Despite the invitation Ozzy didn’t move. Having been raised on earth he was very familiar with the concept of “stranger danger”, and this guy met all the criteria his schools PSA videos had made for a bad actor. So he stood still, and summoned his coach gun.

  The giant froze, it was like he had eyes on the back of his head and discomfortingly, he began to chuckle.

  “I wouldn’t bother with that gunslinger, mine’s bigger.” The giant said in a strangely slavic accent.

  In an instant the giant was facing Ozzy, the mirror image of his coach gun slung comfortably between the giants two massive tree trunks for arms. The giant might have held it low, but Ozzy could tell from his stance and the comfortable manner in which he held the coach gun that it could be swung up and trained on him at a moments notice. Faster than that if the giants turning speed was anything to go by. He was out of his depth, outgunned, and confused, and the giant knew it.

  In a move that might leave him cursing himself later he unsummoned the weapon, letting it fall and disperse into motes of light. If this guy wanted him dead then chances were there wasn’t much Ozzy could do to stop him.

  “What do you want from me?” Ozzy stared up in defiance at the giant who dropped his weapon in kind.

  “I want you to come along.” For the second time The Giant turned his back on him and pressed on into the workshop. This time Ozzy followed.

  No words were exchanged between them as they made their way through the shop. It was deceptively large, and they walked for a good bit longer than Ozzy had thought possible, passing all sorts of machinery, materials, and products. They didn’t stop until at long last they neared one of the walls and a small sitting area came into view under the mill of a massive lathe.

  The seating area was as quaint as the shop was impressive. A couple of grimy chairs sat facing a gently crackling fireplace. All of it brought together by a small coffee table in the center of the arrangement with a pot of steaming liquid.

  Taking the largest seat available the giant gestured for Ozzy to make himself comfortable. He opted for the ever modest folding lawn chair and plopped into it, his eyes never leaving his host. For his part the giant simply stared off into the fire, as if it were the most interesting thing about the shop.

  “It has been some time since I hosted a guest.” The giant rumbled as he leaned forward to pour two glasses of tea. “The last time was well over an era ago, that’s many lifetimes to one such as you.”

  “I’m honored?”

  “Ha! Most would be. Were we sitting having this conversation an era and a half ago you’d be crawling about on your hands and knees.” He chuckled once more before donning a serious expression. “That was then however, and this is now. I suppose you have questions for me yes?”

  “I have a billion questions-”

  “Ha! A billion questions would break your tiny mind. Silly stranger.” The Giant chuckled .

  “First question” Ozzy interrupted him in turn. “Who are you?”

  The giant grinned widely, and smacked his chest with a meaty thump. “I am Fauga, Lord of Powder, The King of Death From Afar, God of All Sticks That Go Boom.” He spread his arms dramatically as he spoke and stared expectantly down at Ozzy as he finished.

  “You’re a God?” Ozzy did his best to keep the dubiousness out of his voice, his best just so happened to not be very good.

  Fauga let out a dissatisfied grunt. “Yes, and you,” He shoved an accusatory finger at Ozzy, ”are my disciple.”

  Ozzy frowned. “I’m not sure that’s the way discipleship works.”

  “Normally you would be correct, but alas I am a god and get to choose which fools become my fools.” He spread his hands in apology, like there was nothing he could do to change his own mind.

  “Alright, Lord of Powder.” Ozzy had to try very hard to not make air quotes. “Why then am I your disciple.”

  “Now that is a simple one my young friend.” He said, grinning down at Ozzy.

  Fauga leaned back as with a burst of mana a notepad with a spiral bind appeared in one hand while a pair of simple spectacles appeared in the other. He nodded and grunted to himself as he peered through his spectacles to read over the contents of the notebook before tossing the glasses over his shoulder. They turned back into motes of mana as they left his hand and cascaded onto the shop floor in a shower of light.

  “You have a hunters safety license.” He jabbed the relevant spot on his notepad. “You have a concealed carry permit. “He jabbed at another spot. “And you took an ethics class in community college.” He jabbed a final point before looking down at Ozzy once more. “Though, you did get a C...”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “It was a slow class.” Ozzy muttered, gazing off into the shop in confused embarrassment.

  “Regardless, you have what I need. The ability, courage, and” Fauga paused as if embarrassed himself, “ethics.”

  “You need ethics?”

  “Yes, I am not so good at the judging.”

  “Right… isn’t judging people like super important or something to Gods?”

  “Yes and no, you see, I am not God of judgement. I am God of Guns. It does not matter to the gun where you point it, just whether or not you pull the trigger.”

  “While that’s very wise, it doesn’t make me feel great about being your disciple. I very much care where I am pointed, especially if someone’s gonna pull the trigger.” Ozzy intoned.

  “Hahaha! Yes, exactly!” An ear splitting crack resounded through the shop as Fauga’s hands came together in a clap that could have taught his coach gun a thing or two about noise. “I don’t wan’t another Lord of Powder, there is one enough. I wish for a conscience. For someone to drive my authority towards the above.”

