Twenty-nine days after the imperial ambassador’s murder.

Razan station, Bellos system, 5:43pm.

The alarm blared in the corridors of the station. Rotating red lights painted the steel walls and floors in their hue, briefly concealing the blood that had sprayed from injuries, or which pooled beneath corpses. From the brief glances he had cast on the bodies, Devan had mostly found signs of melee struggle: twisted joints and necks, slashes of knives, and heavy impacts.

“You have the Gift,” Raid said. Devan didn’t answer. “I see no Stone, so, an Awakened?” Again, Devan remained quiet. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Just glad you were there. Anyway, about those guys. Nothing on them,” he said. “The equipment is military grade, but I’m sure the serial numbers had been filed off. Your bet on pirates?”

“Pirates don’t do this sort of thing as far as I know,” Devan said, taking a turn at a junction. The map of the station he had previously drawn in his head was clear, showing the fastest way to the hangars. “And while I admit the black market’s resourceful, the equipment looked too new.”

“Well, I agree this isn’t exactly their style,” Raid said. “They may plunder and kill, but not like this. These people…” He paused. “They just wanted destruction. But Razan station has no value in being destroyed.”

“Then it’s someone on board. Most of the people coming through here are lower to middle class, so, not them. With the timing… the highborn who’s travelling with us?”

“Oh, now that’s a stretch.” Raid slammed the elevator button, the sliding doors parting to let them through, then closing as he hit the number of their hangar bay. “No one could have known where we were going.”

“No.” The number on display slowly approached their floor. “They wouldn’t know how we got here, but if they knew the destination…” Devan’s voice trailed off as the doors opened. His eyes widened in shock. The walls and floor of the corridor were drenched in blood. Dismembered corpses lay strewn across metal tiles. And at the centre stood a black figure.

Blood rushed to his head. The rhythmic thump building to a crescendo muted the sounds of the surroundings. His vision narrowed on the humanoid shape in front of them – the augment.

“Anulith almighty…” Raid whispered.

Devan dashed ahead of him. “Just shoot!” he shouted, then focused solely on the enemy, catching only a glimpse of the expression of shock on Raid’s face.

The augment in front swung its obsidian arm at him, cutting through the air with inhuman speed.

Devan slipped under the deadly blow. He kicked at the backside of the augment’s knee joint and took out the black dagger. Though the augment’s hardness offset most of his strike, it stumbled slightly, an opening he seized by slashing at the back of its neck – one of its few vulnerable points.

Flesh and circuitry flew in the air, but it had only been a shallow cut. The augment turned towards him, ready to lunge at him, when a bullet from behind hit it squarely in the wound he had made.

It howled, making Devan squint from the pain. Then, it jumped into the air and slashed the lights, sending fragments of glass everywhere: the corridor, at Devan, and at Raid, plunging them into darkness.

Devan thrust his arm up to shield his eyes, the jagged edges of glass prickling his skin even through the coat. Who will it go for? Two loud clangs sounded – the augment had landed. Raid, the feeling in his gut said. Still in the augment’s obstruction zone, he jumped back, then raised his other hand, calling upon the Gift. He twisted the metal encasing the corridor like a camera shutter, creating a barrier with just enough space for Raid to shoot through, without allowing the augment passage.

Sparks flew, and terrible screeches echoed throughout the deck as metal scratched metal.

It will only last a dozen seconds, the thought echoed in his head with every screech. Gathering the Gift in his eyes, the darkness shifted, replaced by outlines that clearly showed the augment hanging onto the barrier and clawing at it. Devan dashed towards it, dagger in hand, and aiming at the twice-struck wound at the back of its neck. Four steps away, he jumped to reach it.

The augment turned as if it had expected this and lunged at him.

They fell onto the floor, a spike of adrenaline sending Devan’s body into overdrive. The power of the Gift rushed to his arms as he kept the augment at bay.

With a start, he realised he had almost crossed the threshold of what a regular adept could do. He couldn’t have anyone in the Empire knowing he was a Hand. You could kill the old man, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. You endanger yourself for a stranger. With a grunt of exertion, Devan lowered the power pouring into his arms, erasing the voice from his thoughts. Danger or not, he had principles.

A shaft of light came from the hole in the barrier he had made for Raid, illuminating most of the corridor. The augment jerked forwards at the same time as gunfire sounded. Another shot. Another.

The augment’s arms lost their vigour, its glowing eyes burning with a deep hatred. It growled and there was a click. The lower part of its human-like face split along the middle. The synthetic flesh wriggled away to reveal a set of sharp teeth. The augment snapped its head downwards in an attack.

