Chapter 4: Size Matters
Fotham led them to the armory complex beside the training yards. Cole paused at the weapon racks. The rifles shared that Lee Enfield profile, but the builds were closer to anti-materiel weapons – the kinds normally reserved for taking out light vehicles. And these weren’t specialized loadouts. Every rack held the same heavy configuration, as if a weapon on the scale of a Barrett .50 cal was nothing but standard issue. Just how much punishment could demons take?
“Those shall come in due course,” Fotham said. “Though, I dare say we ought first attend to the matter of keeping your bones intact when firing one.”
Cole smirked. “Yeah, good idea.”
Past the ranks of weapons and armor in the main hall, an adjoining chamber opened up. Simple training equipment lined the walls – racks of weighted spheres and bars marked with numbered bands. Even in another world, pumping iron was still pumping iron.
Fotham pulled down three iron spheres. “Here. Take the measure of its weight first, without trying any magic.”
Cole grabbed the handle of one, compensating against the familiar heft – 60 pounds, based on the inscription on it. Exactly 60 pounds, oddly enough.
Before he could even begin to wonder what that implied, the Celdornian grabbed another, which had to mass at least twice as much.
Where a normal guy of his stature would’ve likely snapped a muscle just trying to pick it up, Fotham raised it over his head as easily as one would lift up a phone. Anyone who’d done enough weight training could spot the wrongness immediately. He lacked bracing, muscle tension – hell, there was basically no adjustment for the shifting center of mass at all!
The man’s body simply refused to acknowledge what that weight should be doing to it.