34th of Glade, 121. Gothenburg.
Continued from here
"Two more shots?" The knight asked, amused.
"Two more guns," Arkash clarified with a glance of his one visible, icy-blue eye.
The knight scoffed while they stared, then nodded with a shrug. "Sure, but you still only get five chances. Miss three and you fail." Gunther then produced a secondary rifle and a pistol, which Arkash slung appropriately and sheathed at his hip respectively. Again, he tested the weapons, ensuring they were fully loaded, checking the sights, and so on. When at last he was ready, he took aim with his first rifle, and peered down the sight for his mark before he squeezed the trigger gently, and launched the alchemical bullet with a resounding boom. A spray of stone dust erupted behind the thick wooden mark, indicating he'd missed. Arkash scowled, then adjusted the sight, using the landing of the bullet hole as his reference. A pull of the lever ejected the used shell and let it hit the floor with a light metallic clatter. "I wouldn't have missed that," Gunther returned. Arkash scoffed, lifted his other rifle, shouldered the stock, and fired. Again, the bullet missed its mark, and Arkash adjusted the sight with a turn of the dial before he ejected the used shell. "You're down two; the target isn't even moving. You think the knighthood would miss even one?" Gunther mocked bitterly.
Arkash bared his teeth with a snarl. If he could, he would have hissed as he produced the pistol, aimed with one hand, squinted, and fired. The bullet landed on the target, but on one of the outer rings. For the third time, he adjusted the weapon's sight, then ejected the used shell. "I don't think it's a problem with the guns, kid. Swapping's not gonna do you any good; miss two more times, and you're out."
Arkash took a deep breath as he holstered the pistol, then took the rifle into his hands. He looked over the weapon with his one visible eye, then furrowed his brow. He hadn't anticipated that the guns wouldn't be adjusted right; bad sights meant for bad shooting. But after their first shots, they were adjusted to his aim, and effectively personalized for his use. With a deep inhale, he lifted his first rifle, widened his stance to brace, and aimed down the sight. It was time to show off. "What are you-?" Gunther spoke, only to be cut off by the boom of the rifle. Dead center, the bullet landed its mark with a spray of wood chips. Immediately, Arkash ejected the shell and threw the rifle over his shoulder by the sling and rolled his body to swing his secondary rifle into his hands. Again, he aimed down the sight, breathed out, and squeezed the trigger to fire the second shot in the save of two seconds. Near enough to the first blast, Arkash hit the target dead-on, and the impact knocked the target off its roots a bit.
Gunther stared in surprise, then held out a hand to stop the supposed Lustrian. "Okay, you're-" he started, but Arkash wasn't done. He ejected the rifle's used shell, and again, discarded it while the mechanism cooled down before he all-but-threw his pistol from its holster, aimed down the sight, and pulled the trigger to again, land dead-center with the spray of wood. Quickly, he ejected the shell and holstered the golem at his hip. A swing of his body threw the first rifle into his hands, and he held it a good second before the device clicked to indicate that its cool-down was complete, and he fired the weapon a third time.
On cool down, he began to fire the guns in rhythm. Rifle, rifle, pistol. Every blast hit the target in the center or in the central ring. Every thud knocked the target back further and further and eventually knocked it out of line. Arkash adjusted on a dime, produced his pistol, and landed his mark regardless. The air around him stank of alchemical discharge, that smell he adored. "KID!" The knight called after the seventh bulls-eye, but he'd not jump in the middle of gunfire.
In rapid succession, he landed his mark. As quickly as possible, he ejected the shells over and over and pulled the triggers on cool-down. He landed his mark at three times the rate an ordinary marksman could, and at masterful accuracy. Before he could fire the final round, however, the knight intervened and intercepted the younger human. "OKAY, I GET IT!" he called as he ripped the rifle from the Lustrian's grip. A gauntlet came to grip his shirt, and he was backed into the wall with a press of the knight's hand. Arkash saw it in the knight's eyes, the man was looking for excuses to be angry, excuses that didn't involve his damaged pride.
