliya,” Ezra said.

He did not sound relieved nor surprised.

There was something else in his eyes, something quieter.

She turned slightly toward him, gripping her staff firmly.

Her smile was confident, but her breathing revealed she had pushed herself hard to make that entrance.

”Don’t worry, Ezra,” she said.

Her voice was steady.

”I’m here now.”