Thunder raged across the battlefield as a myriad of bullets chased John. The crashing, booming sound threatened to burst his ear drums as he dug deep and sprinted as fast as he could to the side.

  The glass flooring must have been made of some kind of alien material because the bullets didn’t leave even a blemish on its sparkling, slippery surface.

  However, it did impede John’s ability to sprint. It was surprisingly hard to find adequate leverage on such a smooth, perfect surface.

  “Die, die, die, die!” Ton Thorn squealed in delight as he squeezed the trigger. His mini gun roaring fiercely as it thumped on the back of the tiger and sprayed death all around the arena.

  The tiger moved in place, turning as Ton Thorn manoeuvred his huge weapon, a well-trained beast with sharp teeth and fur like tire tracks in otherwise unblemished snow. It roared and the entire arena shook like it had been hit with an earthquake, nearly knocking John off balance.

  He wanted to shoot back, but he was so occupied with maintaining the correct number of bodily holes that he didn’t have the chance to resummon his revolvers. He ran, pumping his arms and occasionally throwing them out to the side for balance. He was a t a serious disadvantage in this setting. There just wasn’t any cover.

  Alrighty folks, the jovial announcer’s voice rang across the stadium, though it was mostly drowned out by the horrendous sound coming from the mini gun. We’ve hit the one-minute mark, so it’s time to implement rule number three. This season we’ve added in a little something the showrunners like to call: The Environmental Factor. Each round will have a unique environment change at the one-minute mark, some of which can be rather… deadly.

  The audience’s cheers were almost a match for the thunderous machine gun which continued to fire so fast that the sound more closely resembled a chainsaw than a gun, flashes of light poking out of the barrel furiously like a whack-a-mole on crack.

  John continued to sprint, his legs felt heavy and full, his breathing was laboured and his vision was starting to blur. He felt sick, unsure of how much longer he could keep this up. His skin was slick with sweat, his eyes stung as the salty pore-water dripped into his eyes.

  The stadium shuddered violently and he lost his footing, slipping on the glass surface he slid across the field of battle and time stopped again.

  Below, the glass flooring bubbled and began to form objects which grew from the ground. The stars and Earth beneath the glass were blurred and obscured as huge boulders and sharp stalagmites shot out of the ground.

  Within the space of a few seconds the entire topography had morphed into a rocky, dangerous landscape that more closely resembled a mountain side than a space arena and, as time resumed, John crashed into a large, hard pile of dirt and rock.

  His face throbbed, as did his legs as his chest heaved and he laid motionless on the ground. Despite the pain, he was relieved.

  Though he could hear the guns thundering from across the battlefield, he could no longer see Ton Thorn and his murder cat, which meant that they couldn’t see him either.

  The Jovial Announcer may have added a dangerous element to the fight, but it had bought John a few precious seconds to catch his breath and, hopefully, turn this battle around.

  Pushing himself into the large rock he took a moment to catch his breath and resummon his revolvers. The weight felt good in his hands, the grips seemed to be perfectly carved especially for him and with them held firmly in his grasp, he was complete.

  Thunder boomed all around him as pieces of rock shattered and scattered across the arena, raining down tiny pieces of shrapnel.

  They don’t know where I am, John thought, glancing around quickly and seeing nothing but a jagged rock, some of them as tall as buildings. It looks like the playing field has been evened, there’s no way a tiger can navigate this terrain.

  Picking himself up with a struggle as his legs tried to buckle beneath him, he leaned against the rock for support and took a quick moment to stretch out his aching, blood-filled muscles. It wasn’t perfect, but he’d have to make it work.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Knowing that he needed to work out where Ton Thorn was firing from, he kept his head down and looked to the sky in the hopes of seeing the direction the flashes were coming from.

  Sadly, his opponent’s mini gun wasn’t loaded with tracer rounds and the enclosed arena made for difficult sonar detection as the eruption of sprayed rounds bounced around, a cacophony of death. The sound could have been coming from anywhere.

  Deciding that he needed to move before Ton Thorn shot his way through all of the rocks providing John cover, he dashed to the next closest rock and leaned around it.

  There was no sign of them, so he tried again, and again, and again, until he found himself on the outskirts of the playing field looking up at the barrier and the hundreds of thousands of screaming fans seated behind it.

