“Drive,” I snapped, shoving the burner phone back into my pocket before it could vibrate itself to pieces. My voice was a raw rasp. My hands were shaking, but not from fear. From a fury so cold it burned. “Now.” Renzo Dax, still reeling from the explosive qi-oath, blinked. “Drive where, Loxian? And why would I—oh. Right. The exploding part.” He ran a hand through his perpetually neat black hair, a rare moment of disarray marring his perfect facade. “And the ‘protecting you’ part. Fine. But if you think I’m driving you to some back alley brawl, you’ve got another thing coming. My father would have my head, then Grandpa Pao would explode the rest of me.” “The Loxian estate,” I bit out, already striding towards the penthouse door. “The main one. Robi’s there. And if you think I’m waiting for your permission, you’re even dumber than I thought.” Renzo froze, then cursed under his breath, his pupils tightening. “The Loxian—are you insane? That place is guarded by a whole platoon of Blade-Guard enforcers and fortified with more qi-suppressing wards than the Imperial Vault. You’ll be lucky to get within a klick without triggering every alarm in the Neon-Dao. And me? A Dax heir caught breaking into a rival clan's stronghold? My reputation would be in tatters.” “Your reputation will be a fine, exploded mist if you don’t move,” I snarled over my shoulder, not slowing. “I need a distraction. Something loud. Something that draws all their attention away from the maintenance hatch on the north side, near the old incinerator chutes. And I need it *now*.” He sighed, a long, suffering sound that grated on my nerves. “Fine. But you owe me. And I’m only doing this for Grandpa Pao’s… unique health condition. Don’t mistake it for anything else.” We descended in a silent express elevator to the private garage, a gleaming cavern filled with hover-limos and armored speedsters. Renzo slid into the driver’s seat of a midnight-blue ‘Vortex Serpent’ model, its polished chassis reflecting overhead strip lights. The engine purred, a low growl of contained power. I took the passenger seat, my eyes already scanning for potential routes on the holographic dashboard map. “Hold on,” Renzo warned, and then the cruiser shot forward, a blur of speed and polished chrome, tearing through the city streets like a phantom. We carved through the intricate network of sky-lanes and ground-level thoroughfares, the Neon-Dao a streaking kaleidoscope outside. The Loxian compound loomed ahead, a monolithic fortress of gleaming obsidian and reinforced ferro-steel, its upper spires piercing the smoggy sky. It looked impenetrable. “North side, maintenance hatch,” I repeated, my voice tight. “Near the incinerator chute. Give me five minutes after your show starts.” Renzo smirked, a flash of white teeth in the dim cabin. “Five minutes? I can give you a minute of pure, unadulterated chaos.” With a flick of his wrist, the vehicle veered sharply, arcing towards the main gates of the Loxian compound. Not the north side. The *front* side. I braced myself as a series of high-pitched alarms began to wail, echoing across the district. Red emergency lights bathed the courtyard in a frantic glow. “What are you doing?!” I yelled, clutching the armrest. “Just causing a distraction, Loxian,” he replied, a dangerous glint in his eye. “A truly *unforgettable* one.” He didn't stop at the gate. He accelerated. The chassis smashed through the reinforced ferro-steel barrier with a sickening crunch, sparks showering as it tore through the outer perimeter, an avalanche of metal and shattered concrete. Sirens shrieked from every direction. I saw the stunned faces of Blade-Guard enforcers, their weapons raised too late, as we blasted past them, leaving a trail of destruction. “Get out!” he ordered, braking hard near the shattered main plaza, the Serpent’s engine hissing. “Go! I’ll handle this side.” He revved the engine, tripping another battery of alarms, drawing every armed guard towards his position. He was a beacon, a challenge, a target. I didn’t waste a second. I burst out of the car and sprinted, low and fast, through the chaos, weaving past panicking guards and debris, heading for the north threshold. The suppressing wards made my own qi feel sluggish, like wading through thick mud, but I pushed through the resistance, fueled by a frantic need. The outer door was a heavy, unmarked slab, cleverly concealed in the shadow of a waste disposal unit. I knew the compound's blueprints by heart. My fingers danced over the concealed keypad, bypassing the security with a series of precise, forgotten codes from my childhood. The door hissed open. I slipped inside, the clanging