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  John summoned his twin revolvers wearily, but did not point them at Baz. The man, who now resembled a paramilitary anime character, stood before him making no attempt at hostilities.

  What’s his game? John thought appraisingly as he watched for even the slightest movement.

  He could easily fire off a few shots and see what happened. In the worst-case scenario Baz would dodge or fight back, which was the entire point of this semifinal, but something in the recesses of his mind cautioned him against that.

  Deciding to respond to Baz’s question instead of attacking, John spoke carefully. “His name is Truffle and he didn’t enter the tournament… you look… different.”

  “What this?” Baz replied with an easy tone that didn’t match the grimace etched onto his lips. He gestured to the jacket and combat pants he was wearing, “I used to dress like this all the time before… this, though these versions are alien made and they upgrade. It really is like playing a video game here, isn’t it bro?”

  “I’ve certainly noticed the similarities yeah,” John replied calmly, keeping a close eye on his opponent. “Though real people don’t usually die, at least in the video games I’ve played.”

  “I heard the Russian’s made a game once where the players died in real life if they died in the game, just like in that anime. High stakes, high reward, that kinda thing. It sounded pretty cool at the time… anyway, before we start, I just want you to know that after I win this round I’m going to kill the fuck out of that blonde bitch. I know you hate her too, so I just wanted to give you some reassurance.”

  Baz smiled awkwardly and scratched the back of his head; it was as if parts of his old personality were leaking though the new hardened persona he seemed to have taken on.

  “After we left you, we saw some of her handywork,” John said. “She killed a couple and their kid, burned them alive. I’m going to kill her because she’s a danger to everyone else. It’s that simple.”

  And to get her cards, but I can’t tell him that.

  “How admirable,” Baz responded, his eyes flashing. Through gritted teeth, he continued, “but I do hate her. She killed my brother and fucking laughed about it. Where I’m from, you don’t just let shit like that go. It’s a blood feud now, and I have to be the one to carry it out.” His shoulder sagged, tears leaked from his good eye in thick droplets as he continued, voice shaking. “Did you know we could have healed him? I met this dinosaur, said that my brother could have survived that if we’d have just brought him inside and let him sleep.”

  “Yeah…” John replied, “I realised a day later. We were told the same thing. He wouldn’t have been the same though, the mental scars from that kind of pain would be enough to make anybody wish for death. You can’t blame yourself for something we didn’t have any way of knowing.”

  “Blame myself?” Baz said, laughing slightly as tears continued to fall from his eye. “Thanks for your concern, but I don’t blame myself. This wasn’t my fault. If anything, I’m the least to blame. You shot that damned grenade and then that psycho bitch knifed him. Not me. I didn’t do anything. I don’t blame you though, not really. I’m probably only alive because of you, I get that. Joanna on the other hand, I am going to kill her. It has to be me. Which means I need to win this fight. No matter the cost. For what it’s worth though John, I’m sorry.”

  John’s hand tightened around the pistol grips, his body tensed and he felt his legs spasm as he prepared to jump out of the way in a pre-emptive dodge, and open fire. Out of the way of what, he didn’t exactly know, but the tingling feeling on the back of his neck told him something very violent was about to happen.

  “I get why you’re upset,” he said keeping his eyes trained on Baz, “but I have my own reasons for needing to win this fight, this whole tournament. I won’t just roll over for you Baz, but I will kill her for you myself if I face her in the next round.”

  “It has to be me. I need to kill her,” Baz shouted, taking a step towards John and then stopping, spittle flew from his mouth and a vein in his forehead popped out. “Are you screwing that bitch? Is that what this is John Doe? Because that happy voice in the sky said we could do whatever we wanted to our opponents during these fights and I’m gonna make her wish she’d never been born… using my-”

  “Yeah I got it, you don’t need to clarify,” John said icily. Any feelings of guilt and sympathy that he’d had for the man left with that single admission. Fuck this game. You will not take my humanity. Taking a deep breath, he stared into Baz’ eyes. “I felt sorry for you after everything that happened, but if this game has made you such a sick fuck this quickly, then killing you now will be a mercy.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Grinning, Baz looked John squarely in the eyes for the first time since they’d started talking. His one remaining eye was wild and heavily bloodshot and he clenched and unclenched his fists a few times.

  “Them’s fighting words John Doe, allow me to help you live up to your name.”

  CRACK.

  John fired off a shot and jumped to one side in a pre-emptive dodge, then he froze in mid-air as the ground below them rumbled.

  Shit, why now?

  Looks like the first minute’s up folks, and not a moment too soon, what a snooze fest am I right? We’re not here for a gossip session ladies, we want blood! Less yapping and more slapping! Maybe this round’s Environmental Factor will speed things up a little… Bring on the lightning round!

  Huge spires shot out of the ground, reaching out of the open-topped roof and seemingly into space itself.

  A large, oriental gong popped up in between John and Baz in a red, wooden housing. It looked like it belonged in an ancient temple.

