His face slapped the floor, the cold stinging his cheek more than the impact did. He whirled to chide the fire girl but his eyes fell on a gigantic crevice embedded on the wall. Cracks spread from the point of impact, as if someone with a smash ball for an arm got angry and threw a fit.

What about the fire girl? He whirled to find her. She staggered to her feet, her dark blonde spilling down her shoulders. A shadow fell over her, and with wide eyes, she met a boy with sparking fingers. Together, they vanished behind a wall of slashes and combat.

It left him behind, still cowering from whoever threw the enormous energy field. That was it. He was alone, and if he was supposed to survive this, he had to think on his feet. With his black book empty upon waking up, he couldn't ensure he had one of those powers he'd seen people use. His head was the only thing he had on his shoulders, and he ought to use it.

A distinct memory flashed in his mind. The same woman smiled at him, and when her lips moved, her words echoed in the vacant chambers of his brain. I'm proud of you, wherever you go. Why? Did that woman know where he was? Why wasn't she coming to get him, knowing how they were being treated inside this place?

Questions for another time. Right now, he needed to survive. Maybe eliminate some people along the way. Section M. Section M. Look at their jackets. It was a huge symbol. How hard could it be?

Black swirled with other colors in a chrome dance, each figure lost in their mini-world of combat and proving they could be the best in this arena. He ducked under a swinging blade, swerved away from extended claws, and dashed behind people with blunt attack forces. If someone were to attack his blind spot, those people would prove to be resilient shields.

The air sparked when two opposing forces clashed. Lights twinkled over the entire hall as if the sun and some clouds decided to visit. The smell of blood and smoke thickened to the point of tasting it. He threw an arm over his head, listening to the shouts billowing through the booms and blazes. Names—so many of them—zipped in the waves, complimented by the frequent urge to hurry. They bought time by using the flashiest ability to create distractions and hopefully hurt or kill someone along the way. Were they going elsewhere? Then, why wasn't Section M trying to find each other? Why weren't they finding him?

A flash of red and blue dashed towards him, and he dove behind one of the fallen tables to avoid a confrontation. He snuck a glance from the rim, past the jagged splinters of wood which once have been the table's leg. The red and blue team—Section B and T, if he read the symbol correctly—dashed into one of the doors lining the hall, disappearing into the darkness. Escaping?

The blatant ringing bleeding from the walls hadn't really faded either. It just kept blasting through, and only the shrill shrieks of defiance from everyone engaged in combat challenged it. A headache blossomed at the base of his neck, prompting him to massage it with a hand. Which then prompted him to see the sticky blood dripping from his fingers and into his sleeves. He dared not touch his face. It was probably worse there, relying on the feeling alone. That emotion boy's traces would take an eternity to scrub off.

He gritted his teeth and dropped behind the table again, steadying his breaths to no avail. Each explosion, each thud of body to the ground, each pained scream rippling through the air....they drove more and more dread up his throat, squeezing it until air was nothing but a fantasy. How was he supposed to survive in this place? Would that infernal blaring ever cease? What would happen if it happened again and again? Were they supposed to kill each other or engage in violence every time it rang?

The world plunged into silence when the one tone cut off. The red lights eased back into their bland counterparts, dousing the entire hall in harmless intensity. Rubble thunk against the stone floor. Murmurs formed a storm beyond his table. It was quiet. Suddenly.

"I know you're behind that table," a different feminine voice said. "Come out. We're from the same section."

He almost snorted but held it in. No need to be an asshole when these people could fry him with a touch. Was there someone with a blank book as him, someone who was as clueless? Doubtful. So, he eased from behind the table and dusted his pants. Blood mixed with the cement dust, but it'd have to do.

"He's the last member?" Another girl with flat black hair and limp, straight-cut bangs crossed her arms over her chest, staring at him with dark, narrow eyes. "Sure gave us hell trying to track him down."

"That's my fault," the fire girl called from the rubble she dug herself out of. Whoever dumped those chunks of the roof at her was a genius. Or a complete fool. Why from the ceiling? Why not from the walls? If they had the strength to rip stone off its neighbors, why not pull apart the fire girl? "I lost him when that force field guy miscalculated their aim."

His gaze wandered back to the erosion in the walls. That's quite a force field, then. What else was he supposed to discover in this place? What else was he supposed to never be surprised at?

"What do we do with these bodies?" another girl asked from the other side of the hall, nudging her boot against an arm sticking out from a tower of marble finishes. "If we are to make this our quarters, cadavers aren't for me. But it's totally alright if you're into those kinds of things."

He tamped down the bristle rising up his spine. Something about the girl's statement stuck a note. They weren't fighting to gather each other and flee. They fought...because they sought to keep this place as a fortress. Brilliant. They would have access to every black book those sections left, and if those contained secrets on what and how to use every ability, they would have a better chance at winning this whole thing.

Take stock of the situation first. The deaths. He had to be certain the only people in this hall were those who were alive and wore the same symbol as him. He edged towards the nearest body and prodded it with his bloody finger. Nothing but cold, as if the floor seeped into its skin. Dead.

