Aaron stumbled out of the shimmering blue portal, blinking against the dim lighting. He let out a sigh, a mixture of relief and exasperation. Abi had certainly meant well with the "hug," but suffocating in her "bazookas," as he thought it, wasn't his preferred mode of departure.
A morbid chuckle escaped his lips. He could almost picture the headlines: "Aaron Marshall, Notorious Interdimensional Traveler and Assassin, Succumbs to Celestial Suffocation." His enemies would probably be fuming, picturing a death by laser beam or blade, not the soft embrace of a powerful being. He had to admit, it had a certain comedic irony.
Pushing away the dark humor, Aaron took a deep breath and surveyed his surroundings. The room felt sterile, bathed in a faint blue glow emanating from the deactivated portal behind him. He spotted the control room, a futuristic glass chamber filled with glowing panels and holographic maps of an unfamiliar city. Intriguing.
His gaze drifted further, landing on a sight that made his eyes widen. An arsenal of weapons lined the far wall, each gleaming under the dim lights. Katana blades, their hilts adorned with intricate dragon engravings, leaned against the wall like silent warriors. Swords of various sizes and styles hung on display, some curved and elegant, others broad and brutal. Bows, their wood polished to a mirror sheen, rested alongside quivers filled with fletched arrows. Crossbows, sleek and mechanical, seemed to hum with hidden power. Nunchaku, their wooden segments connected by gleaming chains, whispered of deadly agility. Spears, their tips sharp and deadly, stood tall like guardians.
But it was the futuristic weapons that truly captured Aaron's attention. Sleek, metallic rifles pulsed with barely contained energy. Plasma pistols hummed with a low thrum, their glowing cores promising devastating power. Laser swords, their blades shimmering in the air, promised elegant destruction. Grenades, their casings emblazoned with cryptic symbols, hinted at explosive possibilities.
Aaron's gaze lingered on the arsenal, a predator sizing up its prey. His fingers twitched, yearning to caress the cool metal, to test the weight and balance of each weapon. Drawn by an invisible force, he started towards them, his steps echoing in the sterile silence.
He first approached the katana. Reverently, he drew it from its sheath, the blade whispering a song of polished steel. Holding it aloft, he admired the intricate dragon swirling on the hilt, feeling the power thrumming beneath his fingertips. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he brought the katana down in a clean arc, the air sighing with the sharpness of the blade.
Next, he picked up a curved sword, its weight settling comfortably in his hand. He twirled it, feeling the familiar dance of movement and metal. With a guttural yell, he hacked and slashed, the blade a blur of deadly grace. The air vibrated with the impact, a testament to the weapon's power.
He moved on to the bows, selecting one with a sleek, futuristic design. He nocked an arrow, aiming at a holographic target flickering on the wall. With a deep breath, he released the string, the arrow vanishing in a blur. A split second later, the target erupted in a satisfying shower of sparks.
He switched to a crossbow, the mechanical click of the trigger a different kind of music. He aimed at a smaller target, smaller but further away. This time, the shot was silent, a beam of energy arcing through the air before vaporizing the target with a satisfying pop.
Nunchaku next. He twirled them with practiced ease, the wood whispering through the air. He imagined his opponents, their surprised faces as he disarmed them with a swift flick of his wrists. Each clack of the wood against wood was a beat in a deadly rhythm.
He hefted a spear, its weight grounding him. He danced with it, a warrior in his element, the tip a deadly extension of his will. He thrust, he parried, the spear a blur of deadly intent, each movement a testament to his honed skills.
Finally, he reached the futuristic weapons. He picked up a sleek rifle, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of the traditional weapons. He aimed at a holographic enemy, its form shifting and attacking. He pulled the trigger, feeling the kickback and the satisfying sizzle of energy leaving the barrel. The enemy dissolved in a shower of digital sparks.
He moved on, trying each weapon in turn. The plasma pistol, its energy blast leaving a sizzling trail. The laser sword, its elegant hum a counterpoint to its deadly edge. The grenades, their weight a promise of explosive power.
Aaron strode into the training room, the dim lights barely penetrating the shadows clinging to the corners. "Time to sharpen the blade," he muttered, stepping towards the central console. A flicker of his wrist activated the holographic interface, a swirling blue nebula materializing in front of him.
He began crafting his opponent, his fingers dancing across the virtual landscape. Maxed-out adaptability. Five centuries of simulated combat experience woven into its neural pathways. Pain tolerance pushed to superhuman levels. No easy takedown, no predictable patterns, just a relentless, evolving storm of violence.
With a final tap, Aaron confirmed his creation. The nebula solidified, coalescing into a figure mirroring his own build. The clone twitched, eyes snapping open with an artificial glint. It shifted, muscles coiling as it adopted a fighting stance, its entire being radiating combat readiness.
Aaron got into his stance....
A grin stretched across Aaron's face. This wasn't just training; it was a test. A test of his skills, his reflexes, his adaptability. Against an opponent this formidable, every misstep could be his last.
"Let's dance," he growled, activating his suit's combat enhancements. The whirring of gears and the hum of energy filled the room as he met the clone's gaze. This wasn't just practice; it was a duel against a reflection of his own potential, a glimpse into the abyss of what he could become.
The air sparked as Aaron and his clone collided, a dance of violence already in full swing. Their movements were balletic in their brutality, precise and deadly even as they shifted styles with breathtaking fluidity.
One moment, Aaron was a blur of spinning capoeira kicks, each leg snapping out with the whip-like crack of a taut rope. His clone, mirroring his agility, flowed like water, deflecting with forearms of hardened metal and contorting its form to avoid the blows. A spinning back kick aimed at its head was met with a precise elbow block, the impact sending shudders through the room.
