Prince Of Azra

The match had taken a wild turn.

Evan's teammates were just as skilled as he was, but now things were different. The competition had gone savage. Every squad in the lobby had one goal—take down Player-488.

It wasn't about survival anymore. It was about pride. Everyone wanted to prove they were better than him.

Evan, calm under pressure, moved quickly through the buildings. He was best with two weapons—a shotgun for close-range takedowns and a sniper rifle for long-distance precision. Within minutes, he had both, plus enough ammo to light up an entire squad.

ATVs were already speeding toward the pipeline. He counted two choppers in the sky, both heading straight for them. It was chaos. Squads that were supposed to be killing each other were now working together. All to hunt down Evan and his crew.

Player One stood on the rooftop, eyes scanning the sky. One of the helicopters was closing in.

He didn't hesitate.

Pulling out his FHJ-18—one of the heavy-duty launchers that could bring down airborne threats—he locked on to the chopper. With a loud whoosh, the missile launched. It sliced through the air and hit the target dead-on.

Boom.

The helicopter exploded in mid-air, flaming debris raining down. The entire squad on board got wiped out before they even touched the ground.

Player Two was holding his ground on the west side, using an SMG. He moved like lightning, sliding, jumping, and taking cover like a proper pro. His fingers danced over the controls as he wiped out a full duo pushing his side.

Evan wasn't idle either. He used player two jump class and landed on a satellite dish that towered over the entire map. It was the perfect sniper spot—one almost no one could reach from the ground.

He crouched low, eyes locked through his scope.

One shot. Headshot.

Another. Dropped.

Panic broke out in the enemy teams.

"Where the hell is that sniper?" one enemy's voice echoed over the mic, confused and nervous.

They couldn't figure it out. No one in their wildest guess would believe he was on that dish. It was too high, too isolated. Unless you respawned and dropped right onto it from the sky, it was nearly impossible to reach.

Player One floated up into the air again, using the jump class to scout. "They're swarming from north and southeast," he warned, landing neatly behind cover.

"Dude," Player Two laughed, reloading fast. "At this rate, we might as well sell tickets to this chaos."

Suddenly, Player Four's voice came through the comms, full of panic.

"Please! Please, someone pick my tag! I still have legendary loot!"

Player Two cracked up. "Bro, shut up. We're getting murdered out here and you're crying about loot?"

Even Evan let out a short chuckle, still locked into sniper mode.

Enemies kept pushing, but the squad wasn't backing down. The more they killed, the more came for them.

And Player Four just kept begging in the background.

"I'll give you my Battle Pass—just pick my tag!"

"Focus!" Player One shouted, half-laughing. "We're fighting World War III here!"

Evan didn't say a word. His eyes stayed sharp. One more shot. One more enemy down.

This was just getting started.

"He's on top of the dish!" one of the enemies shouted to his squad after Evan took him down clean.

In seconds, gunfire rained down on the satellite dish like angry thunder. Evan barely managed to jump off before it got torn apart. He hit the ground hard, rolled, and found himself surrounded by a full squad of four.

But Evan didn't panic. He switched his grip, spun around, and in three sharp bursts from his shotgun—one close-range headshot, one sliding body shot, and one quick turnaround—he dropped three enemies before the fourth even realized what happened. As the last one tried to retreat, Evan wall-jumped behind a crate, popped up, and finished him with a perfect hip-fire shot.

"Bro, we're getting overwhelmed here!" Player One cried out over the mic. "This lobby's turned into a damn horror movie!"

"Damn it, I'm trapped!" Player Two shouted. "These guys won't even let me scratch my butt! No cover, no air, no mercy!"

The safe zone started shrinking, closing in around the pipeline area. But that didn't make things better. It only dragged more enemies straight to them.

A new squad stormed the field. Their weapons? All shotguns. Tight, fast, and brutal.

"Ahh! I'm down!" Player Two yelled just before getting dropped. "The cavalry's here, boys! And they're riding boomsticks! These dudes were born inside shotguns, I swear! But they ain't touching Player-488, no sir!"

A second later, Player One got hit and started crawling behind a rock.

"I'm shot too! Help me, I'm leaking!" he whined into the mic. "Player-488, please! Come patch me up, man!"

"I think it's the same squad that smoked Player Two!" he added weakly, still crawling and gasping.

Only 20 players left, the game announced in its classic robotic voice.

Evan was now the last man standing. With no chance for respawns, both his teammates had been wiped out. They were now spectating him, silently watching every move.

