Cyrus swept his gaze through the new training ground, taking in every detail of the enclosed building. Four balconies stretched out in the main directions, offering vantage points around the vast space. The walls rippled with blue carvings, reminiscent of intricate machine circuits, pulsing with an otherworldly energy.

Leora waved her hand, and the area began to shake and tremble. The earth cracked and shifted open with a thunderous rumble. An atlas rose from the depths, creating a cacophony of sounds that echoed throughout the vast hall. Atop the atlas sat a box, its metallic surface adorned with scars and scratches, silent anecdotes of its long history.

Approaching cautiously, Cyrus opened the box to reveal a pair of short gloves. He held them up, scrutinizing the strange accessories. They were soft and sticky, barely covering his hands. The moment he slipped them on, a breaking sound echoed through the air as lightning flashed around him. The gloves flickered to life, their black texture leaking with a colorful, iridescent hue.

"Looks like this thing wouldn't even protect my ankles if I tried. What a joke," Cyrus remarked, examining the seemingly flimsy objects on his hands.

Leora's voice cut through his musings. "That's not its purpose. Your magic is seeping out, causing considerable challenges in its mastery."

A proud smile escaped Cyrus's lips as he processed her words. "Oh, so you're saying I'm like super strong or something?"

Leora's response was swift and cold, shattering his momentary elation. "It's a disease, an exceptionally rare one. Your magic will surpass your body's capacity, leading to your consumption and eventual incineration." She turned and walked to the other end of the training ground, leaving Cyrus to grapple with this shocking revelation.

Cyrus stumbled back, his eyes widening in disbelief. "You're kidding me, right?" The words tumbled out of his mouth as his mind raced. Is she playing me another dirty trick? But she doesn't look like someone who likes throwing jokes. Even here, I am such a failure, he thought bitterly.

Sensing his distress, Leora continued her explanation. "We each possess unique magical abilities. Our magic varies fundamentally. Spells that excel for some may prove entirely ineffective for others. Mind control and flawless marksmanship are but a couple of examples."

As she spoke, Leora's eyes flickered beneath her black umbrella. A golden glow leaked from her body, and a faint rumble echoed through the chamber. Suddenly, mannequins flashed to life around her, each holding a Mustang – slimmer and shorter than the ones Cyrus had seen before. Their eyes glowed an eerie golden hue as they moved in unison, stepping to Leora's side.

"Time to show what you've got," Leora declared, clasping her fingers together with a resounding snap.

The mannequins pulsated with energy, their Mustangs rising in perfect synchronization. Powerful blasts flashed through the void, hurtling towards Cyrus with deadly precision.

Cyrus trembled but, fortunately already accustomed to Leora's harsh methods, managed to slide to the side just in time. The spot where he had been standing mere seconds ago shattered upon impact, leaving a smoking crater in the floor.

"Concentrate on your objective," Leora's voice rang out amidst the chaos of the exchange. "Disregard all distractions. Envision your spell clearly and allow the magic to flow."

"Easy for you to say," Cyrus muttered under his breath. The mannequins moved with swift, coordinated precision, unleashing a series of devastating shots. Cyrus found himself constantly on the move, evading the powerful blasts while attempting to retaliate with his own shots. His aim was poor, and he gritted his teeth in frustration as another blast grazed past his shoulder, drawing blood.

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Seeking refuge behind a wall, Cyrus tried to catch his breath. Blood trickled down his arm, and his chest heaved with exertion. He knew perfectly well that in a direct confrontation, he had no chance of winning. The gears of his mind sprang into action as he searched for a strategy.

It's just like the game, he thought, trying to draw on his virtual experiences for inspiration.

His cover was blasted once more, a dense cloud of smoke temporarily shielding his vision. Seizing the opportunity, Cyrus stepped to the side and aimed. The Mustang roared to life in his hands, a dazzling arc of energy whistling out. To his surprise and delight, it struck one of the mannequins squarely in the shoulder.

