I push through the last tangle of vines, thorns snagging at my bare skin, and stumble into the clearing.

  My eyes lock onto the mess ahead—three guys and a woman, all caught in some ugly scrap. The woman’s off to the side, standing stiff, arms crossed tight over herself like she’s guarding what’s left of her dignity. Bruises—dark, splotchy marks—dot her arms, and she’s glaring at the chaos. One guy’s already down, sprawled in the dirt, hands mashed against his face as blood seeps through his fingers. Broken nose, maybe worse. The other two are still at it: a big dude, built like a truck, towering over a smaller guy who’s got him in a sloppy headlock. The smaller one’s flailing, red-faced, losing fast.

  My stomach twists—nerves clawing up my throat—but I swallow them hard. No time for that. I’ve got Aura, whatever it’s worth. I straighten up, plant my feet, and step boldly into the clearing—naked as the day I woke up, no shame, hands thrust out in front of me like I’m about to cast a spell.

  “Stop this at once!” I bellow, voice cracking just a bit, “or I’ll be forced to intervene—and I warn you!” The ether in my chest flares, warm and wild. I channel it, focusing on my hands, picturing that haze from my toe trick. A small trickle of energy spills out—thin, misty, curling like smoke between my fingers. It’s weak, but it’s something. I grin, reaching deep into my inner nerd, and roar, “I have the power of God and anime on my side!”

  The big guy freezes mid-swing, head snapping toward me. The smaller one stumbles, grip slipping, and the woman’s jaw drops, eyes wide. The bleeder on the ground groans, peeking through bloody hands. For a second, it’s dead quiet—four strangers staring at the naked lunatic with misty hands and a death wish.

  My heart’s pounding, but I hold the pose, mist swirling, hoping this Aura thing’s got more in the tank than toe massages.

  The big guy’s eyes narrow, locking onto me like I’m a bug he’s about to squash. He snorts, yanks the smaller dude off him, and slams him into the dirt with a thud that shakes the ground. Little guy wheezes, curling up, out of the fight. “You,” the brute growls, voice low and gravelly, “shut your damn mouth, freak.”

  I don’t flinch—okay, maybe a little—but I keep my hands up, that misty trickle still curling from my fingers.

  “Freak?” I shoot back, forcing a grin. “Says the guy pounding people in a jungle like some discount action villain. Back off, or I’ll—”

  “Or what?” he cuts in, stepping closer, fists flexing. “You’ll wave your little fog machine at me, stupid nerd?”

  “Hey!” the guy on the ground—broken nose—pipes up, voice nasally through the blood. “Kick his ass, glowstick! He’s got it coming!” He’s grinning, sort of, one hand still clamped over his face.

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  The woman’s voice cracks, sharp and brittle. “Oh, fantastic. Another moron to screw us over. This clown’s gonna get flattened, and then that brute’s coming for me again—” Her voice breaks, “—and he’ll try to…” She trails off, breath quickening, a shallow gasp catching in her throat. Her arms tighten across her chest, eyes darting. Then she steadies herself, chin lifting. “I’m not that kind of woman!” she snaps, indignant but trembling at the edges.

  “Appreciate the vote of confidence,” I mutter, glaring at her before snapping back to the brute. “Last chance, big man. Walk away, or I’ll—uh—unleash hell. Yeah. Hell.”

  He laughs, a short, ugly bark, and charges. No more talking—just a mountain of muscle barreling at me, one massive fist swinging straight for my face. Time slows. I thrust my hands forward, pure desperation screaming in my head—I’m fucked, fuck, stop, stop, STOP!—and brace for the hit. Nothing. No crunch, no pain. Did I die already?

  I crack one eye open—both had slammed shut—and there it is: a glowing field of ether, shimmering blue, spreading out from my palms. It’s caught his fist mid-air, stopped it cold like he punched a wall. The mist’s gone full-on shield, pulsing with that warm energy from my chest.

  I blink, stunned. He’s frozen, arm trembling against it, his meaty face slack with the dumbest look—like he can’t process that this scrawny, stupid nerd’s a fucking wizard.

  “Uh,” I manage, voice shaky but rising, “told you. God and anime, buddy.” My hands tremble, holding the field, and I pray it doesn’t fizzle out like my rock trick.

  The big guy stares at his fist, still lodged in my glowing blue shield, sparks fizzling where it hit. His jaw tightens, eyes bulging, and I can almost hear the gears grinding in his thick skull. I’m still shaking, hands out, ether humming hot in my chest, barely believing this worked.

  “Hell yeah!” Broken Nose Guy whoops from the dirt, blood-streaked grin splitting his face. “Smash him, glowstick! Pound that meathead into next week!” He’s practically bouncing, ignoring the red dripping down his chin.

  The skinny guy’s out cold, sprawled where he landed, chest rising slow—lucky to miss this mess. The woman shifts, arms still crossed tight, but her scowl softens a fraction. “Well,” she mutters, voice clipped, “guess you’re not completely useless.” Her eyes flick to the big guy, then back to me—still wary, still sharp, but maybe a little less convinced I’m dead meat.

  Big guy snaps. “You little—!” He yanks his fist back and slams it into the shield again—bam!—sparks flying, the ether rippling but holding.

  “Piece of—!” Bam! Again. “I’ll crush you!” Bam! Bam! He’s a toddler with a sledgehammer, face red, spit flying, pounding over and over like he can break through sheer stubbornness.

  My arms ache, the field flickering with each hit, but it’s still up—barely.

  “Uh, dude,” I manage, voice wobbling, “you’re just embarrassing yourself now—”

  A rustle cuts me off—loud, messy, like a herd trampling through the jungle. Voices spill into the clearing, overlapping, confused, pissed.

  I glance past the big guy’s flailing fists and see them—dozens of people shoving through the vines, all naked, skin smeared with dirt and sweat. Men, women, all shapes, all staring.

  One guy—huge, bald, built like he benches trees—steps forward, hands on hips, and bellows, “What the fuck is going on here?”

  Big guy freezes mid-swing, fist hovering an inch from my shield. Broken Nose stops cackling. The woman tenses, breath catching. Even Skinny twitches, half-conscious. I lower my hands a bit, shield still humming, and mutter to myself, “Guess the naturist convention’s in town.”