The pistol in her hand wasn’t her backup Colt. She’d “borrowed” it—quietly, without asking—from the holster of the Quarry second-ranker she’d kicked aside earlier. A standard issue piece. The grip felt a little off in her hand, the weight a touch lighter than she was used to.

  Pandora raised her arm casually, pointing the muzzle at the poison-mist face drifting in the air, waiting for its move.

  She pulled the trigger.

  Bam!

  The bullet tore through the twisted, foggy visage. It didn’t hit anything solid, vanishing into the thick haze beyond.

  The poison-mist face rippled where the round passed through, then pulled itself back together. It let out a sharp, piercing “Hee-hee-hee!” of mockery. The laugh dripped with scorn, like it was laughing at her useless effort.

  Pandora’s face didn’t change. The moment the mist-face let out its weird chuckle, relaxing because she looked “dumb,” she shifted her weight.

  She dodged the savage bite that came next by a hair. The mist grazed the edge of her clothes, eating a small pit into the ground.

  She didn’t look at the face again. Instead, her eyes cut to a patch of dense, waist-high brush nearby, where shadows jumped under the ghostly blue light. Her gaze was sharp, like it could slice through the layers of big, overlapping leaves.

  She raised her arm again. Made a tiny adjustment. Fired without a pause.

  Bam!

  The shot cracked through the fog and foliage. The bullet dug deep into the thicket.

  “Ugh…!”

  A short, choked grunt of pain came from the bushes. Then the crash-rustle of leaves being shoved aside, followed by fast, stumbling footsteps.

  Pandora’s shot had hit something.

  Or rather, someone.

  She flicked a glance at the poison-mist face hanging in the air. It looked… about the same. The fog still churned; the shape was still nasty. But it had frozen weirdly in place. It didn’t launch another crazy attack like before.

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  That little moment of “hesitation” said it all.

  A cold smile touched Pandora’s lips. She didn’t wait.

  This standard pistol hit a bit softer than her Colt. And her target was a second-ranker. Even if he wasn’t a tank, his life force was way past normal. One shot probably wouldn’t put him down.

  But…

  What about a few more?

  Or the whole magazine?

  Pandora was a little “curious.”

  So she did it.

  Her finger worked the trigger steady and fast.

  Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

  A string of quick, tight shots ripped toward the bushes, sounding like Death doing a drumroll. Empty shells clinked on the stone. The magazine ran dry in seconds. A thin wisp of smoke curled from the muzzle.

  And matching it—

  From deep in the thick brush came a few more muffled, pained sounds, worse than the first. Then the heavy thud of a body hitting dirt.

  Then nothing. Just the leaves shivering a little.

  Up in the air, that ugly face made of dark-green poison mist collapsed—like a popped bubble—with a faint, sighing hiss. It dissolved into thin wisps of plain vapor that vanished into the air, leaving nothing behind.

  “As expected…” Pandora lowered the gun arm, her voice flat. “Not even close to Poppe.”

  She tossed the empty pistol back toward the dazed Quarry second-ranker standing nearby.

  She turned her attention to the wider fight. The red moonlight, the ghostly blue ward-glow, and the pale poison fog all mixed together, throwing the whole place into a weird, unreal light.

  Wherever her eyes moved, Ascension Road apprentices flinched, ducking back deeper behind cover. Three of their second-rankers had been wiped out clean and fast by this mysterious woman with the red greatsword… That was enough to ice the blood of anyone still thinking straight.

  The Echo Quarry forces, though, looked like they’d just gotten a power-up. Morale, which had dipped when guns got hard to use up close, shot straight up.

  “Yeah!”

  “Nice kill!”

  “Waste those chem-heads!”

  Shouts and cheers came from around the fog. Even the “human turret” stopped its roar for a second. The machine gunner’s rough voice called out, “Hey, lady! You’re hardcore! Drinks later!”

  The second-rank apprentice Pandora had saved twice finally shook off his shock. He looked a bit older, with a face more like a scholar’s. He wasn’t the strongest fighter in the squad, but he was the “brain,” the temporary leader for this east-side push.

  At first, he hadn’t been sure about this cold-faced stranger with the crimson sword and her sharp, weird fighting style. He’d been in the Quarry a long time and knew most of the named, capable members. He’d never seen her before.

  But now he didn’t doubt it. Taking out three Ascension Road second-rankers that cleanly, especially showing that gunplay—smooth enough to make your eyes water—when she nailed the poison-mist guy…

  She couldn’t be one of those Ascension Road potion-sniffing freaks. This style, this way of moving… She was clearly one of their own. A Quarry hitter. Probably one of those quiet aces who stayed out of sight, only showing up when things got real.

  With that thought, the last of his doubt vanished, replaced by relief, excitement, and a solid dose of respect.

  ………………

  Not long after, the blood-soaked east wing of the garden went quiet again. Not peaceful quiet. The quiet that comes when a fight is over for now.

  The scrap had ended with Ascension Road losing. Bodies lay around like dumped sacks. The air still stank—thick with blood, the bite of leftover poison fog, plant sap, and something burnt, all mixed into one nasty smell.