The Last Round.
She is dying. The nurglite poison is beyond healing, slow and insidious. But that's fine, she had time to see to her affairs. To see that her people would find new gods, and to make one, last, gift. Faust is weeping, she knows the choice Gatta has made. Ilfeliare is stern, she's lost too much too quickly to have tears to spare. But that too is fine, Gatta is not doing this for tears.
The first thing to finish is the barrel, so much easier now that Ilfeliare is more than just fire. With faust's help it's so very simple to infuse the solidity of earth and metal into the working, to call forth the echo of a suns furry to ensure no heat would melt it. Even so reinforced, the projectile is too hot, too infused with the very concept of destructive incandescent fury to touch. This is no obstacle, thunder cannot melt. Dense Coils of a magnetic fields, a dim echo of a dead god ensure the round will be channeled as is proper.
She pauses to wretch. The poison
knows. The foul plague mind within it can sense she is defying it, that she
spits on the despair and futility at its core. But it is slow. To hurry is to admit that there is a
point that it's worth it to try
. It can't hurry without betraying itself, it has already doomed her, and it has nothing left it can do.
The next to finish is the power feeds. Vast conduits spun from the storm's fury and forged in steel and solidity. Capacitors that
are the magnetic storms of a star's surface in ways that belies their physical nature. Connected to these is her own domain, the forging of might. A gun is the pooling of an entire societies strength, the forging of metal, distilling of gunpowder, the designing of the weapon, a thousand hands moving in unison behind each round. This weapon will be no different, the prayer engines and power taps allow the vast city of steel and faith to fuel this weapon make it
more. Each ship shattering round a statement of the power of mortal will, a scream of defiance against the thirsting gods of chaos.
The poison
moves and Gatta laughs at is hypocrisy. It cares so much about convincing her caring is pointless. She opens herself, and the Sun and Storm cauterizes the contagion. the toxin screams providing a counterpoint to her stoic smile. The burns are no less lethal, no less certain a death. But it is a death she has chosen. It screams at the futility of it, that her death won't change how it ends, as if the ending was the only thing that matters.
The last to finish is the heart of the weapon, the Chamber. The magazine and firing mechanism in one. It is here the furious heart of a star will be formed and blessed by mortal artifice, where god's will forge rounds to burn away a mountains weight of armor, and scour continents down past the bedrock. The walls are metals with no name, forged in the heart of a star with divine will and power. The power feeds terminate in great Techno-Arcana spires, the root of the barrel sits, the terminus of great magnetic fields. Vast forces clash and struggle, until Faust whispers and they merge. It is the storm and the earth that shapes it, it is the fire and the gun that channels it. Then, something goes wrong. The mechanisms are perfect, the craftsmanship worthy of a god, but it is not them that break. So much power in such a space, reality itself begins to distort. The beautiful precision of the chamber fails as the world around it drifts out of alignment.
The Poison laughs, holding up the setback as absolute proof that her efforts are futile. That she will be denied even her final working. Gatta is past caring, focused on her task with an intensity beyond sanity. All but her will for this one last act has been burned away to buy the last precious hours of time. Three gods consider the problem as one, their minds linked by bonds of friendship. Faust sees it first, the price that would be needed to see her dear friends work completed, Ilfeliare speaks of how it can be done and the difficulty of the task, and Gatta's will is the one that sees it through. The goddess of guns reaches inward, grasping the heart of her soul, and pulls.
The pain is beyond anything conceived of by man or god, but Gatta does not waiver. With the sound of tearing flesh and breaking metal, Gatta's domain of Guns tears free. Without a god to shape it, the domain should collapse, unraveling into raw warp stuff. But the story of sacrifice, of a master craftsman dying for a final work holds it together. Buying the dying goddess those last critical moments. The sun burns and friendships heals as the poison rallies against the shriveled husk of the goddess, holding it at by while withering hands finish their final task.
The chamber will
never be stable. Gatta sees this now, too much warpcraft, too much
story to be held by purely mortal artifice. But that's fine, she is a
god. With her own blood and soul she infuses the chamber with her domain, with the story of gunsmoke and battle, of the bark of gunfire heralding the death of monsters, of countless minds and strong backs working as one to ensure the perfect gun can make the perfect shot. The story takes. The chamber is
beyond mere artifice now, it is a testament to the ideal behind it. To the idea of the many coming together to drive back the dark, one round at a time. Gatta sees it snap into place as her domain is consumed, the price for her final work. She is Gatta, goddess of guns, and she dies standing.
The work is finished, Daybreaker is complete. Forged of flame and sacrifice, a weapon of unimaginable power, made to burn the greatest of ships out of the sky. Now all that is left is to craft a ship worthy of such weapon.
@Durin the creation of the sun gun. thanks to anders110 for the idea, and Azgrin for giving it a once over.