Stellan's hostage clawed desperately for air, fingers scrabbling at his arm. Their difference in size was evident.

  With a deeper inspection, the raider locked in his clutches was young, barely more than a kid, wearing an oversized shirt and trousers that barely fit his thin frame hanging loose. He was young, barely in his twenties with a temper to boot. But Stellan's frequent visits to the gym paid off now from his time spent building strength. Whatever attempt at escape his captive made was met with failure. Stellan tightened his lock, grabbing his own bicep to increase the pressure on the neck while his forearm was firmly latched to his captive's throat, crushing his windpipe. The kid was gasping for nonexistent air, darkening his vision, almost slipping into unconsciousness with his eyes rolling back.

  Stellan had no other choice, it was now or never. The pain in his left side grew deeper and deeper, it took all of his remaining sanity just not to scream from the wound underneath his left arm. But still he latched on, clenching his jaw hard from the continuous struggle, teeth grinding, until his hostage turned stiff, then hurriedly became limp.

  Yet there was no time for celebration, not even a moment to breathe. As the rifleman who'd hurriedly returned to where he and his comrade had parted ways raised his weapon quickly, aiming at Stellan who had an unmoving body locked between his arms, serving as a human shield.

  "Put the gun down!" Stellan barked, commanding the rifleman to ease up from the trigger.

  The man was still considering whether he should comply, hesitating for a short second while his finger hovered. Stellan threatened him by gesturing with the pistol he'd taken from his unconscious captive, pressing it firmly to his hostage's temple, implying that he would shoot.

  "No one has to get hurt. Just put the gun down," Stellan attempted to sound reasonable.

  "Is that what you said to my friend you shot earlier?" the rifleman answered sharply, not backing away from his rifle, weapon steady. "That's unconvincing," with a cold voice.

  "I…" Stellan wanted to reply with an excuse, to justify himself, but what was he supposed to say? That his finger got startled? As if that was a valid reason for taking a life, for point-blank murder. Thinking this, he held his tongue, swallowing the words. But his intention for easing the conflict remained.

  Stellan and the rifleman's eyes met with an intense stare. He observed that this man was as regular in description as could be; average height, average build.

  The only distinctive feature was the weapon that he was aiming at him, which added menace to his otherwise forgettable appearance.

  "How about this…" the rifleman interjected, taking subtle steps closer to Stellan, boots shuffling forward.

  "Why don't you release him, and we'll go our way," he offered with an extending hand. But the pacifistic route did not translate well, as seen from the bloodlust in his eyes.

  Stellan knew the offer was a farce, but then again what option did he have except to continue his bluff, maintain the standoff? Using the pistol he'd pried from his hostage, he pressed it harder onto his unmoving captive's skull, gesturing that he would shoot if it came down to it, a stern final warning.

  "You think I'm stupid?" Stellan answered with an unfamiliar weapon heavy in his hand. But the lack of familiarity wasn't an important factor,since all he needed was to press the trigger, then there would be one less pursuer hunting him.

  "Then why ask? Kill him and be done with it," insisted the rifleman, who was now within a few feet of shooting distance, close enough to do some serious damage. It would be harder for him to miss seeing that he was at such close range.

  "Wanna bet who's faster?" he threatened, taking a firm stance where he stood while Stellan remained crouched low, using his hostage as cover.

  Stellan's current meat shield was still unmoving, but it would only be a matter of time before he returned to consciousness. Knowing this, he now had to make yet another decision..

  "I'll let him go… just exit the building and you'll never see me again," Stellan tried to bargain once more, voice pleading. But it met deaf ears as the rifleman was not convinced.

  "Oh yeah? Then what?" the rifleman scoffed.

  "You let me walk away, and your friend can live," Stellan pressed..

  "Not happening…" the rifleman stated flatly, still aiming his scope at Stellan who was grasping desperately for another answer.

  "Can't you just… let me go?" Stellan answered, his voice faltering in an almost pitiful attempt to appeal to humanity, to find mercy. Which made the rifleman's eyes widen in shock from the pathetic attempt.

  "Are you kidding me? After you just killed one of our own? " answered the rifleman, who scoffed openly at Stellan's words with a bitter laugh "Now I suggest you take the shot… or I will," he delivered the ultimatum..

  "Don't you want to save him?" Stellan objected, still gesturing with the pistol pressed to his captive's temple, still searching desperately for negotiation, some way out.

  "Save him?" the rifleman chuckled darkly at the absurdity. "I barely know the guy…" he added, dismissively.

  Stellan knew there and then that words wouldn't be enough to sway the rifleman. Another realization that reminded him sharply that this was different from his world. Hours earlier he'd just had to worry about how many hours he had to clock in from the pile of work waiting, mundane concerns. Yet now, he'd just killed and was considering killing another, the absurdness of the situation was too much to process. But still, Stellan insisted on finding a way, one that would lead to less bloodshed, although even his gut instinct could tell that it was far from happening.

  Holding each other at gunpoint, where one had an advantage which he didn't know how to utilize properly, while the other was waiting patiently for an opportunity to present itself, the standoff remained tense, suffocating. But it soon broke when Stellan's captive slowly opened his eyes, regaining consciousness for a brief moment.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Stellan had to act quickly, he needed to make a choice. The pain from his sides and under his left shoulder was already bad as it was. If his captive found a newfound strength to resist his capture, then he would be helpless, vulnerable.