"If you can't follow simple directions, you're not suited for the front line!" He called at last in a fit of rage. "And you're wasting ammunition! That shit's not free, jackass!"
"S'ew own dumbass fault faw doubtin' me, pig!" Arkash snapped with a snarl. His heart was beating out of his chest, adrenaline ran rampant through his veins. He didn't think to maintain his accent or treat the knight with respect. No, at his core, he would have killed Gunther, broken a hole in his chest.
Recognition flashed in the knight's eyes, a spike of anger, then hesitation, and confusion. "...You're nameless?" He recognized that lowborn dialect. Who wouldn't?
Arkash's own aggression buckled at the accusation, and his eye softened. "...No," he spoke with a shake of his head. "I bought my citizenship with mercenary money, money I made in Tyrclaid," he clarified. "I'm not nameless."
"...But you were born nameless," the knight clarified, then sighed. He let go of the grip of his gauntlet, then looked between the smoking target, and the rathor both. Arkash straightened up and brushed himself off. "I get it, you want to prove yourself. Believe it or not, a buddy of mine back there used to be in the same boat as you," he spoke with a gesture of his thumb. "Born Nameless, raised in Lower Nivenhain. Now he's in the knighthood, can you believe it?"
The story was almost too familiar; Arkash wished to follow the exact same path, but not for the same reasons. "Blimey..." Arkash returned as he began to remove his rifle and pistol alike, returning them to the Argent that had already confiscated his first.
"The guy had to work hella hard though, much harder than the rest of us just to catch up," he spoke with a nod, then peered from under his visor to the rathor's gaze. "You've got that same look in your eye, that same drive..." The knight shook his head, then looked at the slanted target again. "You're a good shot, too. Better than me, even, I admit," Gunther spoke with a sigh, then returned the weapons to their appropriate rack. "It would be irresponsible of me to let you in the battle; you're a loose cannon," Gunther started, but again looked at the target. He was imagining the real scenario: A kindred bombarded with that sort of assault with alchemical and etherforged bullets, the damage he could cause. "...But damn if you couldn't save some people," he spoke with a sigh, then returned his gaze to the rathor.
Save people? From the kindred. Arkash's gaze softened at the recognition. That was at the forefront of the knight's mind? Really? All Arkash was thinking of was his own self-gain; he didn't care for the people, just the glory and the prestige. "Lemme in," Arkash spoke firmly. "Don' lemme waest in sum' fuckin' fa'try," he urged the knight. "I can maek a diff'rence out 'ere; I'm shite at Artificin'. Please!" He pleaded. Everything hinged on Gunther, it seemed. He had to convert the man to his side. "I'll folla' orda's, I promise, I jus'...-"
"-Lost your cool?" The knight interrupted. "Yeah well, it makes sense when you think about what us 'pigs' do to your kind, doesn't it?"
Arkash pursed his lips, then looked at the knight's Sabatons while he cringed. He'd really called the man a pig, hadn't he? "...Sorry," He offered, too late.
The knight shook his head, then sighed deeply. A long pause was spent looking between the target, the rath, then the door to the office. "...If anyone asks about the gunshots, say I gave you extra time to show me your technique. Alright?" Arkash's heart stopped while he stared at the knight Did that mean...? "I expect you to kill lots'a Omen out there, just... keep that temper in check, it'll fuck you over in the future."
Arkash, a man who ran on impulse, could almost hug the knight. He refrained of course, but he did sigh in relief and let his body fall limp against the wall. "Thank you," he spoke with a mostly restored dialect. "Thanks, Gunther. I won't let you down."
From there, Arkash returned to the office and was promptly signed up as infantry support for the revolution. The smoking target was proof of his prowess. Though Gunther took a hit for allowing Arkash to fire so many bullets, the rest of the knights seemed impressed with the work, if not annoyed by the fact that he could supposedly back his claim of being better than them. From there, he was assigned his first mission. That would be his chance to prove himself. That would be his chance to get his foot in the knighthood's door.
