The hydra accepts the challenge and positions himself on the opposite side of the battlefield.
The soldiers behind us seem to have finally caught up enough to notice our presence. From our immense speed in their frame of view, some wisely begin to take cover from the impending bullet storm. They are right in doing so. Within a moment of staredown, we both take off in a sprint, firing our sidearms at one another.
Along the reinforced fortifications, we have the limited cover of an occasional building blocking the direct line of fire. His bullets chafe my plate carrier, nearly penetrating but stopping a hair short each time.
He's a good shot. If I don't step this up, he'll land one on me, and that'll be it.
I dump the empty eighteen round magazine of my Grach and fish for another. My shots are just about landing, but I click out before I can make the most unobstructed shot.
Damn. I'm out.
Instinctively, I roll into a trench and pry an AKM from a slowed Syrian soldier, then quickly unload it in his general direction. Continuing my sprint, I toss the rifle back to its original wielder.
I hear voices suddenly, but they sound… normal.
I stop and notice that the soldiers near me are firing the insurgents in real-time.
"Nail those FSA bastards," one yells, which is followed by a side-wise instruction to push forward.
A young Syrian soldier notices me from out of the corner of his eye. He turns to me and asks, "Russian?" in his best attempt at the language.
"Hi… just passing through," I respond quietly in Arabic.
I then turn back to where my opponent stands and assume that he is receiving a similar awkward welcome on his side.
What's going on?
I am unable to move; it's as if time itself had frozen me, while the people around me are free to move. Perhaps the Chronos' function has been reversed?
Whatever happened reverts to its previous state, but more intensely so. Momentarily, the duel between us resumes and the soldiers move in an even slower motion than they had before. We resume the firefight, almost by reflex.
"Take care, guys," I bless upon the deaf ears of the near frozen soldiers, almost uncharacteristically.
I continue my sprint across the trench lines, but begin deviating off path toward a center alley.
Forty-five seconds.
The battle rages on once more at its usual hectic pace.
Since I am now in the middle of no-man's-land, the soldiers from both sides do not recognize who I am and focus fire on me.
A pause, and once again, time passes through amber. Confused, I attempt to reach the other side of the fortification so that I don't get shot immediately after whatever malfunction occurs.
Thirty seconds.
By this time, we are nearing the alley parallel to the one we had initially met in.
I can sense the Chronos buzzing again, but it isn't the same regular, rhythmic feeling; its pulsations are erratic, and every time they flare, I get stuck while everything else returns to normal. Then the waves level out, and the world is slow - and getting progressively slower - while I move as I always have.
I think of the anomaly as an old computer buffering, then downgrading the graphics of a game before rebooting. I slide my pistol into its holster and draw my rifle.
I fire full-auto toward him, but purposely miss all the shots on him and instead wipe out a column of rebels that stand behind him. He proceeds to do the same, missing every shot to kill a few Syrian soldiers.
I grit my teeth. He has the audacity to copy me? That beast, thinking he has the right to…
Fifteen seconds.
He tosses a flashbang right before me. That bastard.
I half expect him to suppress the location, but to my surprise, he does not. As I walk out of the smoke, he is once again nowhere to be seen. I proceed with caution.
Gunshots crack in the background, but I know that they're not his. Using the flurry of activity to mask his sound, he opens fire on me from a tricky angle. I dodge, having anticipated this course of action, but cannot trace where the shots had come from.
Aiming up in a general direction does the trick, as he figured that I had spotted him and so moved positions. His boots tear off multiple shingles from the rooftop as he breaks from cover. I chase after him, a ravenous cat, wounded and insulted, running down its prey.
Ten seconds.
The delayed interval between resets seems to be decreasing exponentially, as if the system of the Chronos itself is overheating.
I only now realize what Sokolov had meant when mentioning the detriments of overuse, but it all seems so long ago. Of all the times I have relied on the machine, there could not be a worse time for this.
Five seconds.
I have just enough time to reload my rifle before what I would assume to be the reset occurs. I grit my teeth, not knowing what to expect.
And just as suddenly, we've stopped.
The battle ceases, the duel paused.
I can barely move, but with what little motion I can manage, I know to shut off the Chronos. I see the hydra do the same; he had probably reached the same conclusion.
In a game of chicken, we stare each other down, waiting for one to make the first movement. The final mistake.
I make a quick movement, then slowly reach for my rifle.
He takes the bait and goes for the refresh.
Having telegraphed where we've been keeping our cardinal weapons, two almost simultaneous shots ring. With the bullpup build of my rifle, my aim is quicker, but the heavier trigger pull is what determines my fate.
His weapon fires first.
Fragments of gears and shards of copper from my Chronos pierce through the ceramic, and like a thousand blades, rip open the skin on my chest.
In the strongest kick of adrenaline I had ever experienced, I take a shot at his. My rifle's larger cartridge makes for an advantage, as not only does his Chronos shatter, the bullet passes through him. The hollow-point round expands and plunders deep into his chest.
As soundless as he was when I first encountered him, he drops his weapon and collapses onto the ground.
I've won…
I join him on the ground with a bittersweet Cheshire grin before the whole universe - wars, cats, and headless hydras alike - goes completely black.