"Hey!"
"What?" Amon tilted his head and pulled the trigger. A cannon-sized round flew from the barrel and blew the target apart.
"Ammo!" Laura Croft was something of a shooting expert herself. Though British, she was a member of both IPSC, the International Practical Shooting Confederation, and USPSA, the United States Practical Shooting Association, and had achieved good results in the .45 ACP pistol competition at the 3-Gun Nation Championship. Just from the explosive shell casings scattered beside Amon's combat boots, she could tell that the Praetorian Guard's ammunition was of a larger caliber than even Soviet 14.5×114 mm rounds. One could imagine the absolute dominance such anti-air firepower would have in a modern shooting environment.
Her only concern was whether Amon had prepared enough ammunition. Magazines capable of holding such rounds were huge and heavy; an ordinary person would likely struggle even to carry one during strenuous movement. In fact, her concern was entirely justified. Even though Amon never missed, he still had to confront that problem. "Five rounds left." Amon frowned, covering Laura Croft as she moved toward a rocky shelter. "The Yaaxil have been forced back, but there are too many Trinity mercenaries. I can't take you all the way out unless you're willing to wait here for a while."
"What are you planning to do?" Laura Croft asked.
"Rush over and kill them." Amon pulled the trigger again. This time, he targeted a mercenary carrying an Anti-Tank Missile. When the mass-reactive fuse pierced flesh and touched metal, a high-temperature jet immediately erupted from the projectile, blasting both the Anti-Tank Missile and the soldier into charred fragments. "I don't know how many Anti-Tank Missiles the Trinity still has. I can dodge them, but you definitely can't."
"Uh... I still have three magazines." Laura Croft pulled back the