  “The above?”

  “Yes the above, it is where the bright and holy dwell. The Gods capable of conscience who choose good go there. The others go to the under, and personally, I prefer the sunlight.”

  “Wait so you brought me to this world to be your conscience?” Ozzy asked incredulously, a well of indignation beginning to bubble up within his chest.

  Fauga just facepalmed. “I am the Lord of Powder, not Lord of Extra-planer mishaps. You come, use gun core, and I know you. Simple.”

  Ozzy sighed, things were about as simple as the giant whirling machine he heard going off behind him. “Right. Simple. So am I going to be some sort of judge for you? Pick the good people ignore or shoot the bad ones?”

  Fauga face palmed. “Dead worlders”, he muttered into a massive palm. “All I need is for you to get big and strong, that way when you go and tell someone they’re a royal prick and need to stop using a gun, they don’t just laugh and shoot you.”

  “You know I was never really huge on gun control back on earth.” He began, but Fauga leveled a glare that could’ve melted steel on him. “…but I think I could get in on that train… wait people have guns?”

  The giant sighed loudly. “If it were a better world I would that all would be able to wield my creations, yet then there would be no point to them. In an evil world I would that they be used to defend the ones incapable of lifting up arms, to lay tyrants low, and lift the destitute and downtrodden. Yet they would be used by those same tyrants, the robbers, the mercenaries, the liars and the cheats. I am a neutral God Ozzy. My power comes in the form of indiscriminate destruction, and I loathe it.”

  Fauga’s words fell from his tongue like the tears of a man incapable of sorrow. In them Ozzy could feel the grief of not a God, but a man. A man who knew the face and cry of every victim and tragedy he’d been a party to. He didn’t so much as speak, as empty his soul.

  “I love this era Ozzy. It is one where I play but a small part. There are bits and pieces of me only, an artifact here, a brilliant mind inventing over there, and very rarely, a gift like you. I do not need a judge little gunslinger, I need a messenger and a gunman, someone to not only help me fight, but to help me reason with man. A gun that cares where it is being pointed.” Fauga stared intently at Ozzy, and he could see a war waging behind those massive eyes. A fight for supremacy, between indifference, and hope.

  Ozzy couldn’t bring himself to maintain eye contact with Fauga, and his eyes dropped to the tea set that sat on the grimy little coffee table between them. “I’m not an envoy, or an ethics professor. I’m hardly anything more than an outdoorsy gun nut.” Ozzy looked back up at Fauga, even if he wouldn’t do his bidding, he’d at least look him in the eyes while he said so. “I won’t deliver ultimatums for you. Or anyone, I’m not a murderer, and I’m not some weapon to be directed.”

  A few moments passed as the two men stared at each other. Fauga was the first to break eye contact as he let out a universally weary sigh, leaning back into his chair.

  “While I wish you would reconsider, I respect those willing to stand for their themselves. I only hope the ground you stand will not crumble under you.” Fauga leaned forward pressing against his knees as he stood.

  “This will not be the last we see of each other stranger. For now, go with my blessing. You are the only disciple I have had for an era. I wish for you to do well, regardless of whether or not you help me.” Fauga held a hand out to Ozzy and helped him to his feet before pumping it in a crushing handshake.

  “For what it’s worth I’m sorry I wasn’t the kind of disciple you were looking for.” Ozzy gave him a sorry smile, but Fauga just shook his head and grinned like he knew something Ozzy didn’t.

  “Don’t apologize on my behalf, I look forward to meeting once more. Oh and Ozzy, be careful of rats.”

  “What do you mean-”

  The world twisted and warped before stretching endlessly out before him, like reality itself was a carpet that had just ripped out from under him. Space continued to warp around him, reaching the point to where nothing made any sense and save for his own features the world around him seemed to be nothing more than one great smear. Then as quickly as reality had unraveled it righted itself, landing him squarely where he had fallen asleep, the world’s smelliest dinghy.

  *BEEP BEEP*

  Ozzy ignored the beeping watch, he was dumbstruck by what had just transpired. He pondered on it for a moment until he decided it was beyond him. Whether or not he agreed with Fauga or helped him was something for future Ozzy to worry about. For now it might be alright to enjoy the moment.

  In the time that it had taken him to wake from his nap the swamp had changed around him. The sun was just barely rising, and sharp rays of light pierced their way through the thick foliage to dance and glimmer in a swamp that had gone from roiling murk to mirror flat. It was like he was in another world entirely compared to the one he’d arrived in yesterday.

  He absorbed the beauty for a few minutes letting it distract him from whatever the hell had just happened. Until he thought about his mother. What would she have said about all of this? About monsters, about Fauga, about just being here alone? He wished he knew.

  Ozzy hadn’t been born in Alaska, he’d just lucked out getting there. His mother had raised him practically on her own in the humid state of Louisiana before he'd moved up north without her. Being in the swamp brought him back though, this was just the kind of scene he’d have found her looking on out over with a cup of tea ten years ago.

  It would be hell to enjoy it without her.