Pointing the flare gun at the combustion man’s back, my left hand at my side and searching for something to hold – a sword that wasn’t there – I channeled the power of the Rider through my flare gun. The results were immediate.

A fire lit along the barrel, extending it and blackening the device. It shone with unholy light, altering itself until most assuredly I was holding a different kind of weapon. I was holding a shotgun. It wasn’t the kind of weapon you’d use to kill a man, not really. Acting parallel to its original form as a flare gun, what I was holding was meant for hunting or for sport.

This was a device, as it was modified to appear, meant to kill big game and shoot clay pigeons. It required a level of accuracy I was fairly sure I didn’t have. As though appreciating this weakness of mine, a fire lit along the end of the barrel – an over-under configuration to fire two shots. They were the only shots that this Rider-adjusted weapon would allow me. So I had two chances to make it count. It was more than I thought I’d have, at least.

Light as a feather to me, with my right arm I pointed the unbelievable shotgun – a thing that resembled a black and burning Beretta six-eight-two – at Combustion Man’s back, took a quick chance to admire the butchered Latin along the side of the lower barrel, and pulled the trigger. What was fired was not a slug. No. What was fired was a shell full of pellets of black matter. It exploded… several feet away from Combustion Man. Sure, it rattled him, but a miss was a miss.