Marksman Training Oblivion Novels & Stories

Without taking her eyes off the Council Leaders the first one that took a step toward her reeled from the gunshot to his shoulder she inflicted. ‘Oh caro, ho dimenticato di dire che mi sono allenato secondo gli standard olimpici di tiro? Naturalmente, ho anche preso lezioni da un cecchino Special Obs, solo perché tu capisca. [Oh dear, did I forget to mention I trained to Olympic shooting standards? Of course, I also took lessons from a Special Obs Sniper, just so you understand.] She lowered the gun she had used to shoot the guard without even looking, she swung it around to point at the old Leader,

Each morning, they woke us up with a cold bucket of water until we gradually learned to wake up on time by ourselves. The training was relentless. By 4 AM, we were already drilling: knife work, hand-to-hand combat, firearms, poisons. The instructors didn’t teach—they broke us. The worst part came at the end of each day. After hours of drills, they lined us up and paired us off. "Today’s lesson: efficiency," announced Gregor, the cold-eyed sniper who never spoke above a whisper. "You have one minute to disable your opponent. If you fail, he gets another minute with you."

A psychopath. "Put that gun down, we will solve this." "No!" We started to fight for the gun. Boom!

When I attempt to continue my training again, Marius also tries to interrupt me again, forcing me to point my gun at him out of irritation. My gaze is clenched, my face serious. “You’re gonna shoot me, really?” he asks, as if daring me to do so. I pull the gun away from him, and murmur, “Not yet.” I proceed with my shooting, and Marius stays to train with me and the marksman. He’s probably sensing that something is off with me, so he wanna prepare himself too. After the gun shooting, we have a little break, before we move on to mixed martial art training.

I fired without hesitation, the recoil jolting up my arm as he collapsed in the doorway. “Stay sharp!” I called to Marissa, who was already taking out another target through the back window. They kept coming—men in dark tactical gear, their movements precise. These weren’t amateurs. Gideon had sent his best. I ducked as a spray of bullets ripped through the wall, missing me by inches. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass filled the air, each shot a reminder of how high the stakes were. “Fallback plan?” Marissa asked, her tone grim.

Marcus, his older brother and former mentor within The Syndicate, had saved his life once before, helping him escape the lethal rigor of his initial training, but his protection had its limits. Elias sat on an overturned crate, meticulously cleaning and reassembling his personal sidearm—a process that was less about function and more about calming the electrical chaos in his mind. His training was a concrete, brutal reality, and every instinct screamed for self-preservation through calculated ruthlessness. But the memory of Julian’s face, etched with that beautiful, terrible combination of rage and grief, overlaid every tactical calculation.

"But be prepared for anything." Marcus nodded, his expression hardening into the emotionless mask he wore in combat. He loaded the bullet with practiced efficiency, checked the chamber, and strode toward the van with the controlled movements of a predator. Emma held her breath as he raised the shotgun, aimed, and fired in one fluid motion.

Nova The ache in my muscles was merciless. Every breath burned, every limb throbbed, but I refused to stop. Training had become more than survival, it was defiance. Each bruise was proof that I was still standing. “Again,” Marcus commanded. I nodded, gritting my teeth as I faced my sparring partner-Damian, a seasoned warrior with a wolf as big as a house. His smirk was infuriating, like he expected me to crumble at his feet.