  At least this let him know where he was. John skirted around the edge of the stadium slowly and methodically, ready to dive behind one of the bigger rocks at a moment’s notice.

  Peaking behind an unblemished stalagmite, he finally spied his foe.

  Ton Thorn was leaning back as his tiger jerked with the motion of the firing mini gun. His grimace was telling as he blasted through one rock after the other.

  Obviously his plan was to destroy all the cover so he could find John and they could go back their game of can you run faster than a bullet?

  However, John wasn’t sure that there was enough time left for that. Their match was only five minutes long. He was certain than Ton Thorn had the same thought as he stubbornly blasted away at the rock.

  John had a choice to make. Did he wait out the timer and ensure his survival at the cost of losing the match, or did he attempt to launch a potentially suicidal sneak attack and risk it all.

  He seriously considered letting this one go, but it wasn’t in his nature to back down from a challenge. Besides, how would he ever be able to live down being bested by a man who brought a pencil to a gun fight? No, he couldn’t bear the embarrassment that would surely bring and he desperately needed a second card. Without collecting all four he would die in a few days anyway.

  Cautiously he moved forward, bouncing from cover to cover until he got close enough to take his shot.

  Lining up a single revolver and using a rock to help brace and steady his arm, he saw Ton Thron’s head down the barrel, through the iron sights. He didn’t need his locate weakness skill to know where to aim, but he hoped that his marksmanship skill would help him to make the difficult shot.

  Steadying his breath and, keeping both eyes open, no surprises for me this time, he breathed in, then breathed halfway out and tried to listen for the moment between heartbeats.

  He’d seen a movie where a sniper did that once and he desperately needed this to be a one shot kill. He’d never been selected for sniper training himself back when he was on duty, but he’d heard of the method. Or perhaps this was his marksmanship skill helping him out, at this point in the game it was hard to tell.

  Squeezing the trigger, he fired.

  …

  …

  He waited for the crack but it never came, drowned out by the sound of the mini gun. Ton Thorn jerked and fell from his tiger and the thundering sound finally stopped.

  “Yes!” He shouted, pumping his fist in the air as he stepped out from behind his rock. His foe was dead and he had won, victory had never tasted so sweet.

  ROAR!

  The stadium shook violently and the tiger turned towards him, baring its teeth and snarling angrily. It took a tentative step forward, then another, then it leaped.

  “Oh shit,” John summoned his second gun and raised both above him firing as quickly as he could. The tiger flew above him, blocking out all the light as it threatened to swallow him whole.

  He continued to fire, if his revolvers hadn’t been magical they’d have run out of ammo a long time ago. Blood oozed from the beast whose roar morphed into a whine which was just as deafening.

  John had badly injured it but then, instead of falling jaws first, it flopped downwards like a fat kid belly flopping into a swimming pool. John tried to dive out of the way but the beast was too big.

  The tiger landed and he was crushed against the ground, hard glass and rock pressed into his back whilst warm, soft fur smothered his front.

  Unable to breathe he began to panic. Pain shot through his body in a lightning arc. He felt his ribs crack as all the air was forced from his lungs. He had no chance of lifting the beast off his face so instead he simply continued firing his guns, hoping the pain would drive the beast away.

  It didn’t.

  He fired and fired but the weight threatened to shatter his nose as well. His lungs were compressed, his chest crushed and every time he tried to gasp for air all he got was the feeling of fur in his mouth. A suffocating, fluffy horror.

  His mind felt hazy and it became harder and harder to pull the triggers. What was usually a simple action seemed to require all of his strength and concentration.

  Desperately he tried to find some leverage so he could drag himself from beneath the deadweight of the beast but he couldn’t move his legs.

  I’m going to die here, he thought, I should have just waited out the timer. Anne was right, I am too impulsive.

  He couldn’t tell if he was passing out, dying or if the all-encompassing darkness caused by the tiger’s body was to blame, but at some point the burning sensation in his chest went away and he felt… peaceful.

  Serenity washed through him and a bright light shone directly into his eyes. No one was there to tell him not to go into it, he wanted to. Maybe his wife would be there. He’d never been overly religious but wasn’t this what people always talked about? The path to heaven.

  DING, DING, DING.

  We have a winner…

  Those were the last words he heard as he gazed at the light, willing himself to be drawn into its tender embrace.

  And then, nothing.