Free Web NovelMatt stood before the forge. On the table sat dark metal, red crystals, polished bone fragments, mineral dust, and several more tools.
Matt looked at all of it.
Then at his hands.
Then back at the materials.
"Alright."
The voice said nothing.
Matt breathed slowly.
"How the hell do I make a gun?"
The voice was quiet for two seconds.
"I thought you knew."
Matt closed his eyes.
"Bad start."
"Do you know what a gun is?"
"I know what a gun does."
"That's a start."
"No. That's like saying I know how to build a car because I know it has wheels."
The voice didn't respond.
Matt brought a hand to his face.
The idea was stupid.
Build a gun inside a vampire cave, with rare metals, red crystals, and old tools.
No gunpowder.
No blueprints.
No internet.
No tutorials.
Nothing.
Just vague memories.
Matt slowly opened his eyes.
'Wait.'
There was a memory.
Not from real life.
From a video game.
One of those games where you could disassemble weapons, clean parts, swap springs, load magazines, and pretend you understood military engineering because you were dragging pieces around with a mouse.
Matt went still.
Then smiled without humor.
"I'm going to die trusting a video game."
The voice seemed to find this interesting.
"Is that bad?"
"It's worse than bad. It's humiliating."
But it was all he had.
So he started.
First he tried to recall the general shape.
Grip.
Trigger.
Barrel.
Chamber.
Magazine.
Internal mechanism.
Or something like that.
Matt picked up the dark metal and put it on the table.
The forge roared.
FWOOSH!
Red heat filled the room.
Matt cut his finger with a nail and let blood fall onto the metal.
Tsssss!
The material absorbed the blood as if it were thirsty.
"Disgusting."
"But it works."
"That doesn't make it less disgusting."
The voice didn't argue.
Matt started working.
And failed.
A lot.
The first piece came out too thick.
The second split when it cooled.
The third had a shape that resembled a grip if you were being very generous and had vision problems.
The fourth exploded in red sparks when he tried to insert a small crystal into the center.
BAM!
Matt ended up with his face covered in soot.
The voice spoke softly:
"That was progress."
Matt looked at the destroyed piece.
Then at the smoke.
Then at the ceiling.
"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."
He kept trying.
Hours.
Then days.
The rest room stopped feeling like a refuge and became a workshop full of garbage — a graveyard of terrible attempts.
Twisted grips on one table.
Cracked barrels on the floor.
Burned crystals.
Useless pieces.
And an embarrassing amount of wasted metal.
Every time Matt slept, the materials reappeared.
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Every time he woke up, Matt hated the cave a little more.
But he kept trying anyway.
That was the most infuriating part, because he had no excuse not to work from lack of materials.
And with time he started to understand.
Not like a blacksmith or an engineer.
But like someone stubborn with too much time, too much rage, and an annoying voice correcting him from inside his head.
"The barrel is misaligned."
"I know."
"Then fix it."
"Would you like to come do it yourself?"
"I don't have hands."
"What a tragedy."
Another attempt.
Another failure.
CRACK!
Another broken piece.
Another insult.
Another drop of blood.
Another day.
By day twelve, Matt was sitting in front of something that, if you looked at it from a distance, with low lighting and considerable optimism, resembled a simple pistol.
It had a grip.
It had a barrel.
It had a trigger.
It had a red core embedded where something important should have been, but it looked decent enough that Matt didn't immediately want to throw it straight in the trash.
"That…"
The voice paused.
"That looks like a gun."
Matt looked at it with sunken eyes.
"Thanks for the enthusiasm."
"I mean it."
"Yes. It looks like a gun."
Matt lifted it.
It weighed more than he expected.
The balance was terrible.
The trigger didn't work properly.
The barrel was probably still misaligned.
And most importantly…
It didn't fire.
Matt pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
He pulled it again.
Nothing.
He pulled it harder.
Click!
Matt went still.
The gun did nothing else.
"Wonderful."
"Don't panic."
"I'm not panicking."
"You're staring at the weapon like you want to break it."