Devan threw his head to the side, narrowly avoiding the crushing bite. Come on!

The raps of bullets were unceasing, and just as the augment readied itself for another attack a spasm caught its movements. All its joints jerked in various directions before finding balance again. A sign of its body failing. Devan pushed harder against it, now finally gaining ground. Almost there!

As Raid emptied the last few rounds of his magazine, the augment stopped moving.

Devan heaved it off him, letting it fall onto the floor on its front. Still sitting, he looked up at Raid, studying his face. Luckily, there was only concern.

Raid skipped over the remains of the wrecked metal barrier, then ran up to Devan. “Void take me, are you alright?” he said, offering a hand. How is he not frightened?

“I’ll live.” Panting, Devan let Raid pull him up. “We need to hurry. If these things are here, then whoever orchestrated this is not messing around. They have no plans for failure.”

Raid pulled out the spent magazine from his pistol and took out a new one. He cast a glance at the bodies on the floor, shutting his eyes tightly. Then, he inserted the new magazine and with the ensuing clink, he opened his eyes.

The action prompted Devan to look as well. He’d avoided doing so before, but after seeing it a second time, he couldn’t just leave it be. He approached the corpses. No one could revive the dead, but he could at least offer them some peace. He knelt beside one, and whispered, “To ash.”

Blood dried and rose in puffs of crimson smoke. A soft, fiery light glowed at the ends of clothes and skin. The bodies began to flake off wherever the light passed, the grey wisps floating upwards and vanishing moments later, leaving no trace of the horror that had happened.

“May the flame light your path,” Devan recited.

Raid placed his hand on Devan’s shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said. “I’m going to shoot whoever did this a new one.”

Despite the damage done to the station, the power generator had apparently remained undamaged, seeing that the lights and automatic doors still functioned. The two encountered no further resistance on the way to the hangar, only more bodies. The enemy must have thought the augment would be enough.

The doors separating them from the hangar deck stood ajar, the sliding mechanism broken from forceful impacts. A good thing. There would be less noise now. Going through the doors, they stepped onto an empty walkway, save for a damaged cleaning droid, that led to one of the platforms on the third level. From here they had a good overview of the hangar deck.

Torn wires hung from the ceiling and walls where the metal had been ripped off, firing sparks of electricity in irregular patterns. Most of the platforms that had been connected to the ships had been completely blown up, leaving debris both inside and outside the station. Devan’s gaze darted towards where the ghostship was docked. It was still intact. The destruction hadn’t spread far enough to reach it, but the same couldn’t be said about the people. No matter how terrible the scene at the corridor had been, it couldn’t top the carnage present in the hangar bay.

Going over to the edge in a crouch and peeking over the railing, Devan saw a platoon of soldiers clad in the same black armour he had seen before, as well as adepts and augments, all waiting on their commander’s orders.

“Four augments?” Raid said incredulously. “For Razan station?”

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“For someone on board Razan station,” Devan said, blinking against the bite of burnt wiring. There was no way he could beat such forces without revealing everything, and that would leave a trace the Empire would surely find. What he needed was to divide their forces.

Looking behind the group, he saw the octagonal opening of one of the docking bays where a ship was stationed. The large mechanical arms were currently inactive. Now, how to get to those?

A soft whir to his left reminded him of a surviving cleaning droid. He smiled. “Raid,” he whispered, then took out his phone. “Link up with mine and then go down and get me a better look.”

“Since when were you in charge?”

“Since I beat the augment.”

“Can’t argue with that logic.” Raid took out his own phone and began connecting them. “You have a plan that involves more than just one more set of eyes? My gun won’t do jack against that kind of force.”

“As big a distraction as you can manage, and if you can kill one or two of them that’d be perfect.”

The man nodded and disappeared through the doors, his steps barely making any noise.

Devan looked back at the cleaning droid. The Kingdom often used these as safe spots for their spy droids to hide in. They could store only a relatively small amount of data inside their memory banks, but their real use came from being able to quickly hack into almost any system. He only needed to find if one had survived.

With a deep breath, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, a golden glow rested inside. Using the damaged droid as a basis, he let the power guide him. Hazy images seemed to leap out of a fog, flashes of corridors and rooms where the trail led. Some disappeared quickly, when it was something that had happened days ago; others stuck, those that led to his goal.

