The six-rotation mornings had become almost comfortable, at least as comfortable as exhaustion could

  get. Movements came easier, resets quicker, coordination cleaner. By the time the final alarm cut

  through the arena, the group average sat just under seventy-one percent. It wasn’t perfection, but it was

  momentum.

  Jouk was waiting at the platform when the last drill ended. His tone was level, but there was an edge

  beneath it, one that promised new difficulty.

  “Phase Three, Module Seven: Ranged and Thrown Weapon Integration.”

  The training floor shifted before anyone could blink. Holo-tethers retracted, the walls flattening into

  long, open lanes that stretched into simulated distance. Floating targets blinked into being at varying

  ranges, some static, some darting unpredictably. A faint wind simulation rippled through the air,

  carrying the sterile scent of charged lattice coils.

  Weapon racks descended from the ceiling in neat precision. Rows of crossbows, bows, casters, and a

  full line of throwing weapons, knives, axes, and narrow-edged discs, hung in silent readiness. Each

  glowed faintly with its internal resonance field.

  Jouk moved to the center of the room.

  “Ranged and thrown weapons extend your influence,” he said. “They demand discipline. You must

  judge space, velocity, and rhythm with the same control you use to breathe.”

  He gestured to a technician. The first demonstration began.

  A drone target zipped across the far wall. The technician fired a standard crossbow; the bolt hit and

  ricocheted harmlessly. The second weapon, identical in form but with a faint red shimmer, fired next.

  The bolt struck and tore clean through the drone’s shielding, leaving a glowing scar.

  “Imbued with Pierce,” Jouk said. “An echo from a beast whose claws could shear alloy. Imbuements

  transform potential into certainty. Without precision, however, that certainty turns reckless.”

  He picked up a recurve bow next, smooth and dark as obsidian.

  “Bows favor patience. Power builds with time, but time exposes you.”

  The tech drew and released in one motion. The normal arrow buried itself halfway into the target. The

  imbued version followed; its shaft flared green mid-flight, releasing a thin vapor that spread on impact.

  The holographic target blinked with red contamination rings.

  “Toxic Vein,” Jouk continued. “A venomous resonance. Its damage persists beyond the strike. Long range users often prefer status effects over raw force, wearing enemies down while remaining

  untouched.”

  Next came the caster, a compact rifle-like weapon with a central core pulsing faintly blue. The first bolt

  fired in a smooth arc and dissipated on contact. The imbued shot cracked the air with light, lightning

  dancing down the projectile’s path before slamming into its mark.

  “Storm Lash. Acceleration and disruption. Ideal for those who fight in rhythm, fast reflex, faster reload.

  Lightning enhances movement control but drains essence quickly.”s

  The lights brightened slightly as Jouk motioned toward a set of tables.

  “Thrown weapons bridge the gap between melee and range. Precision with movement. Power through

  economy.”

  Technicians took position at the far end of the range, releasing targets on mechanical rails. Jouk

  selected a short throwing knife and flicked it. The blade spun twice, burying dead-center in the target’s

  core.

  “A good throw is an equation of release and follow-through,” he said. “Momentum, not strength, drives

  the strike.”

  He gestured to the next setup.

  A technician hurled a standard axe, it struck, rebounded, clattered away. Then came the imbued

  version, charged with Shard bind. On impact, the head burst into a spray of crystalline fragments that

  embedded into the surface, glowing faintly. The fragments pulsed again, holding the target in place.

  “Control through disruption,” Jouk explained. “Shard bind restricts motion. Others, like Echo Strike,

  deliver secondary hits after impact. Or Stun Ring, which can disable movement within a short radius.

  Each serves a purpose, but every advantage has a cost. Overuse destabilizes resonance.”

  He set down the axe and rolled a weighted disc across his palm before flicking it sideways. It cut

  through the air, whirring a low, harmonic note before slicing through two distant targets in succession

  and burying itself in the wall.

  “Discs are for those who favor finesse,” he said. “They demand perfect release timing. If your rhythm

  falters, they return early, and I promise that ends poorly.”

  A faint ripple of laughter moved through the room, quickly silenced by his stare.

  “Ranged combat isn’t about superiority,” Jouk said. “It’s about judgment. Know your strengths and

  deficiencies. A heavy-armored defender with a slow essence cycle gains nothing from a bow that

  demands mobility. A speed-based striker with unstable essence should avoid charge-shot casters.