But Aaron was a master of improvisation. He transitioned in an instant, his movements morphing into a flurry of Wing Chun strikes. Each punch was a controlled explosion, aimed at vital points with pinpoint accuracy. The clone, however, saw it coming. Its own hand shot out, not to block, but to meet Aaron's fist head-on. The sound of bone meeting bone resonated through the air as both of them staggered back, briefly stunned.
Sweat slicked Aaron's brow, but his eyes burned with an unwavering focus. He launched into a series of devastating Muay Thai knees, each strike aimed with the force of a battering ram. The clone, anticipating the pattern, shifted like a phantom, its own leg snapping out in a counter-knee. The impact landed squarely on Aaron's side, sending him wincing and doubling over.
But even in pain, Aaron was a predator. He used the momentum of the blow to fuel a Judo throw, his body twisting and leveraging the clone's weight against itself. The clone, caught off guard, tumbled through the air, landing hard on the floor with a metallic clang.
A moment of silence hung heavy in the air. The clone twitched, pixels shimmering as it assessed the damage. Aaron didn't wait. He was already surging forward, a tornado of kicks and punches fueled by adrenaline and raw instinct. His hands became pistons, each jab aimed to disable, each kick a calculated blow meant to destabilize.
The clone, however, rose with inhuman speed. Its movements were faster now, more aggressive, almost anticipating Aaron's strikes before he even launched them. It met his kicks with pinpoint blocks, its own counter-attacks coming like lightning bolts.
A punch aimed at Aaron's face was deflected by a flash of metal extending from the clone's forearm. He felt the heat of the impact sing across his knuckles even as he instinctively ducked away. A roundhouse kick aimed at his ribs was met with a similar forearm extension, the force sending him spinning away.
But Aaron landed on his feet, rolling with the momentum. He knew brute force wouldn't work against this seemingly precognitive opponent. He needed strategy, needed to disrupt the clone's rhythm.
With a feigned head-butt, he lured the clone in close. As it leaned in for the counter, Aaron dropped low, sweeping its legs with a well-timed Krav Maga kick. The clone, unbalanced, crashed to the ground once more.
Aaron didn't hesitate. He leaped forward, raining down a series of strikes aimed at pressure points, hoping to disable the clone permanently. But its metallic form was resilient, absorbing the blows with a dull thud. It lashed out with an elbow, catching him square in the chest.
Hours later, the training room echoed with the rhythmic thud of heavy breaths. Rui pushed open the door, her eyes scanning the dimly lit space until they landed on the slumped figure of her brother. Aaron lay sprawled on the training mat, his body adorned with a mosaic of bruises and scrapes. Beside him, the holographic clone flickered weakly, its digital form riddled with damage.
Rui's heart lurched. Ignoring the defeated clone, she rushed to her brother's side, her concern etched on her face. "Onii-san!" she exclaimed, kneeling beside him. His chest heaved with each labored breath, a testament to the grueling battle he'd just endured.
He cracked open an eye, a weak smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Hey, sis," he rasped, his voice hoarse.
"What were you thinking?" she scolded gently, her fingers already tracing the angry red lines on his cheek. "You look like you went ten rounds with a freight train."
Aaron chuckled, a sound that came out as a pained wheeze. "Something like that," he admitted. "But hey, at least I won."
Rui raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking to the deactivated clone. "Is that what you call winning?" she teased, her concern laced with a touch of amusement.
Aaron grinned, wincing as the movement stretched a fresh bruise. "It was a learning experience," he defended, his voice barely above a whisper. "That thing was tough."
Rui knew he was downplaying it. The training room was littered with the evidence of his struggle – scorch marks on the walls, dents in the metallic floor, and the flickering remains of the clone itself. But seeing him smile, even through the pain, a lwarmth bloomed in her chest.
With practiced ease, she pulled out a medical kit from her bag. "Then let's learn from it," she said, her voice firm but gentle as she began cleaning his wounds. "But first, let's get you patched up."
As she worked, Aaron winced occasionally, but his eyes never left her face. He enjoyed the quiet intimacy of the moment, the tender touch of her hand a soothing balm to his battered body.
"You know," he said, his voice barely audible, "I was starting to think I wouldn't make it."
Aaron winced as Rui dabbed antiseptic on a particularly nasty scrape on his arm. "I know, I know," he chuckled, wincing again. "But worrying is what little sisters do, right?"
Rui looked up from her ministrations, her eyes filled with concern that softened the edges of her normally sharp gaze. "You're not just any brother, Aaron," she said softly. "You're my Onii-san, the one who always protects me. Seeing you hurt... it doesn't sit right."
His heart warmed at her words. "And I appreciate the concern, truly," he said, squeezing her hand gently.
Time skip
Aaron's grin stretched ear to ear as he watched Rui meticulously sort through a pile of training gear. "You know, little sister," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock concern, "you're starting to look like a pack mule."
Rui paused, her eyebrows shooting up in mock offense. "And you, Onii-san, are starting to sound like a jealous boyfriend," she retorted, her voice laced with amusement. "Can't handle your little sister being more organized than you?"
Aaron feigned a gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. "Wounded! You wound me deeply, Rui-chan!" He bowed low, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But fear not, your knight in shining armor is here to rescue you from the tyranny of... well, organized socks."
He lunged playfully, snatching a stray pair of socks and tickling her with them. Rui shrieked, swatting at him with a laugh. Their playful banter echoed through the training room, a familiar melody that warmed their hearts.
"Alright, alright, truce!" Rui cried, breathless from laughter. "You win, sock monster. But just this once."
Aaron chuckled, his eyes softening. He tossed the socks back onto the pile, a hint of seriousness creeping into his voice. "Seriously, though, you don't have to do all this, Rui. You're not my servant."