Nightside 09 - Just Another Judgement Day

therefore which of us was the true holy warrior. But instead . . . it was a conflict between two men. And in the end, it was my faith that proved to be lacking. I doubted I could beat him, and in that moment, I was lost.”
    “You really believe that?” I said.
    “I have to believe that,” said Chandra. He looked around him, taking in the ruins and the rubble, the dead and the dying. And the tourists, taking photos of it all. “No true God would approve of this . . . this indiscriminate slaughter. No, everything that happened here is down to the pride and needs of one stubborn man. And if there is one thing in this world you can be sure of, John Taylor, it is that the proud shall always be humbled.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “And the Nightside does so love to break a good man.”
    I was looking right at him when I said that, but he still didn’t get the point. “So,” he said briskly, “where is this Gun Shop?”
    “Right here on the Street of the Gods,” I said. “It isn’t just a Gun Shop, you see.”
    “Of course,” said Chandra Singh. “I should have known.”
    “The Gun Shop . . . is the Church of the Gun,” I said. “It exists because of all the people who worship weapons. Everything that is worshipped strongly enough and long enough has a place here. People do have an awful lot of faith in weapons, and the more people believe in them, the more power and influence they have in the world. You can find anything in the Gun Shop, anything that kills, from swords to nukes to energy weapons from future time-lines. The Speaking Gun will be there. Because even a terrible thing like that needs somewhere to go that feels like home.”

* * * *
    We walked down the Street of the Gods, and people and other things hurried to get out of our way. Chandra Singh, because so many people had just seen him go head to head with the Walking Man and survive, and me . . . because I was John Taylor, and had done far worse things in my time. And might again. Meanwhile, I did my best to explain to Chandra exactly what the Speaking Gun was and what it could do. He needed to be prepared.
    “The Speaking Gun is an old horror,” I said. “And I mean really old. So ancient it was created before the days of History, from the time of Myth and Legend. A gun fashioned from flesh and bone, that breathes and sweats and hates everything that lives. Its power comes from God, indirectly.”
    “And that’s why you think it will work against the Walking Man,” said Chandra.
    “Exactly. You see . . . in the beginning was the Word, and the universe burst into existence. Or so they say I wasn’t there. But anyway, as a result, the echoes of that Word live on in everything that exists. In their true, secret, descriptive Name. The Speaking Gun can see that Name and say it backwards. Thus . . . Uncreating them. I destroyed the Speaking Gun by forcing it to speak its own true Name backwards, and making it Uncreate itself. Seemed to work well enough, at the time. But the bloody thing still exists in the Past, and in certain future time-lines. And so the Gun Shop will always be able to reach out to it because its very nature links it to every weapon that ever was, is, or will be.”
    Chandra Singh shook his head. “Words fail me.”
    “Well, quite,” I said.
    It didn’t take us long to track down the Gun Shop. I didn’t need to use my gift. Like so many places on the Street of the Gods, the Gun Shop lies in wait for those who need it. Never far, always ready to be of service, always ready to slap a gun in your hand and encourage you to use it. Death And Destruction “R” Us, but don’t come back crying when it all goes horribly wrong.
    It wasn’t much to look at, when it finally hove into sight before us. More like a corner shop than a church, which I suppose was only to be expected. A simple wooden door next to a single glass window, showing off all the wonders to be found inside. I stopped, and looked. I couldn’t help myself. Chandra stood beside me. And in the window of the Gun Shop, weapons showed themselves off like whores. Swords and axes, guns and rifles, energy weapons and shifting shapes that made no sense at all. All of them utterly glamorous and sweetly tempting.
    Come inside, find something you like. You know you want to.
    I pulled my gaze away from the display and looked at Chandra. “Those aren’t just weapons,” I said. “They’re icons, archetypes, avatars of their kind. The Onlie True Originals, of which