The shot thundered through the training ground like a detonated charge. The weapon kicked back savagely, far beyond anything Jiang Ning had felt before. It wasn't the sharp snap of a rifle or the familiar shove of recoil, this was a full-bodied impact, a violent transfer of force that tore through his arms and shoulders in a single brutal instant.
His feet skidded across the packed earth. His stance shattered. For a fraction of a second, his balance was gone.
The muzzle jerked skyward. The shot went wider than he intended.
Jiang didn't curse. He didn't tense. His breath didn't even hitch.
He let the force carry him.
The recoil twisted his body sideways, but instead of fighting it, he followed the motion, rolling his shoulder, shifting his grip, letting momentum drag the weapon into a new line. His boots dug in hard as his heels bit the ground.
Before the first bullet had finished ricocheting off the metal frame Anthony had been using as a weight rack, Jiang fired again.
