The poor lighting within the kitchen, in addition to the smoke screen, prevented Gen from seeing farther than three meters from herself. She knelt and swapped her weapon hands, moving her True Stiletto R to her left and her pistol to the right. Aura covered her ears and enhanced her hearing as she closed her eyes and listened: dripping water, rickety fan, buzzing electricity, faint breathing.

Three people—all lying on the floor.

Teeth clenched, Gen slunk towards the closest person. It was a woman whose body slumped against the door to the dry storage room. Locks of hair, which had fallen from her ponytail, matted her bloodied face; and numerous glass shards had torn her blue IT uniform and pencil skirt. Her shoulder bled profusely—a bullet wound. Her shallow breathing forewarned of her closely approaching death.

The woman had likely fled to the kitchen after the Starblood Sealers invaded. Someone had then shot her but left her with a chance to live. She would survive only if she reached a healing pod.

Mind... Gen gnawed her bottom lip and prayed to the stars that Mind faced a more hopeful situation. She stepped over the woman’s legs. Her eyes dampened, and it wasn’t from the smoke.

The second person—a man wearing a similar IT uniform—crawled aimlessly. His broken dragged against the checkered flooring and smeared it with blood. Possibly hearing Gen’s footsteps or breath, he flung his arm and shoulder and rolled onto his back. His blue eyes, standing apart from his brown mustache and beard, remained unfocused while he gazed at Gen in fear. He struggled away from her.

“I’m here to help,” Gen whispered and touched his arm. He flinched. She asked, “What happened? Have you seen a man wearing a three-quarter mask?”

The man spat; then, grabbing a frying pan, he swung it at her head. Gen blocked it with her elbow and a miniature barrier of aura. It flung from the man’s hand and clanged into a broken cabinet. Gen pinned his arm with her foot and his other one with True Stiletto’s heel. His broken legs flailed but exerted no strength. Wails escaped his mouth, ringing throughout the kitchen.

No one came. Where were the Starblood Sealers? The question flew swiftly, leaving just as quickly as it had come. Mind was more important.

Gen stuffed the handgun into her cleavage, turned on her wrist watch’s light, then carefully placed her fingers over the man’s right eyelid. She gently pried it wide so that she could see the pupil and iris in whole. The man squirmed, almost causing her to poke his eye.

“Stay still,” she growled. A blue mist swirled within his cornea, clouding his vision; his eyes were hazel, not blue. Aura. Someone had bewitched him, but Gen wasn’t privy of the details of this specific aura break.

Her hand pulsed as her aura undulated like the rippling of water touched by wind. The mist within the man’s eyes cleared, and his limbs fell slack as he lost consciousness.

Just great, Gen grumbled and hurried towards the third and final person. Her breath tightened in her chest; if it wasn’t Mind... She shook her head, not wanting to think about it.

Click.

She ducked, crouching close to the ground. A quick scan ensured no flashing lights and utilities revealed her figure through the smoke.

Two people entered the far side of the kitchen, opposite both her and the third person. She slid her bare feet across the flooring, avoiding pots and pans and plastic containers, and clutching her gun’s handle with sweaty fingers. As she continued forward, the amount of scattered items increased, and she felt an odd sense of foreboding.

The two people whispered, their voices deep—most likely men. Gen condensed her aura, further amplifying both her hearing and the incoming sound waves.

“Why are we doing this?” asked a man.

No response. A shrug, maybe?

The man said, “I really don’t get it.”

“Just follow orders.”

He groaned, “Everyone else received a command for retreat.”

“We’ll leave soon.”

Crash! Silverware fell to the floor, followed by something much larger and an echoing thud. Gen winced. The amplified sound stabbed into her ears; she stretched her jaw, popping them.

“Careful!” said the partner.

“Sorry, sorry”—a clink of some kind—“Are they leaving us here to die?”

His solemn partner made an exasperated groan.

“Like really,” said the talkative man, “this operation is a total failure.”

“Be quiet.”

“Think we’re a diversion?”

The men approached the dry storage room where the dying woman lay slumped against its door. Their footsteps paused for a moment then continued.

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The talkative man asked, “Why would they tell us to walk around the kitchen? Like, nobody’s here.”

“Shut up, already.”

“Hey, everybody knows I like to talk. I’m Mr. Chatterbox.”

“We’re on a mission,” his partner growled.

“And we’re gonna be dead soon. Too late to retreat. Oooohhhh, maybe they want me to talk.”

“What? Are you high?”

“Nah. I’m a distraction genius.”

“Don’t—”

Bang! Bang! Bang! The sound of gunshots.

“Argh!” Gen howled and dropped her weapons to cover her ears. Her eardrums had ruptured, and blood drained from them; the warm liquid touched her palms. As she dismissed her aura, she retraced her steps and dashed towards the wall beside the injured man and woman. She was unwilling to risk letting a stray bullet hit the person who may be her brother.

“Hey! Someone’s here,” said the talkative man—his words were muffled yet distinguishable. He fired his handgun, missing her by a long shot.

Gen clenched her teeth—hit my brother and I’ll toss you off a high-rise more than three hundred stories tall She fired her pistol to attract their attention then yelled, “Your aim is crap!”

