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asked.
    Jackson closed his eyes and ran his hand along the wall.
    “Again, there’s nothing specific. I think there’s something in the hanger. But it’s more because of the absence of something. There’s just a hole of nothing there, like someone is intentionally blocking things out.”
    Jason motioned for Marie to come forward.
    “Pass it along, we’ve got a clear run to the hanger, but Jackson thinks we’re walking into something. Everyone should be ready for a fight. All eyes.”
    Marie nodded her understanding and moved to the others to explain the situation.
    This time, Jason had Brandt wait until everyone moved into the hall and then had him seal the entrance behind them.
    “You realize you just cut off our only other escape route?” Katsuro asked.
    Jason shrugged.
    “I’m aware. But I’ve also lessened the chance of us getting caught in a crossfire. I’ll take my chances. Besides, between all of us, I’m pretty sure we can move that rock if we need to.”
    Brandt returned to the front of the formation. He drew two large stones from the walls, holding them in each hand, ready to send projectiles flying.
    Their auditory senses were assaulted with sounds of battle as soon as they entered the hanger.
    Not the white noise of the battlefield—a series of pops, bangs, groans, and screams—it was an assault on their ears. Sounds of explosions seemed to happen just behind them. They wheeled and spun, their minds using the input to tell them they were being attacked on all sides. When their eyes saw nothing, their mind’s confusion between the two signals—battle, nothing—resulted in a dizzying spin.
    Brandt pressed the stones against his ears. He willed them to crumble into small pebbles, filling and conforming to the shape of his inner ear, blocking out the sound. The excess he snapped off, intending they should fulfill their original mission.
    The others succumbed to the noise and fell. More than one puddle of vomit splashed on the ground.
    Where are you, you son of a bitch…There!
    Brandt let one of the stones fly, shattering it into hundreds of tiny splinters.
    They smashed into a nearby jet’s fuselage. Metal scraped against metal, sending sparks into the fuel line.
    A real explosion rocked the hanger, throwing their assailant against a far wall.
    Brandt looked to the others, who seemed to be regaining their senses. Just in case, he left in the stone ear plugs.
    The hanger walls were metal, but the floor was a poured concrete.
    A wave rose from the concrete, which Brandt rode, at a crushing pace toward their enemy.
    His gauntleted hand smashed into his opponent’s abdomen. Even if he wore armor, his fist would punch through it. He’d grab hold of the bastard’s spine and pull it out where his navel used to be.
    It should’ve happened. Not too long ago he’d put his fist through a Curse.
    Instead, the bastard rolled with the punch, wearing a smile.
    Brandt brought his left fist around, hoping to catch his opponent in the chin, but his fist flew through empty air, throwing his balance off. He took a couple of stumbling steps forward.
    Something slammed into him from the side, tossing him back ten feet.
    The enemy stretched his neck, moving his head side to side. Greasy, stringy, silver hair framed a skeletally thin face that studied him with gray, dead, eyes. His mouth opened wide, as though he was shouting at Brandt—who couldn’t hear anyway because of the literal rocks in his head.
    It was no ordinary shout. The wave slammed into Brandt. Trying to stay on his feet was like walking headfirst into a tornado.
    I will not fall.
    Brandt gnashed his teeth and leaned into the wave. He willed the concrete to raise, so he had something to grasp.
    As the second wave ceased, Brandt tore chunks out of the raised concrete and hurled them at his enemy who dodged each one. Though he didn’t dodge, he seemed to phase from one place to another, leaving ghostly trails of images of himself blending together in