[Or perhaps, a dream.]
At first, there was nothing but screams and fear.
Back when I had just started, I was always the one getting killed.
Before long, I had started getting used to being hurt by other people. At first, I only fought back to protect myself.
When did that change? Honestly, I don't remember. But at the very least, by the end... by the end, I know I was laughing my head off as I watched people get chewed to pieces by beasts.
◆
I regretted turning with only my head. I should have just moved my whole body the instant I sensed someone there. The bullet shaved across the bridge of my nose, tore from around my eye through my temple, and gouged away my left eye along with my vision on that side.
???: "Agh... gah, ngh...!!"
But I had him.
This little body wasn't only good for hiding. It had given up even the bare minimum of muscle needed to protect itself from the environment—useless as that sacrifice might ultimately be—and in this dense jungle, it could turn and maneuver more tightly than an athlete's build.
???: "Found... you...!!"
The man who had just blown out my left eye clicked his tongue at almost the exact same moment my compact pistol fired. It only looked the size of a normal handgun because it was being held in the hands of a young girl.
???: "You used it... as a shield...!!"
???: "It's a rare one, you know...!!"
Like I care, idiot. Enough talk. Die. I'll pay you back for my left eye with interest and then some.
Guns, guns, guns. Every last one of them. The guys from this server who kept coming over on expeditions had gotten way too annoying.
I'd come over thinking I'd casually wipe them all out, but all the others were dead. Every last one of them had been headshot with a musket—the longest-range firearm among the weapons that washed ashore on this "island," aside from cannons.
???: "Die...!"
???: "You're scary. You're really scary, μ-skY. So please die...!"
So he had a shotgun hidden on his back. My side was gouged open, but I could still keep going.
???: "Tch... you're too damn small a target...!"
A gunshot. His cheek burst apart, and beneath the mist of blood that marked the damage, I could see the unnaturally white teeth at the back of his mouth.
The Derringer had the lowest firepower of any gun, but it also had the least recoil. Without even giving him time to breathe, I drove the survival knife clenched in my right hand straight into him.
???: "Geugh."
μ-skY: "Fugyah!"
Y-You bastard... He punched me right in the side where the flesh had been gouged out. If this tiny body hadn't had stamina on par with an adult's, that could easily have killed me already.
μ-skY: "You... bastard...!!"
???: "Hh... hhuh... you... brat...!!"
It felt like heat was leaking out through my side. I probably didn't have long. If I opened the distance, I was dead. I couldn't imagine someone on this island missing his shots just because air was leaking out through his throat.
μ-skY: "..."
???: "..."
On one side, mud-like blood damage effects streamed like tears from a ruined left eye and a torn-open flank. On the other, he was pulling the knife out of his throat while his left arm hung limp, barely attached to a shoulder that had been completely destroyed by repeated bullets and knife strikes.
But we were both smiling. Through my remaining right eye, I could see his crooked grin, pulled up on only one side, and I knew I was grinning too.
I'd used up every sure-win pattern I had. Techniques that had taken out around fifty people didn't work on this guy. It was frustrating. It pissed me off. But more than any of that... it was fun...
Even the intense pain, like I was still being burned with a blowtorch, didn't bother me anymore. It felt like my brain was sparking in a dangerous way.
How do I kill him? I couldn't use one eye; he couldn't use one arm. He had torn open my side, but I had cut his throat. If this were anywhere else, I'd already be dead... but I could still fight, still kill, still have fun.
I readied the Derringer with two rounds left and my last survival knife, then moved forward—low and fast.
He had a handgun. If I stopped in his line of fire, I was dead. Drag shots, quick shots, whatever—against that monstrous aim, I had no chance unless I kept moving.
μ-skY: "4, 3, 2..."
???: "Hh... hhah... How many... shots... d'you think...?"
Damn it, he reloaded. What kind of circus trick was that, pulling rounds out of his holster with only his ring finger and pinky? How many did he put in? At least one. Surely not five... Having so little left in my own arsenal had come back to bite me. Maybe I could have ended it if I'd thrown the knife.
μ-skY: "..."
???: "..."
For a split second, it went quiet only because the "pause" in each of our breathing came at exactly the same moment... and then we moved at exactly the same time too.
Gunshots. Two rounds from the revolver in his hand. I jumped while feinting left and right.
The bullets passed through the spots where my left leg and right eye had been only seconds earlier. Two meters left.
I sprinted across the packed layer of rotting leaves. Two more shots.
One grazed me. No problem. One meter left.
μ-skY: "—Ngh."
But then the hole in my side decided to make itself a problem. The accumulated damage drained the strength from my body. My vision blurred for an instant, and when it came back into focus, what I saw was his foot rushing straight at me...
μ-skY: "Guh... bgh...!?"
???: "Hhahaha."
His toe drove into my solar plexus. My vision flashed, and my body went flying with a wave of violent pain and nausea.
???: "Got... you."
μ-skY: "Gah!"
The consciousness slipping away from me was violently dragged back by the agony in the back of my head and the pressure on my chest. Apparently, he had stepped on me while I was flat on my back and pinned me in place.
???: "Hh... hh."
He looked like he was right at his limit too. His face was blue. Was the game flagging him as oxygen-deprived or something?
The right hand I tried to swing the knife with was shot through. But that had been a bluff. I threw away the Derringer, summoned a battered Desert Eagle—a semi-automatic pistol with very few uses left but firepower that left every other gun behind—and shoved it toward him.
μ-skY: "Die."
???: "Hie."
He had been focused on my right hand, so even though I was a beat late bringing my gun up, our muzzles reached each other's faces almost at the same time.
I put strength into the finger on my trigger, and I could see him doing the same. We both smiled—taking joy in killing, taking pleasure in being killed, savoring this very instant—
And then everything suddenly cut to black.
Now, which one of us won again...?
[Because it's a game.]