  Pairing matters.”

  He paced slowly between the rows. “If your ability leans defensive, look for imbuements that counter

  what defense can’t, poison, corrosion, attrition. If your skill is burst damage, find control effects to

  keep your target locked while you recover. The right pairing multiplies you. The wrong one divides

  you.”

  His voice softened slightly. “And remember, your first weapon may not be your last. The field changes.

  Be fluent in all tools.”

  Jouk scanned the room, eyes narrowing slightly. “Who wants to test the throwing sequence?”

  No one moved. The air tightened, expectation hanging between them.

  S-C’s voice slipped into Bash’s mind, low and close. You’re capable of this. Your motor retention for

  thrown-object trajectories is exceptional. Masaharu’s training, remember?

  Bash muttered under his breath before he realized it came out aloud. “Not now.”

  Jouk’s head turned. “Volunteering, are we?”

  Bash froze, then sighed. “Apparently.”

  A ripple of quiet laughter moved through the room as Jouk gestured toward the demonstration line.

  “Step up, Novarch.”

  Bash crossed the floor, took the offered throwing knife, felt the familiar balance settle in his palm. He

  hadn’t held one since, well, since before everything. The weight was wrong but close enough.

  “Target, twenty meters,” Jouk said evenly. “When ready.”

  Bash inhaled, the rhythm automatic. The release came smooth, clean. The blade spun twice and buried

  dead-center in the target’s core.

  A few murmurs broke out, quickly stifled.

  “Good,” Jouk said. “Now try the axes.”

  The technician handed him a pair. They were heavier, head-weighted, meant to test strength over

  finesse. Bash rolled one in his hand, adjusted his stance, and threw. The first struck high, the second

  low, both hits solid, aligned.

  “Discs,” Jouk ordered next.

  The weapon was foreign, almost too light, but Bash adapted. He flicked it sidearm, feeling the air

  resistance catch, the spin stabilizing in flight. The disc cut through three targets in a clean arc before

  lodging itself in the fourth.

  “Impressive,” Jouk said, voice unreadable. “Try this one.”

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  He gestured for a technician, who produced a single knife, visibly warped, its balance uneven. Bash

  took it, feeling the center of gravity tug sideways.

  The room seemed to dim around the moment he held it.

  His breath caught. He wasn’t in the facility anymore.

  He was back on a dirt path outside his grandfather’s shed. Masaharu’s calm voice carried in the wind:

  “A weapon doesn’t have to be perfect, Bash. It just has to listen. Even imbalance can be used if you

  understand where it pulls.”

  The next memory followed uninvited, his arm arcing, the same weight, the same spin, but this time it

  wasn’t a wooden target. It was the Green Spartor. His hand shaking. His family gone. The flash of

  impact.

  The hum of the training hall pulled him back. The knife was still in his hand.

  He exhaled through clenched teeth and turned to walk away.

  “You think I can’t feel it?” he said quietly as he passed Jouk. Without looking back, his wrist flicked.

  The knife sailed across the room, end over end, and struck the target square through the left eye. The

  same eye he hit that night.

  The room went silent.

  Jouk’s expression didn’t change, but the faintest tilt of his head said enough. “Noted.”

  Bash rejoined the group, face unreadable.

  Bash, S-C said gently in his mind, that was...

  Not now, he thought, sharp but steady. I need to focus. Training first.

  The lights dimmed again, and the Nexus control wall lit across the far side of the arena.

  “Your System Cores will now unlock ranged and thrown protocols in the Nexus Annex,” Jouk said.

  “Each of you will train with every class of weapon, bows, crossbows, casters, and projectiles. Learn

  them all. You will never know what the battlefield leaves you.”

  He raised a hand. “Dismissed. Proceed to the Nexus. Individual training is required.”

  The hundred Nexus circles flared alive in waves of pale blue. The hum filled the chamber like a

  heartbeat under metal. Bash stepped into his ring, the sensation of connection crawling up his spine as

  the simulation loaded around him.

  He opened his eyes to an endless practice field of rolling dunes and flickering drone targets. A training

  bow hung at his side, its weight perfectly balanced to him. He drew, fired, missed, adjusted, fired again,

  each motion smoother than the last.