Enemies were searching for him like bloodhounds.

Evan slipped into a nearby building. Inside, he tossed a smoke bomb into the hallway. Two enemies inside panicked and ran out immediately.

Thinking fast, he activated his trickster class. Clones of him scattered in all directions, each one sprinting through the fog like ghosts. While the clones caused chaos, Evan silently moved to the second floor using the hidden stairwell.

From the smoky room upstairs, he peeked through the window. The enemies outside were shooting at his clones, completely fooled.

Evan calmly took aim, and with two silent shots from his sniper rifle, he took them down one after the other.

Suddenly, a shot hit him from behind. It wasn't fatal, but it stung, if the shooter was more accurate it would have been game over for Evan .

Without wasting time, he dove through the window. As he fell, he tossed another smoke bomb exactly where he expected to land. The area was instantly covered in thick smoke. He hit the ground and crouched low, staying perfectly still.

The enemy above fired wildly into the fog, they were sure Evan was standing. But he wasn't. He was already flat on the ground, crawling into position.

With two quick shotgun blasts, he dropped the shooters like bowling pins.

Before the smoke cleared, he slipped away to another corner of the building. Once hidden, he quickly refilled his health and reloaded his gear.

The system buzzed again.

"Only 3 teams left."

Evan cursed under his breath.

From his corner, he could hear Player One's voice over the mic. "Bro, sorry. I kinda… accidentally left the stream running. They all know where you are."

"You what?" Evan growled silently without his voice echoing from from the mic, he already shifting position.

"Yeah, um… I'm trending right now. Everyone's watching. You're basically live bait, player one added."

Evan didn't even reply. He was already on the move.

Outside, the terrain was brutal—ruined buildings, open fields, barely any cover. The gas zone had squeezed the last few teams into a narrow stretch of ground around the pipeline station. Enemies were everywhere, and they were closing in.

He darted behind a rusted truck, swapped to his shotgun, and waited.

One enemy rushed to the corner. Boom. A perfect Headshot from Evan.

Another tried to slide in from the side—Evan side-stepped and blasted him mid-move, like it was muscle memory. "Two down," he muttered, reloading in a blink.

He double-jumped onto a stack of crates, caught sight of a third player crawling behind a broken wall, and dropped down with a short hop. The moment his boots hit the ground, he fired without missing a beat. That one didn't even get a chance to react.

"They're hunting you like wolves," Player One laughed. "But you're the damn apex predator!"

Evan didn't smile. His focus was locked. Just three more.

He tossed a smoke bomb near the next structure. Footsteps pounded inside the haze. He used his Trickster class again, and fake clones sprinted into the open, drawing enemy fire.

Two enemies took the bait, exposing their position.

Evan dashed through the back, climbed the wall using a zipline, and jumped through a smashed window. He dropped behind them like a ghost, fired two perfect shots. The second guy screamed into the mic before collapsing.

"Last one!" Player One yelled.

Evan saw him—a sniper, crouched far off near a tower.

Evan sprinted toward him, zigzagging. The sniper missed once. Twice.

"Come on... line it up," the sniper whispered, thinking Evan was about to peek again.

Instead, Evan slid from the grass straight into his blind spot, jumped up, and with a mid-air spin, fired a single shotgun blast to the head.

Victory screen.

"WINNER - PLAYER-488"

Player One screamed into his mic. "Let's goooo! That's my boy! That's the man! MVP! COD GOD!"

Evan just leaned back in his chair, exhaled, and whispered, "Told you. I would love to see them try."

"Finally, I heard your voice," Player One said over the mic, his tone a mix of excitement and admiration. "I already sent you a friend request. Man, I'd love to play with you again. Maybe we could—"

Click.

Evan had already logged out.

The game screen faded to black. No victory replays. No lobby chat. Just silence.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. His heart was still racing from the final kill, but at least now it was slowing down. The tension that had gripped him during the match started to ease. He let out a shaky breath and mumbled to himself, "Finally... a little peace."

Then the doorbell rang.

It echoed through the apartment, sharp and unexpected. Evan blinked, sat up, and glanced toward his bedroom door.

"Guess she's back," he muttered.

He stood, stretched his arms above his head, and rolled his neck. The soft creak of the gaming chair followed him as he stepped away from the glowing monitor. His room was dim, lit only by the pulsing lights of his keyboard. Outside the window, the sky had gone completely dark.

He headed out to see who was at the door.