There it is. One level below. Stuck behind a pile of fallen crates in one of the narrower corridors was a cleaning droid, and within it Devan’s target. Once the vision ended, he tiptoed to the door.

It took him a few minutes to reach his destination.

Shoving aside the metal creates piled in front of a heavy metal door, Devan found the battered cleaning droid. He tore off the outer chassis and looked inside. The spy droid – a small machine, no larger than his fist – was nestled between some of the main components.

He turned back to the door. It was used to section off parts of the station in case of a fire or radiation leak – or terrorists. Since no others had been activated, the control deck must have been hit too. This was a manual override.

Two gunshots thumped, the muffled noise coming from the ventilation shaft. Was it Raid? He listened for a moment more, but no other sound came. Raid must have handled it.

“Bale, do you copy?” Raid’s voice came through the comm.

“I copy. What’s the situation?” Devan asked, his focus on unlocking the hidden features inside his phone.

“I found hostages on the main deck. You were right, they are searching for the lass. I’ll send you the video feed, you should be able to—by the Ascendants! That lass just walked through the door.”

A holographic screen popped up above Devan’s phone just as he finished connecting it to the droid. A progress bar popped up just below the feed, an upload of new protocols. Audio came a few moments later.

“—have here? A welcoming committee?” the woman asked, spreading her arms. “I’d say you’re missing the red carpet,” – she glanced disgustedly at the scene around her – “but you outdid yourselves on the improvisation. You should’ve added yourselves to the mix.”

“Ma’am, get behind me,” her guard said. He was bleeding from his arm and head, barely able to hold his pistol upright.

The upload finished then. Devan dashed towards the door leading to the hangar deck. He needed a good vantage point for the fight, and potential allies dying was not part of his plans.

“And you will do what?” She pulled out a small pistol that had been hidden in her cardigan and stepped in front of the guard. “If you’ve not realised, they need me. I’m the best shield you’ve got.” She looked at the commander. “After all, I’m a weak and fragile woman, who’ll bleed out and die from a single scratch.”

Devan spared a glance at her. What she was doing was stupid, but unlike many of her kind, she at least cared enough to do it. He respected that.

The enemy commander, a tall man with cropped black hair, chuckled, sneering at her courage or ignorance, or both. “Four augments and you—” A bullet from her pistol shattered upon striking the translucent, white barrier surrounding the man. “Kinetic shield, mark IV.” The man’s lips curled in a taunting grin. “Straight off the assembly line in Ganor. Good luck.”

Devan clicked his tongue. So, guns are useless.

Arriving at the top of the stairs where the balcony concealed him well enough, he peered over the edge, then with a pulse of the Gift warped the droid over to the control panel of the docking bay. Only a few seconds and he’d have full control over the mechanical arms.

“You truly are a unique specimen, Sayleen Mannock,” the commander said. Devan froze. “You’ll be coming with me.”

Sayleen Mannock. The daughter of Kentor Mannock, the imperial ambassador. A person Devan might desperately need if he was to uncover what had truly happened. This changes things.

“Get them,” the commander barked.

One of the augments started towards the woman and her guards not waiting for the others.

Rash. An inexperienced one. With this much distance, an augment was no longer the hunter but the prey when its opponent used the environment to attack them. Their ability only worked on the Gift after all. Objects and phenomena were unaffected.

Gunshots sounded straight away, sparks flying off the augment’s body where the bullets hit. Several blades of force materialised in front of the augment, but their trajectory shifted, and their power waned until they disappeared halfway through the obstruction zone.

Channelling the Gift, the view in front of Devan shimmered. Focusing on the ground, the number of images faded, and the metal there appeared in his mind. The tiles, the pipes, the railing… he twisted everything, making it swirl as it coalesced into the shape he wanted. The first spike shot out from the augment’s left.

The loud screech alerted it, but the augment didn’t avert its eyes. It twisted its body, avoiding the attack. Mid-movement, it balanced on one leg, the other reaching for steady ground.

Then, the second spike came. Unable to shift its trajectory, the augment could only watch as the attack connected, slamming into its side and hurling it backwards.

Still feeling the metal, Devan clenched his fist. A wall formed in the augment’s path, outside its obstruction zone. Tiles tore off the floor and ceiling. He flung them toward the augment just as it slammed into the wall. Layer upon layer they piled atop it until they formed a mound.

Before the augment could dig its way out, Devan changed the flows of power. The Gift wound around his outstretched arm, travelling along his forearm to his hand and then out. Blue energy briefly crackled in the air before it turned into a bright flame – a beam of white-hot fire that rammed into the mound of metal. Fire and shimmering hot air billowed over the surface of the mound, the grey turning red, then yellow – each layer melting into the one below, becoming one whole.