"That's not panic. That's evaluation."
The voice let out a small laugh.
"You don't need gunpowder."
Matt looked at the weapon.
Then at the air.
"Excuse me?"
"It doesn't need to work like a human gun."
Matt went quiet.
The voice continued:
"We can modify it to use mana or blood."
Matt closed his eyes.
"Right."
"Matt…"
"No, no. Right. I just need to modify a fake gun made of metal to fire mana or blood bullets."
"Yes."
"Do you think I'm a weapons factory?"
"No."
"A forge with legs?"
"No."
"A legendary old master hidden on a mountain?"
"No."
"Then lower your expectations."
The voice laughed and that irritated him.
But not as much as it should have.
"Matt, you knew almost nothing and in twelve days you created something close to a gun."
"Something close doesn't work if it doesn't fire."
"But you got near."
"That's not enough."
"I believe in you."
Matt looked at her without seeing her.
"Not everything is solved by determination."
The voice laughed again.
Matt clicked his tongue, but kept working.
He wasn't happy.
He wasn't convinced.
He didn't trust her.
But something horrible was happening.
Part of him was enjoying this.
Not much.
Not purely.
But enough to bother him.
There was a problem.
A design.
A limitation.
A possible solution.
Trial.
Error.
Adjustment.
Again.
That was familiar.
Too familiar.
Like practicing a strategy until it worked.
Like studying a rival's patterns.
Like losing a match, reviewing the replay, finding the mistake, and trying again.
Matt hated admitting it.
So he didn't admit it.
Instead, he started a second gun.
"What are you doing?"
"Experimenting."
"With another weapon?"
"With another piece of garbage that will probably explode."
"That sounds dangerous."
"Everything here is dangerous."
The voice didn't argue.
The first gun had a thicker barrel that made it heavier, but was designed to concentrate a lot of energy.
The second started lighter.
Less material.
A smaller core.
Shorter mana channels.
Matt didn't know if he was making a masterpiece or a handheld bomb.
Probably both, but the days passed.
Matt stopped counting precisely.
He slept little. frёewebnoѵēl.com
Drank from the fountain.
Worked.
Tested.
Failed.
Insulted the air.
Went back to work.
The bow-spear stayed leaned against the bed.
Silent.
Ignored.
Sometimes it vibrated softly.
Matt glanced at it sideways.
"I know." freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
The weapon didn't respond.
"I'm busy."
The bow-spear's core glowed faintly.
Matt clicked his tongue and went back to the table.
The first shot happened by accident, like almost everything important in his life.
Matt had the heavy gun in his hand, inspecting the trigger.
He had connected a blood channel to the red core.
The mechanism was supposed to compress mana when he pulled — in theory.
A theory written by an exhausted idiot based on a video game and vampire trauma.
Matt aimed downward without thinking.
The trigger gave.
Click!
Matt felt the mana gather around the weapon.
Not in the air.
Inside.
Like a held breath.
His heart lurched.
"Wait—"
BANG!
A red energy bullet shot out.
Straight into his own thigh.
CRACK!
Matt fell sideways.
"AH, DAMN IT!"
The gun went skidding across the table.
Pain exploded in his leg.
The bullet didn't go all the way through, but it tore a horrible hole in the flesh.
Blood began to flow.
The wound started closing almost immediately.
Matt breathed hard.
The voice spoke, alarmed:
"Matt!"
Matt raised a hand.
"Quiet."
"You shot yourself."
"Yes."
"In the leg."
"Thanks. I noticed."
"Are you alright?"
Matt slowly sat up.
His leg was trembling.
The wound was still smoking.
But his eyes were fixed on the gun.
Not on the blood.
Not on the pain.
On the gun.
Matt started to smile.
The voice went quiet.
Matt let out a low laugh.
Then another.
"It worked."
"But you shot yourself…"
"It worked."
"Matt."
"It worked."
Matt dragged himself to the table, grabbed the heavy gun, and lifted it with both hands.
The weapon was hot.
The red core blazed.
The barrel was smoking.
