Prompt:
The contest draws to a close. All the characters who are through to the final get ready to attend the glamorous after party where the winner will be announced before it's shown on tv the next evening. It's located in the basement of the theatre. Bright lights illuminate the dark and vast space, a DJ plays heavy beats from a booth close to the bar where others are drinking heavily. Your character dances with one of the celebrities at the event (feel free to add celeb). They down another drink. The lights go dark. Several loud gun shots shave the basement walls. How does your character escape? Only one will survive!

* * * * *

The celebration wasn't as bad as Meixong thought it would be. A large room filled with people, drunk patrons began getting rowdy. Strange music boomed across the floor, and yet they still found a quiet corner.

They took another sip of their drink, bitter and warm as it traveled down to their stomach. They had no clue what it was, the name of the drink failing to come to mind when they told the bartender to give them a common favorite. Deep amber liquid swirled within the glass, a large ice cube sat weighed it down, and orange peel garnished it. They could understand why many would favor the drink, even if it was a little too robust for their taste.

Another group of people passed nearby, some being fellow contestants who called Meixong to join them at the bar, something Meixong politely declined with a wave. They all had spent several weeks together, so the others didn't push it, knowing Meixong preferred less crowded spaces. Besides, Meixong had already established their seat, having long since draped their tie across the back of their chair with their deep green suit coat. They had already unclasped their top two shirt buttons and rolled up their sleeves.

But that peace shattered when something cracked above them, followed by countless more.

Buzzed or not, they ducked below the table, their mind operating on autopilot as they cast a barrier in front of them as well as several more around the room. War taught them to find cover in the face of an unknown situation, and they could only hope others figured out the same. Screams of pain and terror faded into the background as Meixong focused on the uninvited and violent guests, each holding a weapon.

"Alright!" a deep, raspy voice boomed. "If you fuckers want to live, we'll just take who we need and be on our way. Nobody moves a muscle, or everyone will coat this floor red!"

The speaker's eyes scanned the room. He was larger than the others, rough-skinned and head shaved as he held what Meixong could only describe as a pipe with two hand holds, a large fin that rested in front of his shoulder, and something a little longer than the hand holds at the back. As much as they wanted to know what they were looking at, something told them they didn't want to know what it did.

The man continued. "Now, which one of you is Hark Meixong?"

Ah. Meixong reached above the table where their drink still sat, downing the spirit in one go. If it's me they want, who am I to deny them?

A deep indigo lit up the room as barriers erupted around the gang. Before any could react, the barrier collapsed inward, throwing all within the area to the ground.

You're being too reckless, Ei. A painfully familiar voice echoed in their consciousness, but they were already moving, ignoring the shock of a broken barrier cracking through their circuits. By the time the gang's leader had recovered, Meixong was already halfway across the room.

"What the—" The gang leader fumbled with his gun, shooting off a line of bullets only for them to either miss or bounce off Meixong.

Meixong nearly faltered at the shock of the projectiles. Being a Dwarn—a base magic specifically suited for barriers—found their own magic restricting since they first developed it. Through skill and sheer will, however, they forced their barriers to bend, sometimes using it as armor when enchantments no longer protect them. But as another projectile bounced off their armor barrier, they felt its strength fading quicker than they expected.

A niggling doubt plagued the back of their mind. They had charged head-first into an unknown situation, and they were about to pay the price.

The gang leader swung at Meixong when they got too close to shoot, but they were quicker. Years of experience allowed Meixong to move freely, dodging sloppy swings before grabbing his neck. They had always wondered what unrestrained power would do against flesh. Their answer was blood splattering across their white shirt and a body falling wetly.

The second of silence rang in their ears, and an odd dread shot to their chest at what they did. But this was no time to introspect their humanity—they did enough of that in private. A dome barrier surrounded them as the lackeys—eight now remained—regained their senses, and another barrage of projectiles pelted the barrier. It held stronger than the armor, but the clock still ticked quicker than expected.

Safe within the barrier for at least the next minute, Meixong evaluated the weapons each lackey was holding. Two weapons looked the same as the one their leader had—a long barrel that shot rapidly—while the rest held smaller versions with only one handhold. Those only shot once every time their finger touched a lever.

The long barrels must go down first. Meixong focused their attention on one long barrel, its user screaming as he continued shooting projectile after projectile into the barrier, causing thin spiderweb cracks to form.

They tried the first thing they could think of, a basic expulsion incantation. All mages learned some variation of the spell, but it was only after years of continued practice it could become fatally effective. Meixong was not one of these people, but that didn't make the spell any less harmful.

What they didn't expect was the long barrel exploding on contact, blowing back the lackey with it. Many questions ran through Meixong's mind. Why did that happen? Does the weapon function on heat? Did it overload? Is he dead? Experience brought them back to the moment as their barrier continued to break, and they did the same to the last long barrel.

One by one, they picked the lackeys off, always targeting the weapon. Because it was such a simple spell, they could cast it with deadly precision, an indigo light connecting at the speed of light before it ignited. With the smaller barrels, not all fell unconscious or dead to the explosion, but at least the weapon became unusable.

Meixong failed to notice the red dot tracking them until their barrier shattered, and a sharp, ripping pain flared through their side. A shout left their mouth as another barrier formed, but that shattered too as another projectile from somewhere above barely missed their arm.

They rolled to the side, their side screaming at them as they scrolled through their repertoire. A vague memory emerged. It was a conversation she had with one of their late partner's students. She mentioned using smoke as cover and a flight mask to breathe. They didn't have a flight mask with them, but they knew the incantation used when flying through a thinning atmosphere.

With no time to second guess themself, Meixong cast the mentioned spell, relief washing over them as the area filled with thick smoke. They erected another barrier around the area, and they adjusted the flight spell to their current need. Hacking and coughing sounded around them with panic soon to follow.

Adrenaline fading, a throb of pain reminded them of their current situation. The projectile seemed to have the same effect as a typical arrow did, but it was smaller and lodged completely inside. They could've sworn they felt it shift every time they moved.

They grit their teeth as they pressed their hand to the wound, both manually stemming the bleeding and trying to remember what sparse healing spells they knew. Shots still pierced the smoke, the lackey somewhere above knowing they were there somewhere. A cry to their right rang out after a shot, signaling the shooter shot their own, and that was when another idea popped into their head.

Not only was their strength fading but also their magic reservoir. Any incantation cast would be weak. But what if it didn't have to be solid? They were a master of illusions, after all, and those spells cost less than most.

Meixong sat in silence, praying to the gods the lackey got a lucky shot as they mapped out where the rest were. One kept running near the edges, gasping for air, while the second moaned in pain. Seven, including the leader, fell previously, which lined up with their initial count of nine. Judging by how the second's noise was already reduced to whimpers and labored breathing, they only need to worry about the runner. They waited a few more seconds, confirming their location, before forming their likeness in the smoke nearby.

Multiple shots rang out, and the last lackey cried out in pain, the sound of someone collapsing soon after. This was it. The only one left was the one above. Another shot landed too close, but because of the smoke, they saw the angle where the projectile came from.

You're right, Huayun. I am reckless. With a burst of magic, Meixong dispersed the smoke, casting one of the strongest barriers they knew above them.

Red glinted in their eyes, and indigo shot back.