Chapter 3: The Wild Road

The desert stretched endlessly before them, a vast sea of dust and endless sky. Barok Graves and Bastian Marrow—now calling themselves Black Dust—rode side by side, their horses' hooves thudding against the dry earth as they made their way westward.

Each day was an evolution of their strange partnership, the two men bound by the magic they had accidentally awakened. Barok's mind was sharp as ever, dissecting everything, seeking answers to questions no one had ever thought to ask. Bastian, for all his easy going nature and love of the thrill, had proven to be just as much a thinker as a gambler—especially when it came to survival.

As the days passed, the two of them began experimenting with their newfound abilities. They'd already learned the basics of gunmancy—the ability to manipulate their bullets, bend trajectories, and harness the magic of their guns to do the impossible. But unlocking this power hadn't been simple. It had come by way of instinct, a combination of quick thinking, adrenaline, and luck. And now, with time on their side, they were learning to harness it more consciously.

Barok's mind was a machine, relentlessly turning over the puzzle of how gunmancy worked. He had an analytical mind, one that saw connections where others saw only chaos. And he had one goal: to master it.

"Alright, Bastian," Barok said one morning as they stopped near a rocky outcrop, both men dismounting. "Let's try this again. I've been thinking about how this magic is working, and I think we're missing something fundamental. We need more control."

Bastian stretched and grinned, his usual carefree attitude still present despite the growing complexity of their situation. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked with a chuckle. He tilted his hat back slightly, eyes scanning the horizon, as if the answer could be written in the sky.

Barok narrowed his eyes and gestured toward the nearby rocks. "The bullets. They don't just fly off course because we wish it. There's intent behind it—our minds are shaping the magic somehow. You've seen how the bullets curve when we focus. The question is: How can we make it consistent?"

Bastian nodded, understanding Barok's need for precision. He liked the idea of having a solid grasp on their magic—not just relying on luck to get them out of tight spots. "Alright, so it's about control," Bastian said, resting his hand on his revolver's hilt. "But how do we focus it? You got any ideas?"

Barok sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "It's about the gun," he muttered. "I think it's more than just a weapon to us now. It's... it's an extension of our will. But it has to be in the right state. You can't just fire a bullet and expect it to bend to your whim. There's gotta be a process. Some way to call on the magic consciously."

Bastian raised an eyebrow. "You think the gun is alive or something? Sounds like some old legend to me."

Barok shot him a sidelong glance. "Not alive, but connected to us in a way we haven't fully understood yet. The magic has to flow through us and into the gun. Only then can it shape reality."

Bastian smiled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Well, look at you. Getting all deep and mystical on me." He paused, his grin widening. "But, hey, I'm game. You've got us this far, Barok. Let's give it a shot."

Barok didn't answer immediately. Instead, he pulled out his revolver, fingers wrapping around the handle. He closed his eyes and focused, trying to feel the connection between his hand, his gun, and the magic that flowed through him.

He fired once—nothing happened.

Then again—this time the bullet curved just slightly, grazing a rock. Still not right. Barok's brow furrowed. He felt the magic—like a static charge, a buzz just beneath the surface—but he couldn't quite control it.

"Need more focus," he muttered. He aimed at another rock, carefully adjusting his grip.

Bastian watched, his arms crossed. "You're thinking too much," he said lightly, strolling over to Barok's side.

"Remember how you got the bullet to curve the first time? You were focused, but you weren't thinking about it. It was more instinctual. You just felt it, right?"

Barok shot him a look, frustrated. "This is different. The stakes are higher now. We need to get this right."

Bastian smirked, flicking the brim of his hat. "Exactly. Which is why you need to stop overthinking it." He pulled out his own revolver, flipping it expertly in his hand. "Let's try something together."

Barok raised an eyebrow, a challenge in Bastian's words more than the action itself. "I'm listening."

Bastian's grin widened. "Alright, here's the plan. We each take a shot. You focus on your target, I focus on mine. But here's the catch—we're going to use our thoughts to guide the bullets."

Barok shot him a skeptical look, but his curiosity was piqued. "I thought we were supposed to focus on the gun itself?"

"We are," Bastian said, a flicker of determination in his eyes. "But this time, we'll focus on the intention of the shot. Think about where you want the bullet to go. Picture it in your mind before you pull the trigger."

Barok paused. That... made sense. It was similar to how he had approached strategy—always thinking one step ahead, predicting the moves of others.

"Alright," Barok said, nodding. "Let's give it a shot. On three."

They both aimed at their respective targets—two rocks set in the distance.

"One... two... three."

They fired simultaneously. Barok's bullet sliced through the air with precision, curving toward the target and embedding itself deep into the stone, exactly where he had envisioned it. Bastian's shot, though less focused, still managed to curve, grazing the rock's edge before embedding itself into the ground just beside it.

Barok's eyes widened. "I... I felt it."

Bastian grinned, holstering his gun. "Well, that's a start. You felt it, didn't you? It's not just about shooting—it's about guiding the bullet. Letting the magic flow, but making sure you're the one steering it."

Barok was silent for a moment, reflecting on the sensation. He hadn't felt something like that before—not with this level of clarity. "Yeah. I think I understand it now. It's... it's not just control. It's understanding how the magic works with us."

Bastian gave him a playful shove. "Told you it wasn't all about brains. You've got to let the magic flow, not cage it up."

Barok shot him a half-smile. "Says the guy who got his magic from a deck of cards."

Bastian chuckled and holstered his own gun, but the playful grin didn't fade. "Ah, yes. That. You're still curious about that, huh?"

Barok crossed his arms. "You still haven't told me how it's linked to gunmancy. I get how the guns are magic, but how do cards play into this? They aren't attached to a gun."

Bastian was quiet for a moment, staring at the horizon. He shifted on his feet, a bit unsure how to explain it. "It's... it's not really about the card itself. I guess it's more like... I've always had a connection to chance. To luck. A card's like an extension of that. I've always been able to... feel the odds. The right moment to act."

Barok raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So you're telling me you've always had this magic?"

Bastian shrugged. "Maybe not always. But it clicked the moment I started manipulating the gunmancy. I could feel the power—like my hand just... knew how to work it."

He paused, flicking a card between his fingers as if it were second nature. "I don't know how to explain it, but when I threw that card earlier, it felt like the same magic I felt when we were bending the bullet. Same source, just a different channel."

Barok thought about that for a long moment. The two of them—gunmancy and cards—somehow both stemmed from the same force, but the way each of them accessed it was different.

"So... you're telling me that magic isn't just tied to the gun," Barok said slowly, "It's tied to us? It's something we can control as long as we understand our own connection to it?"

Bastian gave him a sly look. "Exactly. You're getting it."

Barok let out a low whistle. "Well then, we've got some work ahead of us."

Bastian slapped him on the back. "That's the spirit, Brother. Black Dust's just getting started. Let's make sure we're the best damn team this Wild West has ever seen." With a smirk, Barok nodded. "I like the sound of that."