The warm, humid air of Namil City, was a stark contrast to the biting cold of Mount Kabuku's peak or the clinical precision of Kafka's simulated forest. After their intense discussion at Marcus's pub about Fitzgerald's upcoming strength test, Adam felt a familiar pull towards something more visceral, more personal than theoretical preparation. He needed to feel his weapons, to remind himself of the raw power he wielded.
"I'm going to hit the shooting range before heading back," Adam announced, rising from the table. His companions, still immersed in their own post-meal contemplation, looked up.
"A good idea, Adam," Julian nodded. "Familiarity with your tools breeds confidence."
"Don't overdo it, though," Tom cautioned, stifling a yawn. "We still need maximum rest for tomorrow."
"Just a quick session," Adam assured them, a subtle determination in his eyes. "Just to get a feel for the pistols again."
Edward, his crimson eyes observing Adam with a knowing gaze, simply gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. He understood the unspoken need for a warrior to connect with his weapons, especially before a daunting challenge.
Adam left the familiar comfort of Marcus's pub and made his way through the bustling streets of Namil. The city, even in the late afternoon, was a symphony of sounds: the distant hum of hover-vehicles, the chatter of various alien species, the cheerful melodies from street musicians. It was a world of life, a world he was fighting to protect.
He found the public shooting range easily enough. It was a large, well-maintained facility, offering lanes for all manner of ranged weaponry, from ancient ballistic firearms to cutting-edge energy projectors.
He rented a private lane, the thick, sound-dampening walls providing a welcome isolation.
He drew his two meta pistols—the original, now fully charged, from his left hip, and the new, crimson-glowing custom piece from his right. They felt good in his hands, perfectly balanced, humming with contained power.
He loaded the magazines with practice cells and took his stance. The target array, a series of holographic projections of various shapes and sizes, shimmered before him.
Adam took a deep breath, clearing his mind of everything but the present moment. He extended his arms, focusing on the first target. The familiar weight of the pistol, the cool, metallic grip, the subtle whir of the power cells—it all felt right.
He fired. The meta pistol hissed, spitting a focused burst of energy that punched clean through the holographic target, leaving a shimmering void. Then, with the new pistol, he fired again, the crimson glow momentarily intensifying as it unleashed its raw power, vaporizing another target with startling force.
He continued to practice, pushing himself. He moved through various combat stances, practicing snap shots, rapid-fire bursts, and controlled, precise single shots. He worked on firing both pistols simultaneously, a devastating barrage that tore through multiple targets. He practiced shooting on the move, simulating the agile movements from Kafka's exam, his body swaying and pivoting while his hands remained steady, his aim true.
The familiar rhythm of practice, the smell of ionized air, the satisfying impact of his energy bolts—it was a form of meditation.
Each shot was a reaffirmation of his purpose. Each successful hit was a small victory, a quiet promise to himself and to those he had lost.
He spent nearly two hours on the range, pushing himself until his arms ached with the effort, until the power cells in his practice magazines ran low. He was covered in a light sheen of sweat, but his mind was clear, his focus sharper than ever. He had reconnected with his weapons, reminded himself of the lethal precision they offered.
Leaving the shooting range, Adam decided against immediately returning to the cabin. The Namilian night was beginning to fall, and Namil City was even more enchanting under the soft glow of its urban lights. He felt a need to simply walk, to process the day, and to reflect on the journey that had brought him here.
He strolled through a quiet, less crowded district, the sounds of the city becoming a gentle background hum. As he walked, his thoughts drifted, as they often did, to his past. To the faces of his friends, comrades who had stood by him, fought beside him, and ultimately, fallen for the cause.
He thought of Elena, her sharp mind and unwavering loyalty, her quick wit always a source of comfort. He remembered her laughter, the way she could find humor even in the darkest moments. She had been their compass, their moral center, and her loss still ached like a phantom limb.
He remembered Karl, the grizzled veteran, his gruff exterior hiding a fierce protectiveness. Karl had taught him the harsh realities of combat, the importance of discipline, and the quiet dignity of a warrior. His strength had been a rock, and his sacrifice, a profound wound.
Then there was Pao, the youngest, full of boundless enthusiasm and a surprising knack for demolitions. Pao's youthful optimism had been a light in the darkest corners, a reminder of the innocence they were fighting to protect. His infectious energy, now a poignant memory.
Ylva, the fierce, agile warrior, whose speed and precision with her blades had been legendary. She was a silent, deadly force, but also fiercely loyal, her quiet strength a constant reassurance. He remembered her silent nods of approval, her fierce determination.
Lee, the quiet tech expert, whose brilliant mind had often gotten them out of impossible situations. Lee's calm demeanor and logical approach had been a balance to Adam's impulsiveness. He remembered Lee's subtle jokes, his dry wit, and his unwavering dedication to the mission.
And then, Harry. Harry, his brother in arms, whose unyielding courage and stubborn resolve had inspired them all. Harry had been the fire, the driving force, always pushing forward, always believing. His last stand, a desperate, valiant sacrifice, was burned into Adam's memory. The weight of Harry's sacrifice, and his dying wish, spurred Adam forward even now.
And Jones.Jones, the last of his friend to fall, a stark reminder of the brutal reality of their war. Jones, who had shown him the ropes, who had taught him what it meant to lead under fire.
A sigh escaped Adam's lips. The pain of their loss was a familiar companion, a dull ache that never truly faded. But tonight, walking under the alien stars of Namil, surrounded by the vibrant life of a city they were fighting to protect, the pain was intertwined with a fierce resolve.
He looked up at the vast, star-dusted sky, the distant nebulae swirling like cosmic paint. His fists clenched, his new meta pistols a comforting weight on his hips.
"I'm gonna avenge you, my friends," Adam whispered, his voice barely audible above the city's hum, but filled with a quiet, burning intensity. "I will kill all demons in this galaxy.
Every last one of them. Even if I die trying."
It was a vow, a personal oath reaffirmed under the alien sky. His journey was no longer just about survival or escape. It was a crusade, a promise to the fallen. This exam, these trials, were merely steps, honing him into the weapon he needed to be.
With that quiet, solemn promise made, Adam turned and began to walk towards his cabin. The thought of rest, of gathering every last ounce of strength, was now infused with a deeper purpose. He reached the cabin, its simple structure a haven in this strange world. He slipped inside, the familiar sounds of his companions' quiet breaths a comforting presence. He went to his bed, placed his meta pistols carefully beside him, and finally, allowed himself to rest. The next day, Fitzgerald awaited. And Adam would be ready.