And Matt felt an absurd rush of something rising through his chest.
Pride.
"I made this."
The voice sounded almost soft.
"Yes."
Matt aimed upward.
"Let's see again."
"Maybe you should aim at something that isn't you."
"I learn fast."
He pulled the trigger.
The mana took its time gathering.
One.
Two.
Three.
BANG!
The red bullet flew toward the ceiling and exploded against some invisible layer of the room.
BOOM!
The cave shook.
Matt lowered the gun all at once.
The tools vibrated.
The fountain formed violent ripples.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
For several seconds, everything kept moving.
Then it stopped.
Matt looked upward.
"Ah."
The voice spoke slowly.
"That was powerful."
"Too powerful."
"Perhaps."
Matt looked at the gun.
Then at the ceiling.
"Do you think I could bring the cave down?"
"I hope not."
"That's not an answer."
"I don't want to know."
Matt looked at the weapon with a small smile.
The voice spoke with something close to excitement:
"You did it."
Matt didn't respond.
"You really are a genius."
"Don't flatter me yet."
"Why not?"
"Because it has flaws."
The voice went quiet.
Matt raised the gun.
"It takes too long to fire."
"But it has a lot of power."
"My bow-spear can fire quickly if I use low energy. It can also charge slower and fire harder."
The voice seemed to think.
"You want to adjust the gun to do both?"
"Yes."
"What if you don't?"
Matt frowned.
"What?"
"What if you finish the other one instead?"
Matt looked toward the second gun.
The light one.
Half-finished.
Thinner.
Shorter.
With shallower mana channels.
The voice continued:
"One slow and powerful. One fast."
Matt didn't respond.
The idea hung in the room.
Absurd.
Excessive.
Interesting.
Matt froze for a moment.
Then slowly lowered the heavy gun.
"That…"
"Yes?"
"That is not a completely stupid idea."
"Thank you."
"Don't get excited."
"Too late."
Matt looked at the bow-spear.
Then at the heavy gun.
Then at the incomplete light gun.
"Walking out of here with three ego weapons sounds like breaking several unwritten rules."
"We're already interpreting the rules quite creatively."
"That doesn't improve the sentence."
"But it's true."
Matt wanted to leave.
He wanted to get out of that cave.
He wanted to eat something real.
He wanted to stop smelling burnt metal and blood.
He wanted to sleep in a bed that wasn't inside a place designed to kill him.
But…
The second gun was close.
Too close.
Abandoning it now bothered him.
It bothered him in a personal way.
Matt gritted his teeth.
"This is your fault."
"I'll accept that."
"Don't accept it so happily."
"I'm not happy."
"You sounded happy."
"A little."
Matt clicked his tongue and set the heavy gun on the table.
Then picked up the light one.
"Fine."
The voice said nothing.
Matt grabbed a small crystal.
"Let's finish this stupidity."
The forge runes blazed.
Hmmm!
Matt adjusted the core.
The metal vibrated under his fingers.
And then…
The cave shook.
Not like before.
This time it was violent.
CRRRRRR!
The table shook.
Several tools fell to the floor.
The fountain splashed glowing water.
The bow-spear vibrated hard against the bed.
Matt immediately let go of the light gun.
"What was that?"
The voice answered with tension:
"I think the cave doesn't want you to finish."
Matt looked around.
The tremor continued for a few more seconds.
Then stopped.
Silence.
Matt swallowed.
Slowly, he looked at the light gun.
Then at the heavy one.
Then at the bow-spear.
"Ah."
The voice spoke quietly:
"Matt."
"No."
"I think—"
"Don't say anything."
Matt reached toward the incomplete light gun.
The moment his fingers touched the metal…
CRRRRRR!
The cave shook again.
Harder.
Matt pulled his hand back.
The tremor stopped.
Silence.
Matt went completely still.
The voice didn't speak either.
For several seconds, only the sound of fountain water falling back into the basin could be heard.
Matt looked at the light gun.
Then smiled without humor.
"Damn."
The voice spoke carefully:
"It seems we really are breaking the rules…"