  Knowing this, he did what he thought was unthinkable moments ago.

  His captive blubbered in his words like a man just awakening from.

  Stellan couldn't trust his aim, he had never practiced. He'd only fired a gun once in his life and that was just a few minutes ago. Now he was given an option whether he should pull the trigger again to make it twice.

  A second kill.

  But he didn't.

  Instead, as if by instinct driven from the disgust of pulling the trigger, he shoved his barely conscious captive toward the rifleman, throwing him forward. The rifleman was surprised by this turnaround, flinching from being caught off guard.

  But Stellan didn't expect that the moment he heaved his captive toward his opponent, the rifleman had already made his decision.

  It was a bolt-action rifle, the kind hunters use to take down fairly large game if they weren't fond of the bow, powerful and precise. Due to this, the rifleman couldn't fire in rapid succession unlike his barely conscious comrade. Reserving his bullets carefully if he had to, only shooting when he thought there was a clear chance he could hit his target.

  But to Stellan's horror and dismay, the rifleman did not distinguish friend from foe.

  The rifle unleashed a single shot that hit the dual-wielding captive square in the throat, tearing through flesh. Making him gurgle blood wetly from the impact

  .

  Stellan had to move, his instincts were screaming at him.

  Despite his soul quailing from the shot, recoiling internally, his eyes traced the rifle as the shell ejected the moment the shot was fired.

  He dashed in a straight line, moving fast, using the barely alive captive he'd had as a shield from the following shots as he lunged forward. He was disgusted yet again from the act, but it was the only choice he seemingly had.

  Another shot was fired.

  Maybe due to the tension of the situation, the rifleman was rattled from the sudden change of events, losing a moment of composure. Shooting his own comrade once more but this time, accidentally in the chin,. The young man's neck recoiled violently from the impact, snapping back while the blood pooled in his mouth. He was readying to fire another shot when Stellan shoved the pistol he'd gotten from his previous captive under the gap in his flailing arms. Enough space for him to unleash a barrage of bullets that hit all manner of body parts of the rifleman.

  Now, the ground had turned to another unforeseen scene of carnage,. A young corpse was now laid on the dusty floor, sprawled awkwardly with a nasty expression, gushing out blood from the wound in his throat. While he gargled blood from the last pieces of air in his lungs, bubbling with a sickening rhythm.

  Proving as the background noise for Stellan, who was on top of the rifleman, pinning him down with his weight, engaged in a desperate scuffle for dominance.

  He was unsure how to proceed, but his hands did the dirty work for him.

  Currently face to face with the rifleman who was yet to release his iron grip from the rifle, their fingers were locked. Which Stellan seized as his weapon, grabbing it, using it as horizontal leverage that was intended to crush the rifleman's throat, a sloppy attempt of choking him.

  It was primal, a test of pure strength where the winner would stay alive.

  And both of these men were determined to win no matter the cost.

  The wound underneath his left shoulder tore open further, the flesh splitting from the resistance. While the grazing on his side continued to seep blood with a warm flow. Despite this searing pain of reminding, Stellan continued to press his full weight on the rifle that was crushing the throat of his opponent, bearing down with gritted teeth.

  His opponent was in an obviously worse state, there were several bullets from the pistol that were embedded in various parts of his body from his dead companion’s weapon, bleeding from multiple dark wounds.

  Still, the rifleman was resolute, he refused to surrender.

  Despite Stellan being the one on top, maintaining this drastic position, the rifleman never stopped flailing his legs violently as an attempt to imbalance the man who was above him. Paired with a defiant stare that made Stellan hesitate from fear, a sense of primal intimidation with eyes burning with hate.

  Yet, Stellan held the upper hand, his advantage remained clear.

  Both in position and raw strength, leveraging his weight and its condition.

  Both of them had a surge of adrenaline coursing through this standoff. But it was clear that in a matter of time, seconds away, the rifleman's fate would soon be sealed, ending his life by incapacitation similar to his dead comrade, which remained sprawled near beside them..

  If not for the skill he activated.

  < Partial Mutation: Reptile >

  A skill that belonged to the 'Metamorph' genus. A skill most lower-grade candidates had as a starting boon from the genus, a common ability. Allowing the caster to change a part of their body to their benefit for a limited time..

  Stellan was shocked by the sudden change, his eyes widened. The hands that had been defying his weight-bearing on the rifle that belonged to the rifleman changed dramatically. They grew dark scales and razor-sharp claws that transformed fully into something you could see on an alligator, it was serpentine and deadly.

  The shock was enough to shatter his focus, as this momentary lapse was enough for the now-turned reptilian to shove him violently to the side with unprecedented force. Heaving Stellan toward an old toilet with frightening speed, launching him in succession.

  He crashed into it, cracking its porcelain edges with the impact, while the shards flew a good distance.

  He became disoriented from the crass. His eyes waded between consciousness as every slow blink served as a curtain for his failing attention. His adrenaline helped him to recover slightly, to hold on, but it was too late.

  The reptilian man had turned back to his original form, who then eagerly reached for his weapon with bloodied hands. Aiming at Stellan who lay there sprawled like trapped prey, helpless, hurt and exposed.

  A smirk formed on the rifleman's bloodied face, his lips curled from the sudden triumph, basking in the hard-earned victory.

  “ I win… “

  With that conclusion, a shot erupted suddenly.

  And then once more, another thud on the floor, the familiar sound of yet another victim falling…