"Damn," he cursed, jumping out of cover as another blast threatened to obliterate his hiding spot. He quickly realized that aiming in real life was vastly different from aiming in a game. The recoil was much stronger, and the stakes infinitely higher. Before he could adjust, another blast caught him, sending his body flying through the air before crashing violently on the unforgiving ground.

Dazed and in pain, Cyrus crawled backward in a desperate attempt to find new cover. Sweat trickled down his face as he heard the approaching steps of a mannequin. His retreat came to a brutal halt as he felt something wrap around his leg. Shooting a glance backward, his heart skipped a beat – his leg was chained by a golden rope extending from the mannequin's free hand.

The automaton lifted its Mustang, which bloomed with energy. Ripples of power slid through the muzzle as it charged up for a devastating shot. Cyrus's mind raced, knowing he had mere seconds to act.

"Five seconds, that's all I have," he muttered, his breathing turning erratic. His heart pounded in his chest as the fear of losing his life consumed him. The mannequin's Mustang seemed to have suddenly grown massive in his perspective, its muzzle a gaping maw of destruction pointed directly at him.

"Visualize, Cyrus, focus," he cried out to himself, desperately trying to recall Leora's instructions. With trembling hands raised, he shouted, "Levitate!"

A deafening sound echoed through the chamber as the mannequin's blast molded a crater next to Cyrus. To his astonishment, he saw the mannequin now suspended in a magical blue sphere. It coursed with energy ripples, sealing the space around the automaton.

"I did it!" Cyrus cried out in triumph, but his celebration was cut short by another explosion. He instinctively shielded his face, only to realize that the levitating mannequin was now destroyed. The second mannequin had aimed at Cyrus, but the suspended one had inadvertently taken the shot. Cold sweat trickled down Cyrus's back as he marveled at the precision of the attack. A perfect hit that had nearly claimed his life.

"Excellent," Leora's voice rang out, her energy palpably increasing.

Cyrus's ears perked up at the unexpected praise. Was that a compliment from her? He couldn't help but smile proudly. Why was a compliment from her so special? He couldn't say for certain, but coming from Leora, it was definitely worth the excruciating pain in his shoulder.

The remaining mannequin leaked with a golden hue, its movements becoming even more fluid and deadly. It dashed forward with inhuman speed, forcing Cyrus to move swiftly. He jumped onto one of the balconies, narrowly avoiding a blast that shattered the void behind him. Diving down, he barely evaded another hit as the mannequin maneuvered through the area with terrifying agility.

The automaton leaned and bolted through the air, landing on the balcony where Cyrus had sought refuge. Its golden rope flashed out once more, capturing Cyrus and pulling him back. The Mustang in its hand lifted in a swift motion, charged with energy and ready to blow Cyrus's head clean off.

As he was pulled back, Cyrus's mind ticked furiously. He tried desperately to cast another spell, but found himself unable to focus. In desperation, he unloaded several blasts at the mannequin, but his poor aim and weak power proved ineffective against the relentless automaton.

Just as the mannequin's Mustang prepared to deliver the final blow, Cyrus had an idea. He aimed his own weapon at the ground beneath them, unleashing a blast that caused the balcony to tremble and crack. The structure shattered, sending both Cyrus and the mannequin plummeting from the height.

As they fell, Cyrus gripped the golden rope, pulling the mannequin towards him and reversing their positions. He had been charging his Mustang for the past five seconds, and now, with the disoriented mannequin mere inches from him, he unleashed the accumulated power.

The dazzling arc flashed out, and the mannequin's head exploded into pieces with a sickening, breaking sound. Cyrus crashed to the ground, the force of the impact and the recoil from his weapon throwing his arm back violently. His body followed, smashing against the hard floor with bone-jarring force.

Eyes wide with shock and pain, Cyrus instinctively reached for his right arm, only to find it dangling lifelessly at his side. A scream of agony tore from his throat as the full extent of his injury became apparent.