The battlefield dissolved.
Neville found himself back in the waiting room with a VICTORY notification in front of him.
He blinked once. Then twice.
His breathing slowed, the faint tremor on his shoulders fading.
[Clean kill, minimal damage taken!] he heard Shelly's bright voice practically vibrating with excitement. [Host, your opponent is probably having an identity crisis right now. He didn't even land a proper hit!]
Neville didn't answer. He sat back in the waiting room's digital lounge, eyes on the countdown clock at the top of the screen.
"Next match," he said.
[Oho~ someone's on a roll.] Shelly hummed.
[Searching for opponents...]
The next battlefield appeared. Then another. And another.
Different maps, different players, different ways to win.
But Neville's stayed indifferent and consistently won.
