A Revolver.

In your hands materializes a soft translucent Colt Frontier Six Shooter Single Action Revolver. It looks... holy. From the handle to the barrel the revolver shines with a glimmering golden light. The barrel itself is clear as the midday sky, and a bright chrome color. Hope begins bursting inside of you like tomatoes in a pan. You shift hard to the left, exploding into a dead sprint and sliding hard down to your knees. You spy bright light bursting forth from the chamber of your holy revolver. "Locked and loaded."

Steady.

Aim

Fire.

Six veritable lightning bolts come barraging from the barrel of your gun. You hear screaming, is it your own? You keep blasting away at the damn thing, unloading everything the gun has into the tome. The recoil blasts you back a good three feet, and sends your aim to all shit but at this range and with this kind of firepower, aim doesn't really fucking matter does it? The attic is lit up once again but this time not by any holy light, but instead by electricity and plasma, your ears ring and your sight goes white. The room is silent and everything seems alright. There's no sign of the tome. No sign of angelic light. The revolver is still in your hand. It has a heft weight to it. It's reassuring.

A man appears in front of you from thin air. He's dressed in all white. He has long white eyebrows and dark stormy eyes. He stands with pride and grace but smiles with a humble bow when he sees you. "Ah. I see you've done my work for me." He extends a hand to you. "My name is Bartholomew Buttonworthy. Hunter of demons, negative entities, rogue spirits, so on... so forth." Bartholomew eyes the wreckage of the scene, taking in the several craters in the structure of your home. The daylight is spilling forth. He looks down at your revolver, eyes widening in surprise. "My, oh my. I certainly hadn't expected this. Excellent! Stupendous! Forthright! Young lad you must come with me."

You're still in a daze. What the hell is happening? Why are you holding a gun, what the fuck was that thing. You look down at the vomit staining your shirt. "Go where?" your voice is a croak at this point. "My school." the man responds.

"Your school?"

"Yes. My school."

"To learn what?"

"How to defeat the coming threat. My Agency will provide the necessary arrangements. You will stay with us and hone your awakened skills. "

"....." you take a moment to look the man in the eyes, he looks honest, kind. You listen to the guidance that led you through the fight. It seems to hum with pleasure at the man. Fine then. Let's do this thing.

"Well?"