The body fell down on its stomach, so he rolled it over to gain access to the pockets. There might be something there. A faint flash of blue blinked in his periphery. His eyes traveled to the wrist resting inches from his boot. Light? Beneath the skin? Curious.

"Hey, mind if I ask you something?" A different feminine voice speared through his thoughts, shattering them into a thousand fractals. He turned to find people slowly lining up to confront him, a girl with gray-white hair bobbed to her chin in the lead. Were they in on him having a blank book? "What's your ability? We need to know, so we can be prepared in defending this building."

Were they called that and not "power"? Whatever. He braced his knee and stood up. "I'm not obligated to answer first," he retorted. "Why not tell me about yours? I'm sure you have more interesting ones. Maybe we can win without resorting to mine."

The white-haired girl's eyes narrowed. "Fair enough," she said. "My power is object generation."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

A quick gust of wind tore through her nose. Her bob knocked against her jaw as she shook her head. "It means I can generate materials of any kind as long as I am familiar with its components or its atomic and molecular make-up."

Then, before their eyes, her bobbed hair started creeping past her neck and shoulders until it reached her waist—all in a span of seconds. "I do it by controlling the regenerative ability of my scalp," she said, drawing a knife sheathed by her belt. With an expert swipe, she snipped an entire wad of white hair. "I can manipulate the structure of my hair to imitate almost anything—threads, metal, elements."

He stuck a lip out. "Even radioactive ones?"

"That remains to be seen," came the answer.

"I can redirect air currents, even sense, touch, and manipulate air molecules," propped the girl on the farthest side of the hall. Her boots crunched against splinters and glass shards from the broken bulbs as she strode towards them. "That boy over there can bend light to make himself invisible."

Soon, everyone said something about their abilities. One could connect to brain waves and penetrate them. Another could heal herself quickly, making it hard for her to stay wounded. Absolute aim, or the ability to correctly gauge their targets every time, made the list, as well as thermal manipulation. Several others were interesting, but flew past his head. This was a diverse pool, and if the other sections were equally so, it's going to be harder. At some point, they might have to fight someone with the same ability.

A boy was saying he could petrify someone with a small tap when the girl with sound wave manipulation ability interjected with a scoff. "If you have that ability, why do I have to save you from that bulldozer guy?"

"Excuse me?" Petrification boy put a hand on his chest in offense. "I did the saving back there. You had your ass kicked the whole time!"

Sound girl opened her mouth to answer, but he beat her to it by turning to the petrification boy and asking, "What's the time interval between your attacks?"

Petrification boy blinked. "I...never really thought about that."

He clicked his tongue. "That's your problem," he said. "Timing is important in chaos, and in a fight for our lives, one mistake in calculations can cost your and your comrade's life."

"That's rich, coming from you." White-hair girl scoffed. "All you did was hide behind tables."

"Unlike you, trigger-touchy loons, I'm still understanding my ability," he defended. "It still has to develop on its own, and I don't want to rush it."

Not a total lie, but one nonetheless. He crossed his arms and jerked his chin at the hazy circle of people closing in on him. Would it be possible for a section to turn against their own member? He had to prepare for that eventuality. Fortunately for him, he knew how to turn their abilities against each other should he need to. "Moreover, we need to have names—something we can call each other with during counters to avoid miscommunication."

A chorus of agreements. "What should our theme be?" Psychometry girl asked. Her glasses slid down her nose, which she pushed back up with a finger. Did she just get a reading from that judging from the scowl painted on her face? "The other section had fruits."

Fire girl snorted. "Flowers?" she said at the same time white-hair said "Colors."

Then, a flurry of suggestions and preferences drowned every drop of reason, with each one fighting to be the dominant choice. Voice overlapped and clashed, inducing a headache in his temples. When he couldn't handle it anymore, he shot up and blurted, "Numbers!"

The world stilled. Stunned silence descended on them. He blew a breath. "Think about it," he said. "Not all of us will be familiar with color names or fruit names. What if we end up with two people wanting the same name? I prefer to avoid disagreements if we are to win this thing."

White-hair girl glanced at him. "How do you propose we do this?"

"Line up," he instructed. "I won't tell you where I will start counting or where I'll place myself, so don't even bother trying to clamor for the spot you want."

Surprisingly, everyone followed. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen people blinked at him. "Did someone from our section die during the past counter?"

Wind girl jutted her lips towards a vague direction. "Two," she said. "Spotted their symbol underneath the blood stains."

Ah, so there's twenty in total. He scanned the faces he would see starting from here. "Are we good?" he said, heaving a breath when most of them nodded. "Here we go."

He strode down the line, starting from the fire girl's place to his left. "One," he said. He arrived at the boy with orange hair and the mind penetration ability. "Two."

When he reached eleven, he pointed to one of the dead guys Eight, the wind girl, referred to. "That's him," he said before continuing again.

"Twelve." He tapped the sound girl's shoulder, noting the dissatisfaction in her eyes. She didn't argue though.

Then, he skipped thirteen and continued until he reached nineteen. "That's them." He gestured to the other dead body before turning to the petrification boy. "And you're Twenty."

"And you?" Five, the white-haired girl, asked. "What should we call you?"

He smiled, facing her. "Thirteen," he said. "I'm Thirteen."