Sylar was far from the only one excited about the long-awaited weapon training. In truth, it would have been difficult to find even a single recruit whose eyes weren't glowing with anticipation.
Still, no matter how eager they felt, each of them maintained perfect silence and stood frozen in formation. They all remembered vividly how Captain Lancel had turned a rubber ball into a lethal projectile and blown a man's head apart. If he could do that with a ball, none of them wanted to imagine what he might do with a gun.
Captain Lancel himself remained expressionless, showing neither pride nor amusement at the recruits' sharpened focus. Discipline was expected—nothing more. Without a word, he led the group across the stone courtyard toward a massive slab of carved rock at the far end of the stronghold. Resting on the table were three weapons.
The first resembled a handgun, its matte-black frame traced with fine lines of gold, like cracks of sunlight breaking through darkness. Beside it lay a rifle, obsidian black with red, vein-like energy patterns pulsing faintly along its surface. The third weapon dwarfed the others—a massive, nearly man-sized firearm that looked grown rather than forged, its long skeletal frame ending in a barrel that glowed faintly with internal power.
Every recruit's gaze was drawn instinctively toward the weapons, but that focus shifted instantly back to Captain Lancel the moment they felt his attention sweep across them.
"In this era of genetic advancement, mutation, and supernatural abilities, some fools believe guns are obsolete," he began. His voice echoed through the stronghold, steady and infused with a deep, almost reverent seriousness. "They think firearms belong to the past, unable to compete with the power of genetic abilities. Anyone who believes that has never felt a Shooting Star round tear through their body."
Sylar silently nodded. He could still remember the sight of Captain Benjamin destroying the arm of a Grade-2 Apostle with a single bullet. One shot—nothing more.
"A weapon does not drain your Bio-Energy," Lancel continued. "It does not tire. It does not weaken. As long as you have ammunition, you can fight at full power. Ammunition can be altered and adapted to different enemies, different terrains, different threats. But most importantly…" His eyes narrowed. "A gun allows you to hide your true abilities until the perfect moment. Surprise is a weapon in itself."
The recruits absorbed every syllable. A few nodded unconsciously, unable to help themselves.
"Mastering a firearm," Captain Lancel said, "is no different from gaining an additional superpower—one that can continue to grow alongside your other abilities."
Seeing their understanding settle in, the captain stepped forward and reached for the rifle at the center of the table. His movement was smooth, controlled, and even though he had only one arm, his mastery over the weapon was flawless. The rifle never wavered in his grip.
"This," he declared, "is the Stormlance Hypervelocity Rifle."
He let the name hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "It fires two thousand rounds per minute. Each round strikes with the power of a tank shell and travels at Mach 7, ionizing the air in its path."
A murmur almost escaped the recruits before they remembered where they were. Lancel's eyes hardened.
"Do. Not. Move."
Without warning, he raised the rifle and unleashed hell.
The courtyard erupted with thunder. Bullets tore across the air, exploding against the far wall with devastating force. The sound alone was enough to rupture the eardrums of any normal human, and even the slightest graze from the rounds would have torn a recruit apart.
Enduring that storm of destruction without flinching was a true test of discipline—and those who had survived the deadly game of dodgeball had not done so by luck.
For twelve long seconds, the barrage continued, each shot carving glowing holes into the distant stone. When the demonstration finally ceased, the recruits exhaled as one. Not a single one of them had been touched. Despite possessing only one arm, Captain Lancel's accuracy remained terrifying.
"Weapons are impressive," he said calmly, as if he hadn't just leveled a cliffside, "but they are machines. Machines break. Machines decay. And they do not repair themselves."
His gaze sharpened.
"The price of a Stormlance Hypervelocity Rifle is higher than the combined wealth a hundred ordinary people could accumulate in a lifetime. Treat them with the respect they deserve—and learn how to fix them."
With that warning laid down, he began explaining the rifle's internal structure. For nearly an hour he guided them through every component—from the smallest gears to advanced systems like the grav-coil accelerator. No detail was spared. Even the most inattentive recruit felt their mind pushed to its limits as they tried to absorb all of it.