The man fired another shot.

“Dudes, I’m here. Standing by the wall. Don’t you see the sparking burner? What about this target?” Gen lifted True Stiletto R, activating its blade and waving it through the air like a torch. Meanwhile, aura suffused from her body and melded into two layers—an outer and an inner sphere.

Bang! A bullet whistled towards her, and as it entered the outer sphere, her aura exerted soft pressure against her body and trailed the bullet’s flight path. The slug entered the inner sphere then veered, affected by the thickened aura.

Scrutinizing the conveyed trajectory, Gen calculated the location of the man then pulled her gun’s trigger. There was a thud and a grunt. Stupid bullet proof vest... She fired again and hit a translucent shield; a spark flashed within the smoke.

Consecutive shots echoed in rapid succession; the man’s partner was firing a submachine gun.

Adrenaline surged through Gen and pushed down her crippling anxiety for her brother. Her body loosened and relaxed—this was the life she dreamed of: flurries of bullets, men to rescue, rooms of enemies, smokescreens to hide within....

She released True Stiletto and covered her gun’s chamber with her palm. She filled it with aura, which latched itself onto the chambered cartridge. A smug smile hung on her lips.

Why would those two fellows—Umbra and Aether—believe she couldn’t handle herself? No one could match her when it came to aura techniques. She knew them so well that she questioned whether her pulsing force field was an aura break or just another trick.

Gen fired for a third time. The bullet, cloaked with her aura, flew towards the talkative man, and when it touched his shield, the aura melded itself into the barrier. It wedged open a small hole. The bullet passed through it and implanted itself into the man’s flesh—either the shoulder or the arm.

“Aura-breaker,” he said then ran. Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the room, interspersing his pained words: “Use plasma and get cover! He can pierce through shields.”

The barrage of bullets ceased. More footsteps.

Gen laughed, fully enjoying herself. “Ha! Plasma? Man, you think too lightly of me. Get magma.”

Aura surged from her body, and her aura field altered from two layers to three. As the inner two spheres thickened into heavily saturated zones, her aura reserves began draining; she could maintain her domain for at most fifteen minutes. Her third layer—using little aura—remained much like the previous outer sphere and allowed her to sense flight trajectories.

A plasma shot entered her aura field, and she adjusted her hand, aiming for its origin, which came from the chatter man’s partner. The 20 cc glob of plasma sizzled within the smoke then curved. As it brushed past Umbra’s jacket, she shot his plasma pistol.

Boom!

The partner crashed into a work table and screamed in pain, the table legs screeching against the floor. Jolts of electricity snaked through the smoke, and Gen surmised the exploded pistol had begun to condense and release droplets of plasma.

“Aaahhhh!” the man wailed. Then his voice faded—he had fallen unconscious.

“Die!” yelled the talkative man. He fired a plasma shot, which curved around her figure as she injected more aura into her gun chamber. She took aim and awaited the approach of the second shot.

Coldness flooded the room, causing her to frown. Why had Aether come now of all times? She dove to the side and dissolved her three-layered domain. The incoming shot brushed past her upper arm, numbing it and burning the sleeve of Umbra’s jacket. When she hit the ground, Gen released a vomit-inducing cry for help.

Was the yell necessary? Nope, but she might as well try acting like a damsel in distress. It irked her soul, so she comforted herself, saying she did it for her grand plot of vengeance. Princes couldn’t resist distressed damsels, right?

The clouds billowed and funneled towards Aether, being devoured by his figure’s orbiting ice shield. He stood at the center of the storm like a hero braving a galaxy’s aura maelstrom. Gen’s adrenaline bowed in ardor for his show of might—and maybe her heart did too, but she refused to admit it.

Aether faced the man. He didn’t need to say anything, and the attacker dropped his gun and surrendered.

How sexy. Gen blushed then chided herself to remember Mind. Her emotions flopped on themselves, taking a dive and causing her stomach to lurch and her lips to quiver. Her head, growing dizzy with anxiety, whipped around the room in search of Mind. There.

“Ascending!” She bolted towards her unconscious brother, ignoring the empress dowager and Umbra who had just entered the kitchen. Broken dishes sliced her feet as she stumbled closer to him. Her throat tightened, and genuine tears stained her cheeks.

The amount of shrapnel increased as she approached the far corner. Unlike elsewhere in the kitchen, there had been stacks of glass cups and porcelain plates and bowls, which shattered during the explosion. The shards haloed her brother like a choking grave of thorns—they choked her too.

Gen knelt beside him, ignoring the pain of glass digging into her knees. Her hands shook; the only comfort she had was that he still breathed.

Torn clothes covered his body, and blood pooled around him. He was wearing his r-shaped mask, which covered three-fourths of his face to prevent others from recognizing him as Mind Bender. Gen caressed his revealed cheek, fingers shaking.

Obstructed by fear, her mouth opened and closed, unable to say the words she wanted to yell: help him.

A hand touched her back. It was oddly warm despite being covered by a gauntlet, and its warmth wrapped her in a comfort that cleared both her throat and her worries. She gazed up at him. Aether.

“He’ll live,” he said. Something within his voice commanded her into believing him.