Gunz

I went into Gunz expecting another military sci-fi romp with a fantasy twist, but Stacey and Dukehart turned that expectation into a controlled explosion of adrenaline. Dukehart’s narration is the kind of performance that makes you forget you’re listening to an audiobook—every gunshot, spell, and snarl feels like it’s happening in real time, and his ability to pivot between gruff ex-military dialogue and eldritch elvish curses is downright hypnotic. The story itself is a masterclass in pacing; the first act is a whiplash of action and mystery, as the world’s slow realization that magic has returned crashes headfirst into the elves’ scorched-earth tactics. Stacey doesn’t waste time on worldbuilding exposition—he dumps you into the deep end and expects you to swim, which works because the payoff is a relentless, high-stakes thriller where every character, from the cynical grunts to the ethereal mages, feels like they’ve got skin in the game. That said, Gunz isn’t without its rough edges. The dark elves, as menacing as they are, occasionally devolve into cartoonish villains with monologuing tendencies, and a mid-book lull in the third act (just as the war heats up) feels like a pacing stumble that disrupts the momentum. But Dukehart’s performance more than compensates for these hiccups, and Stacey’s willingness to let the chaos speak for itself—rather than over-explaining every magical system—keeps the story feeling fresh and unpredictable. By the final battle, I was gripping my phone, white-knuckled, as the narrator’s voice cracked with the strain of a character staring down annihilation. If you want a fantasy war story that treats its audience like soldiers—no hand-holding, just bullets, spells, and the will to survive—Gunz is your frontline.