When he finally set the rifle down, the recruits felt as though they had just survived another battle.
Captain Lancel then picked up the pistol.
"This is the Dawnfire Hybrid Sidearm." As he spoke, he walked directly into the formation, weaving through the ranks. None of the recruits dared move even a millimeter.
"A pistol does not have the range or firepower of a rifle," he said.
Then, before any of them could process what was going on, he began drawing, folding, holstering, and re-drawing the weapon again and again in fluid, unpredictable patterns. Each motion was faster than the last, the weapon flashing like a golden spark as he passed by each recruit.
"But what it lacks in power," he finished, "it compensates with speed, precision, and adaptability—qualities essential in close-quarters combat."
Captain Lancel returned to the head of the formation. The Dawnfire sidearm rested at his hip—and before any recruit could even track the movement, the weapon was already drawn and firing.
Each shot pierced the distant stone wall, every bullet passing through the exact same opening as the first. The level of precision was beyond remarkable; it was something only a true super-soldier could achieve.
"The Dawnfire fires extremely fast, heavy rounds," Lancel said. "And also—"
With a flick of his thumb, the weapon shifted modes. The pistol began to glow, and a heartbeat later it unleashed a wide, scorching blast of plasma that incinerated everything to its left.
"It can also fire concentrated plasma—perfect for enclosed spaces or for burning through biological threats."
Just as he had with the rifle, Captain Lancel meticulously described every component of the Dawnfire Hybrid Sidearm. No detail was spared. He explained its energy conduit channels, its thermal regulators, and even how to clear jams without losing a hand.
When the lesson was complete, the captain holstered the weapon and turned toward the final firearm—the massive sniper system. He lifted it with a single arm. The weapon nearly reached his shoulders, and in his grip it looked like an ancient spear forged for giants.
"This," he said, "is the Longspear Titanstrike Sniper System."
The name alone was enough to stir awe in every recruit.
"It takes years to learn how to operate this weapon, and even longer to master it," Captain Lancel continued. "But once you do, you become a nightmare your enemies will never see coming. The theoretical maximum range of this sniper system is forty-five kilometers (27.9 miles). That means you could stand in the center of a city and blow off someone's head on the far edge without them ever realizing you were there."
Sylar's eyes widened. The idea of wielding a weapon capable of shooting someone across an entire city seemed absurd, yet the Kingdom of Man's technology had already shown him more impossibilities made real.
Suddenly, Captain Lancel's gaze sharpened. He looked up at the sky. High above, barely visible, a small glimmer appeared. "Perfect. This will be your demonstration."
Confusion rippled through the recruits, but Lancel didn't bother explaining. He simply raised the Longspear Titanstrike toward the sky.
For several seconds, he aimed without moving. Then he pulled the trigger.
A thunderous boom tore across the stronghold, so powerful that the mountain itself seemed to tremble. The recruits stared upward in shock—the sky looked empty.
One second passed. Then a distant howl echoed from somewhere far above, followed by a violent explosion of red mist. A rain of blood began to fall.
Realization struck the recruits like a hammer. Captain Lancel had just shot a creature flying so high they couldn't even see it—and the creature had exploded.
Sylar and the others looked at the Longspear Titanstrike with a mixture of awe and trepidation, as if staring at a god of death disguised as a weapon.
The old captain wasted no time. He began describing every component of the sniper system—the stabilizer array, the recoil nullifier, the bio-sensor trigger, and the miniaturized rail-core that powered its terrifying shots.
When the presentation finally ended, the instructors divided the recruits into five groups, and the training truly began.
First came a lesson on mental discipline and the marksman mindset. Then they moved to fundamentals: proper stance, breathing control, trigger discipline, and how to zero a rifle.
Only after the theoretical portion did the recruits receive practice rifles. Their first mission: disassemble, reassemble, and repeat—over and over—until they could do it blindfolded.
Though the drills weren't physically demanding, they drained the mind. Still, every recruit understood how essential the training was. In battle, knowing your weapon could mean the difference between life and death.
And finally—after days of preparation—it was time.
Time for the shooting to begin.