Marksman Training Oblivion Novels & Stories

We crash on the floor, and I use my body to shield her. She's whimpering, her body shaking in intense fear. “Malishka…” I hold her tight, bullets flying all around, inside and outside. Liam has long been trained in marksmanship, so he knows how to aim and knows how to show no mercy to his enemies, and right now, I am his enemy. My men are. Laura and I crawl behind one of the couches as the battle rages. Masonry rains down on us as bullets hit the ceiling.

Perfect partner for training that needed to be about skill instead of relationship processing. "Ready?" he asked. "As I'll ever be." We began sparring. Physical only. No magic. Just wolf instincts and combat training and reflexes honed through survival. Marcus was good. Better than I'd expected. He pushed me. Made me work. Forced me to focus instead of letting attention drift toward mates training elsewhere. But I heard it anyway. Derek's voice carrying across training grounds. Deliberately loud. Designed to be heard by everyone. "So how does it feel being second choice? Being the mate who came first but matters less? Being replaced by dead guy who came back prettier and more magically compa

"However, further training is always necessary. Especially since the Witness Protection Program is interested in working with us; first, you'll go through an obstacle course that is a combination of the course from boot camp and a three-mile Spartan Race. At the end of the course, you'll have to hike up an imitation of The Reaper. It's half the distance but just as steep. Once you reach the top, you'll suit up, grab a weapon, and begin Mission: Escape Room. You'll enter a four-story building with one way in and one way out. I've hired a SWAT team and a team of Navy SEALS that will be hiding in the building. You'll have to fight your way out. You will have seventy-five minutes to finish this

The kinetic impact pushed him backward, his boots skidding across the concrete floor, but the armor held. "We're trapped!" Musa yelled over the deafening roar of the gunfire, clutching the duffel bag of medicine to his chest. "There are at least a dozen of them out there!" Jabari gritted his teeth. The violent, conditioned instincts of Task Force Eclipse flared in his brain. Nyosi had trained him for this exact scenario. Formulate lethal trajectory. Shatter the target. Eliminate the threat. He could easily launch a barrage of obsidian shards and tear the soldiers to pieces in seconds.

It was not as if he had a choice. Tristan's training intensified, his skills honed in hand-to-hand combat, fencing, and marksmanship. Instructors pushed him to his limits, employing diverse tactics. Athena's face flashed in his mind, her love and support fueling his determination. Tristan gritted his teeth, focusing on the task. Next, he faced the "Mind Room," where mental fortitude was tested. Puzzles, strategy games, and psychological manipulation challenged him. Director Arlo instructed, "Conquer your inner demons and you'll emerge stronger."

“This machine will move the targets in unpredictable directions. A sensor will track total hits, bullseyes, and shots fired for each set of three shooters. The one rule—one shot. Precise. That’s all it takes.” A hand shot up. “You!” he pointed. Miranda, a Tier 1 trainee—code number 045—spoke up. “That’s it? Just shoot the target?” Mad Max smirked. “045, I assure you, it’s not as easy as it sounds. But let me give your group a real-life test. Headphones off. Now!” We obeyed. “Watch and learn.” He flipped a switch. Chaos erupted. The shooters moved with eerie precision, loading their guns in seconds. No hesitation. No wasted movement. They adjusted their stances, locked onto their targets, and

Garrett dropped to his knees, gasping, weakened but not seriously hurt. "Good," Markov said. "But too slow. In real combat, hesitation gets you killed. Again." They ran the drill again. And again. Each time, Eve getting faster, more efficient, more ruthless in her energy draining. By the third round, she wasn't hesitating at all. The moment a warrior approached, she drained them...quick, brutal, effective. "Excellent," Markov praised. "You're learning to act without overthinking. That's crucial. Now....multiple opponents."

Looking odd, but he stands ready, and I know where this is going. “Can’t I practice on that instead?” I ask, pointing to the dummy. “Not for this exercise to work, it helps if you feel threatened,” Damien says flatly. “Ignore him. Lola, close your eyes,” Markum says softly, and I do so. "You have to work on instinct. Being blind helps with that." He then places the mace sprayer in my hand, and I prepare it. “This may seem rude but visualize the one who hurts you. You know what to do. Now breathe,” Markum says while moving away.

She looked into her sniper scope this time around and saw one of the men coming out of another hut with an AK47 rifle in his hand. “This is not going to end well.” She whispered. The man raise the gun and shot their first captive point blank in the head. “We need to do something.” Kimberly called out to her partner who immediately spoke into the radio. “Alpha to base over. There are hostile activities in the area, over.” “Can you identify Mustafa amongst the hostiles?” Kimberly quickly interrupted before Oscar could speak. “No sir, but some civilians are being executed right now, over” “ Base to alpha , stay put. Don’t jeopardize the mission.”

JUST GETTING STARTED The training ground behind the compound had seen a lot of mornings. It had seen Damien push his pack through drills in the dark, cold ground and no complaints. It had seen Cole and Jace go at each other until one of them couldn't stand. It had seen Marco move through formations alone at dawn like a man conducting a private conversation with violence. It had absorbed years of preparation — quiet, relentless, serious preparation for threats that came and threats that didn't and threats that were still on their way.