  Nyra’s projection flickered nearby, crossbow snapping fast and precise. Taren tested throwing knives

  with calm precision; Rixor alternated between axes and discs, laughing every time one returned just

  short of clipping his head.

  Lead by half a breath, S-C murmured in Bash’s head. Your follow-through still compensates late.

  You’re thinking instead of feeling the release.

  “Working on it,” he muttered.

  The next few volleys landed true.

  After two hours when the training was finished and others were exiting their circles, Bash opened the

  team interface. A new option pulsed faintly: Collective Evaluation Mode Available.

  He tapped it.

  The Nexus blurred, then re-formed, his team now sharing the same simulated space. A vast arena

  materialized: open terrain with dynamic cover and floating drones that fired harmless beams. Colored

  arcs connected their fields of fire, each showing timing and overlap.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got,” Bash said, adjusting his stance.

  The first wave hit fast. Drones split and swarmed, some darting through the air, others hugging the

  ground in erratic zigzags.

  Nyra took the high angles, her crossbow snapping with surgical precision. Taren swept the flanks,

  throwing knives in tight, efficient arcs that cleared approach lanes. Rixor handled mid-range coverage,

  alternating between discs and axes that forced the drones to bunch into predictable patterns.

  Liora worked from behind them, calm and methodical, feeding positional data to the group as she

  shifted aim from bow to sidearm. Darik anchored center-right, his steady crossfire keeping the drones

  from collapsing their formation. Calen, stayed mobile, dodging through gaps, throwing lighter blades

  with reflexive speed and calling out flank alerts before anyone else saw them coming.

  Bash filled gaps, alternating crossbow fire with low, skipping disc throws that took drones out of the

  air. At first, it was chaos, bursts overlapping, cover misplaced, timing scattered. But it didn’t stay that

  way.

  They began to sync.

  Taren’s throws started landing between Rixor’s returning discs. Nyra and Liora staggered their reloads,

  keeping the line continuous. Darik’s rhythm shifted to match Bash’s bursts, while Calen’s constant

  movement turned distraction into strategy. When a drone slipped through the formation, someone was

  already adjusting, filling the space before it even mattered.

  The Nexus registered it. Thin blue lines of connection formed between them, tracking reaction time,

  coverage gaps, and cooperative kills. The arc-score at the edge of Bash’s vision climbed steadily

  upward.

  “Efficiency up thirteen percent,” S-C said in his head, her voice warm, almost proud. You’re not just

  reacting anymore, you’re anticipating each other.

  Bash’s breathing steadied as he dropped another drone with a flick of his disc. “Feels that way,” he said

  between breaths.

  The second wave hit harder, faster drones, tighter formations, but the team held. They moved as a

  single current, covering, recovering, adapting. When the last target fell, they stood together in the soft

  blue haze of the simulation, the hum of the Nexus filling the silence.

  Rixor whistled, low and impressed. “Not bad. We might actually be starting to work like a team.”

  “Starting?” Nyra said, smirking faintly.

  Taren just nodded once. “It’s something.”

  Bash glanced around at them, seven colors, seven cadences, and felt the quiet certainty of forward

  motion. “Then let’s keep it going.”

  The Nexus faded around them, the world dissolving back into the quiet hum of the chamber. Their data

  walls lit up: accuracy, coordination, and reaction time all improving. None perfect, but all rising.

  They filed out together, still breathing hard but smiling now, trading light jokes about whose aim had

  been worst and who had saved who from getting “shot” by simulated beams.

  S-C’s voice brushed his mind as the lights dimmed behind them.

  This is how we start to hide in plain sight, she said, thoughtful. When you move in rhythm with others,

  even the Nexus has trouble deciding where one signal ends and another begins.

  He didn’t answer, but the thought lingered, a quiet truth under the pulse of training and progress.

  Thank you for reading this chapter! Your support means the world to me. If you enjoyed it, please

  consider giving a thumbs up, leaving a positive review or a comment. It truly helps a debut author like

  myself. As this is my first novel, I am still learning, and I would love to hear your constructive

  feedback to help me improve. I'll do my best to reply to your comments! If you would like a better

  understanding of Bash's origin and family, check out my book 'Before the Genesis'. It tells the story of

  Kyle and Abby and has some lead up right into this novel.

  -BrunDoc-