"Fix your posture. The more you hunch over, the more you'll fail." Sylus’s voice sliced through the air like a scalpel dipped in sarcasm. You barely had time to flinch before he materialized behind you like some morally flexible ghost, fingers cool and sure as he adjusted the firearm in your grip.

"Even Mephisto can aim better than you. Try again." Sylus stepped back, face unreadable as usual, but you swore there was the faintest twitch of a smirk threatening to betray his stoicism.

You turned toward the target, mentally composing yourself. Which was hard to do with him looming like a very stylish gargoyle.

The gun felt better now—steadier. You exhaled, focused, and suddenly swiveled around, aimed at him, and pressed the trigger. This wasn't the first time you aimed at him... but you still did it out of curiosity, and because he was being slightly annoying off of principle.

Sylus made a soft noise. It might have been a scoff. Or a suppressed sigh of despair. He simply ran his hand over his chest, a dark cloud of black-red mist lingering around the wound and healing it within seconds.

"Kitten, I didn't tell you to aim at me. I said aim at the target." he sighed in disapproval.

"Unless you think I'm your target then... feel free to try again." He smirked. "And use the technique I taught you this time."