I wasn't really sure just how I planned to deal with the weapons. I'd picked up the guns mostly because I didn't want to leave them in the hands of a bunch of Neo-Nazi idiots. At the same time I realized full well I could make use of these things. They weren't that functionally different from firewands.

Structurally they were pretty similar, the only key difference being that they shot projectiles rather then fireballs, with all the hassles involved therein. They were close enough that even though I'd never picked up one in my life before, the Exaltation grafted to me knew how I could make use of them.

And hence, so did I.

They were potent tools. Lethal ones. I'd just come far closer to dying just now then I had while fighting a freaking Endbringer.

~Not exactly a fair comparison there~

I realized that. Against the Simurgh I'd had a big number of critical advantages, motes to burn, only a single enemy to keep track of, considerable back up-

~Not so much on that middle one. Half the damage you took in that fight was just her knocking stuff around and you not noticing when it dug into your side or back~

Yeah that could be a problem. I wasn't registering damage as important. I felt it, kind of, but didn't really... notice in the heat of things.

That seemed very likely to get me killed, even with supernatural toughness, and a helpful demon pulling me back together.

~It's nice to be appreciated~

Speaking of which... I wasn't sure how messed up I was. The pain was thrumming harder with each moment, but I could also see the wounds mending themselves. Which was freaking weird looking because it wasn't like all the bullet holes were closing like natural healing in fast forward. No, instead they were just sealing each up one at a time, as unseen hands worked to actively repair the injury.

Which was creepy. Awesome, but definitely creepy.

~I think I like that appraisal even better~

There were however, three little issues with keeping the guns. The first quite obviously was that it was most certainly illegal. Even if there was a 'right of conquest' law or such in place it probably didn't account for highly lethal firearms of gang members. As a non-government payroll vigilante that probably wasn't the biggest legal problem I had, or even probably stand as too big a problem for the law to politely ignore, but itwasa factor.

The second was simple logistics. Each gun hadsomeammunition stored within it but would require replacement with use, and each weapon required strict maintenance. In fact since two of them had just been fired they even required it right now. However I had no logistical means to provide for either issue. Hell I didn't even have a shirt yet.

Which came down to issue number three... I had no place to put the things. No holsters, no concealed belts, duffle bag, or even pockets. I was just sort of left awkwardly holding them, not even by their grip as that made it both more difficult to juggle the third weapon and because I didn't actively want to appear threatening.

They were still a resource, but as they were they were a burdensome one.

So what to do with them? Easiest thing would be to just chuck them in a dumpster but that was stupid for a multitude of reasons. Some hobo could dig them out and they'd go straight back into circulation at no profit to me, and now possibly damaged or jammed by the filth.

I could try to sell them, but even putting aside moral issues I had no idea how or where to do so.

Destroying them seemed a tempting option, My gross physical strength was enough that I could easily break them with nothing but an adjacent brick wall to aid me. No need for infernal magic at all.

If I removed the bullets I could do it relatively safely. Crush the magazine feed, take it apart and break apart the smaller more fragile parts. I could probably bend or crack the barrel even given just how strong I actually was now.

The sound of sirens reached my ear, loud, sharp, and very obviously growing closer.

Or I could just dump them with the local law enforcement.