  Platforms erupted underneath the two contestants. A few small stepping stones, which seemed to be made of rubber, emerged around the arena as well and then John unfroze.

  GONG.

  His bullet struck the gong and sharp, blue lightening rained down from the spires in menacing, jagged arcs. They crackled through the air and struck the glass floor electrifying most of the arena for a few moments.

  Lightening bristled, rolling across the arena like a deadly wave shooting out in all directions from the impact of the original arc, dispersing only after hitting the barriers at the edges.

  John watched on with wide eyes and gulped, if it wasn’t for the raised platform that had appeared beneath him he’d have been toast.

  Without any idea of what Baz’s power was, he could have been handed the advantage with his revolvers. After all he could shoot at Baz from his perch without ever having to move.

  I hope to God his card is a melee type, he thought, gazing across the arena at his smiling foe. Is he enjoying this?

  “Well this sure is fun,” Baz said through a light cackle. “Though I think you missed.”

  CRACK, CRACK, CRACK.

  John fired off three more shots and Baz lifted his right hand, pulling the bullets into his palm and catching them.

  “How?”

  “My new card,” he said cheerfully, “it’s magnetism, your little guns can’t hurt me, thanks for the ammo though.”

  Pulling his arm back like a pitcher, Baz lifted a leg, stepped forward and launched the rounds back at John.

  Ducking just in time, they sailed over his head with a whizz, he raised his weapons again and began squeezing the triggers but thought better of it.

  If he tried to beat Baz with bullets then all he’d do was hand him more ammunition to throw back at him.

  Fuck, now I’m the one with the disadvantage.

  “How is that magnetism?” He shouted across the arena.

  “Magnets have two poles, moron.”

  John desperately needed a play; he was stuck on his platform in a long-range battle where his opponent could use his own bullets against him. Baz had to be using the card to repel his bullets at speed, effectively firing them back at him. He was pretty certain that wasn’t how magnets worked, but this game had never seemed to care about accuracy – hence his guns having unlimited ammo.

  On top of all that, if John tried to move it to close quarters he would need to cross the glass floor, leaving himself wide open for Baz to ring the gong and electrocute him.

  “Head’s up!” Baz called with a devilish laugh as he pulled a grenade from his jacket.

  Pulling the pin, he lined up the same, baseball style throw and launched the explosive towards John. Despite how it looked, the metal grenade had definitely been launched further and faster due to the card power.

  He began raising his revolver hoping that his locate weakness and marksmanship skills would help him shoot the grenade out of the sky, then he remembered Baz’s magnetism power.

  The grenade soared through the sky and John knew that the timer on a frag was approximately four seconds, two of which had already passed as it flew majestically through the air.

  With only one other choice, albeit a bad one, he dived off the platform and onto the glass, covering his head with his arms.

  BOOM.

  The grenade hit the platform, rolled and then exploded outwards, showering pieces of metal around John. The smell of cordite was strong and the sound from the blast dazed him.

  His ears rang in a high-pitched whine and he couldn’t hear anything else around him. His head span and, as he tried to pick himself up off the ground, he found his equilibrium out of balance.

  Stumbling as he tried to stand he fell to his knees, catching himself with his hands as the world around him shook.

  “Good… Doe… gong…” Baz said something but John only caught a few words.

  They were enough to make him panic.

  Stumbling on the glass, John was in the perfect position for Baz to ring the gong and fry him. He needed to move or he was going to die.

  Raising his head he saw Baz pluck a knife from his jacket. Holding it by the blade, he raised it lazily above his shoulder and winked at his opponent.

  Eyes wide, John staggered forward and fell again, the ringing in his ears was starting to subside but his balance was still off.

  Looking around desperately he tried to find somewhere to go, the platform behind him was probably his best option but when he turned to look at it he saw that it had been destroyed.

  All that was left was a few shreds of ripped, destroyed rubber and it wasn’t enough for him to stand on. There was no leverage.

  That left only Baz’s platform which was at least fifteen feet away. Under normal circumstances that wasn’t too far to dash, but John could barely move his legs without stumbling.

  There was no way he could sprint that distance, in his current state, faster than Baz could throw his knife.

  He had to try though.

  Focusing solely on placing one foot in front of the other, John tried to run… and fell… flat on his face as he veered off to the side.

  Pushing his hands against the floor, he lifted himself up to see Baz bent over, laughing at him.

  “You look… grandma… bender…”

  More of the words were coming through than before but his hearing was still on the fritz. The whining, high pitched ringing in his ears was nauseating.

  He’d seen this kind of thing portrayed in war movies before but experiencing it first hand was something else entirely.

  Staggering to his feet and steeling his expression he made another attempt to reach Baz’s platform and, at the same time, Baz wiped a tear from his eye, stood up and resumed his knife throwing position.

  Casually, he lifted the knife by the tip of the blade, leant back slightly and launched it towards the centre of the playing field.

  It soared through the air end over end and time seemed to slow down as John followed it with his eyes, stumbling forwards desperately.

  GONG.