Natasha didn't give him a second to breathe.
She turned to the control console, fingers swiping across the touchscreen. The training room's rail system groaned to life, target tracks sliding backward. Ten meters... Fifteen... Twenty... Twenty-five. A limiter clicked, and the targets locked at thirty.
The target faces swapped out too.
Some were lateral movers, gliding back and forth at varying speeds. The rest were hostage scenarios: criminal and civilian silhouettes layered on top of each other, demanding pinpoint accuracy. One centimeter off and you'd hit the wrong person.
"Rules are simple." Natasha turned around. "Miss the timing window, score below eight ring, or hit a hostage, and it's twenty push-ups. Then you keep going."
Veyric looked at the targets thirty meters out, then down at the Glock 17 in his hand.
This isn't firearms training. This is special forces selection.
"Clock starts now."
He raised the gun and tried to track one of the lateral targets, only to realize that thirty meters and twelve were different planets.
At this distance, the target was a thumbnail in his field of vision, drifting in no discernible pattern.
"Five, four, three..."
Natasha's countdown left no room for hesitation. He sucked in a breath and squeezed.
Bang.
The scorer lit up: three ring.
"Push-ups. Twenty." Not a trace of sympathy in her voice.
He didn't waste time complaining. Dropped flat and started counting. With LV.2 strength and LV.3 endurance, twenty push-ups barely registered. He knocked them out in one go, dusted off his palms, and stood.
Natasha walked over and adjusted his wrist angle.
"With moving targets, you lead. Let the target walk into the bullet's path instead of chasing it."
She stepped back. Next round.
Veyric raised the Glock again, angled the muzzle slightly ahead of the target's trajectory, and waited for the silhouette to drift into his crosshairs.
The moment came. He fired without hesitation.
Bang!
Seven ring.
Still push-ups, but as he dropped to the ground, something had shifted. That shot and the one before it hadn't felt anything alike.
From there, the rhythm never let up.
Raise, fire, drop into push-ups, then back up again to raise and fire once more.
Any single set of twenty was nothing for him, but Natasha's pacing stripped away every chance to recover mentally. Finish the push-ups, gun up. Fire, hit the ground. His body and his focus had to stay locked in simultaneously. Pure punishment-grade training.
Gunshots and counted reps filled the room in relentless succession, so fast there wasn't a gap wide enough to catch his breath.
Natasha stood to the side, stepping in only to correct his form now and then, leaving the rest of the time for unbroken repetition.
Twenty-odd minutes in, something caught her attention.
She only had to explain a technique once. Veyric would attempt it, and by the second try, he had it down.
Less than half an hour, and his moving-target accuracy had stabilized above eight ring. Hostage misfire rate had dropped to near zero.
She watched him finish the final set in silence, a slight furrow forming between her brows.
"Veyric, is Venom helping you during training?" The question came without warning as she turned her head toward him.
Before he could figure out an answer, a mass of black oozed from between his shoulder blades. Venom's head popped out, eyes wide and guileless.
"Beautiful lady, I can swear on my honor that I have been sleeping the entire time."
Natasha's gaze flicked between the symbiote and its host, suspicion plain on her face. A beat passed. Her eyes settled back on Veyric, her tone a shade more serious.
"Your rate of improvement... I've never seen anything like it."
She unstrapped the tactical brace from her wrist as she spoke.
"If firearms aren't a problem for you anymore, we're skipping the intermediate stages. Straight to the hard stuff."
Something tightened in Veyric's chest.
So that entire hellish gauntlet didn't even qualify as difficult in her book?
"Last exercise for today. One-on-one live combat."
Natasha rolled her neck. Vertebrae popped, sharp and clean.
"Me against both of you."
Venom surged halfway out of Veyric's shoulder the instant he heard, practically vibrating with excitement. "Yes! I'm going to..."
"Shut it." Veyric shoved the symbiote's head back down. "No eating people!"
"Come on."
She didn't give them time to prepare. The words were still hanging in the air when she launched forward like a black-clad predator, closing the distance in a blink.
Her speed had more than doubled from the sparring sessions.
Veyric's pupils contracted. Spider-Sense screamed.
The tingling at the base of his skull hit like a surge of static. Instinct took over and he threw himself into a roll to the right.
Crack!
Natasha's roundhouse kuck slammed into the spot where he'd been standing, the impact booming through the room.
No time to recover. Her next strike was already in motion.
A heavy hook, loaded with her full weight, rocketed toward his face.
"Venom!"
Black liquid engulfed his right arm in an instant. He swung it forward to meet her fist head-on.
Boom!
The collision sent a dull shockwave through the room.
Natasha skidded back half a step. A flash of surprise crossed her eyes.
"Not bad on the power."
A cold smile, and she closed in again.
This time she didn't try to match force with force. Quick, agile footwork carried her around him in a weaving arc, probing for openings.
Between Spider-Sense and Venom working in tandem, Veyric's reflexes and raw strength had jumped to a level that, against all odds, let him trade blows with Natasha on something approaching even terms. He ducked and sidestepped, lashing out with Venom's tendrils when gaps appeared.
This kid... is he really just an ordinary person?
Natasha dodged a tendril sweep, the question gnawing at the back of her mind.
His combat instincts. His reaction time. That unnerving ability to stay composed even when things got desperate...
"Watch your left!" Venom bellowed.
A rush of air. Veyric dropped low. A long, powerful leg scythed over his scalp, close enough to ruffle his hair.
He reacted fast, one hand braced hard against the floor, and whipped his right leg out in a vicious sweep aimed at her base.
But Natasha moved as though she'd read the future.
In the instant before his heel connected, her toes tapped the ground and she launched upward. Keeping the jump low for maximum landing speed, she executed a tight, aggressive backflip that carried her clean over him.
Veyric tipped his head back on reflex.
In midair, her face filled his vision. The distance between them collapsed to nothing. For a fraction of a second as she passed overhead, they were close enough that their noses nearly touched.
Time seemed to stretch. That cool, fierce expression she wore in combat crashed straight into his line of sight.
A few loose strands of red hair trailed down, brushing his cheek, leaving a faint tickle in their wake.
His gaze locked for half a second.
Half a second too long.
Thwack!
Natasha landed light as a cat. Without turning, her hand shot back, and the edge of her palm struck the pressure point beside his carotid artery with surgical precision.
The world went black. Every ounce of strength drained out of him at once, and he pitched forward, hitting the mat face-first.
"Ngh..."
He clutched his neck, struggling to roll over.
A black combat boot settled gently on his chest.
"Training over."
Natasha gazed down at him, her chest rising and falling from the exertion. A faint flush colored her cheeks, and fine beads of sweat glistened along her hairline.
Veyric looked up at her, then awkwardly glanced away.
"I..."
"Losing focus in a fight is a cardinal sin, Captain."
She didn't wait for an explanation. The warning came quiet and even.
She lifted her boot and turned away, busying herself with adjusting her tactical gloves.
"That's enough for today."
A pause. Her voice softened by a fraction, carrying an unmistakable note of approval.
"Your rate of improvement exceeded my expectations. You did well, Captain."
Veyric rubbed his aching neck and hauled himself off the mat.
"Thanks for the lesson, Coach Natasha..."
"Go change." She cut off the pleasantries.
She grabbed the black jacket draped over the railing and pulled it on over her combat suit.
"Physical conditioning and reflex drills are done for the day. You passed."
"Go take a shower. I'll give you ten minutes." She fished a slightly worn car key from her pocket and tossed it once, metal ringing against metal.
"After that... interested in going somewhere with me?"
---
Next Target 500PS :)