“Up ahead!” one of the adepts yelled, but Devan paid him no mind. With a few clicks on his phone, the mechanical arms from inside the docking bay came out, running on combat protocols with the enemy as their targets.

Changing the flows once more, he cooled the air around the mound, then dashed it at the white-yellow surface. The cold wind drove away the heat, turning the soft metal into a rough grey shape. It wouldn’t hold long, but it would buy some time. One down.

The energy of the Gift began to gather around the balcony. Sensing the attack, Devan warped behind the first cover that he could spot – one of the pillars on the main deck. As he landed, the place he had been crouching at a second ago went up in flames.

The same enemy adept who had attacked him, a man with a shaved head, prepared for another attack. Then two bullets accurately pierced the heads of nearby soldiers, forcing him to go on the defensive. The other adept was busy holding off the trashing mechanical arms.

Shouts came from the right side of the main hangar deck where Raid and the people he had rescued began firing at the enemy. A translucent shield flickered in front of them; weak, but strong enough to repel the enemy’s bullets. It was incredible luck that there was even one adept among those twenty-to-thirty people.

The remaining augments were closing in on Mannock’s daughter, despite her guard’s attempts to slow them down. The man was good, already employing the same tactics Devan had used, but he lacked experience.

It’s good that there are only three now. Three was as much as Devan could handle without using his ability.

The tar-like energy that surrounded the augments and obstructed the Gift rippled as he sank his power inside. Tiny needles pierced through the thickness, diving in branching paths of least resistance. Small currents of electricity crackled in the obstruction zones, the air distorting in their wake. When the needles reached the augments, Devan poured more of the Gift into the paths the needles had made and expanded them. Power bloomed, and everything stopped – the energies that had penetrated and destroyed the obstruction now coiled around the augments, trapping them.

“Now!” he shouted, and Wicker swung his arm, unleashing a thin arc of blue flame that sliced them in half.

The enemy commander stepped back, his hands jerking back and forth, unsure whether a weapon would have any use now.

Then, just as Devan focused the Gift into blades of force, the augment that had been trapped in metal broke free and launched an attack.

His focus shifted and the attack he had conjured ripped through the augment’s chassis, scattering its parts across the floor. A single obstruction zone couldn’t handle the amount of the Gift he was currently channelling.

“Don’t move,” said the commander. He swallowed hard as he held the object in his raised hand in plain sight. His commlink. “Now, play nice and—ah—ah—ah, watch the hands. This link breaks, my team fires at the station's Furnace core and we blow to atoms. My vitals go down – same result.” He licked his lips, his finger nervously dancing on the call button.

The words ‘Furnace core’ caused a lull in the fighting.

The man’s gaze darted between Mannock’s daughter, her guard, and Devan. “She comes with me,” he said. “The rest stay here, and nothing else needs to happen.”

Devan couldn't allow her to fall into their hands. More so because they'd likely still kill everyone afterwards, just after they got her off-station.

If he tried using the Gift on the commander…no, killing him was out of the question. He couldn’t risk knocking the man out because he had no idea what signals were being sent, and he didn’t know much about mind manipulation to force him to cooperate. There would be a chance if he could warp the men in the Furnace core room somewhere else, but there was no way of pinpointing where they were. Not fast enough anyway. Devan gritted his teeth. It has to be the whole room, he thought, but doing so required more power than he could safely handle.

He glanced towards Mannock’s daughter, then at Raid. His hands closed into fists. How pathetic of me, he thought, scoffing. This was not the time for hesitation.

His eyes turned a fiery golden. A deluge of the Gift’s power churned inside him; filling him; flooding. Images flickered into view for the briefest instant. It was frightening and thrilling to channel even a little of the Gift, and incomparably so when he channelled as much as now. Fright for knowing that the torrent could overwhelm him, smother who he was, leaving something that would never be him again, and that he would gladly accept it, for the Gift sang its alluring tune that inflamed the thrill of it all until he might just surrender to it.

The flows of power bent to his will: twisting, intertwining, and unravelling to shape the spell. Usually, he kept them contained to a small area inside his body and moved them about to minimise the damage. Not now. He let the power suffuse him entirely.

“Brace yourselves,” he said through gritted teeth. Then, he unleashed it.

“Sho—!” the commander began screaming.

Everything turned white.