alarms outside immediately muffled. Dark, sterile corridors stretched before me. I moved through them, a ghost in my former home, down flight after flight of utility stairs until the air grew cold and heavy with the smell of ozone and stale fear. The sub-basement. My ribs ached around ragged lungs. I pushed open the final heavy door. The scene that greeted me stole the air from my lungs. Robi. My sweet, small brother, was strapped to a cold, metal table in the center of the room. A monstrous, gleaming rig of chrome and buzzing wires was attached to his chest, glowing with a sickly purple light. Tubes snaked from it, connecting to a smaller, more elegant apparatus beside him. And there, hooked to the receiving end, her eyes closed in a parody of serene focus, was Mina. Her face was pale, almost translucent, but her aura pulsed with a false, vibrant strength, stolen directly from Robi. He was pale, his eyes fluttering, a thin whimper escaping his lips. “Mina!” The name tore from my throat, raw and choked. My vision blurred red. Her eyes snapped open. A slow, cruel smile spread across her face. “Ziya. I didn’t think you’d be so foolish as to return.” She gestured with a delicate hand, not even bothering to unhook herself. “As you can see, Robi is proving to be an exceptional qi-battery. His pure qi is truly remarkable. It’s a shame to waste it on him, really. So much better suited for someone with actual ambition.” “You sick monster!” I lunged forward, but before I could reach her, the sub-basement door behind me burst open. Chairman Bato Loxian stood there, flanked by four hulking Blade-Guard elites, their qi-blades humming. “I knew you’d come, Ziya,” Bato said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Like a moth to the flame. Always so predictable in your sentimentality.” He stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over the qi-draining apparatus, then to Robi, then to Mina. A flicker of pride crossed his face as he looked at Mina. “Mina’s qi-augmentation is essential for our ascension. Robi’s raw potential, channeled through the Soul-Siphon rig, will ensure her victory at the Neo-Murim Broadcast. Our family’s glory is at stake. Your brother is making a necessary sacrifice.” My last sliver of hope, the desperate, foolish thought that my father might still have a shred of humanity, shattered into a million pieces. He knew. He sanctioned this. He was watching his youngest son be drained of his life force for his favored daughter’s fraudulent ambition. “You’ll never get away with this,” I snarled, my Dax-Fist technique flaring, despite the qi suppression, a desperate, incandescent rage fueling me. I launched myself at the Blade-Guard, a whirlwind of furious strikes. They were good, their qi-blades precise and deadly, but my desperation gave me an edge. I deflected a lunging strike, spun, and drove a fist into one guard’s chin, dropping him flat. Another tried to flank me, but I anticipated his move, twisting to knee him in the gut, then used his momentum to throw him into a third. But they were too many, and the suppression field was wearing me down. A blade sliced across my arm, a hot streak of pain. Another slammed into my back, sending me stumbling. I heard Mina’s delighted chuckle. Bato merely watched, his face impassive. Just as a Blade-Guard raised his qi-blade for a final, overhead strike, a sudden, concussive wave of pure qi slammed into the room. It was a massive shockwave, a resonant *thrum* that vibrated through the very floor, rattling the qi-siphon rig and pitching the Blade-Guard across the tiles. My ears rang. The blade missed me by an inch, clanging uselessly against the concrete. Renzo Dax stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, a thin trickle of blood running from his temple, but his eyes were blazing with a cold, terrifying fury. He had fought his way through the entire grounds. “Back off, you syndicate dogs,” he growled, a low, dangerous sound I’d never heard from him before. “You want to touch her, you go through me.” He didn't wait. He unleashed a barrage of Dax-Fist shockwaves, each one a compressed burst of pure force, tearing through the remaining Blade-Guard like paper. They weren't just attacks; they were high-level, controlled explosions, precise and devastating. He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly gentle amidst the chaos. “We have to go. Now.” I looked at Robi, still strapped to the table, his eyes barely open. “I can’t leave him!” “You can’t help him dead, Ziya! Grandpa Pao’s oath! We need to come back for him. With a plan!” Renzo dragged me, half-limping, towards the corridor. Bato, who had watched the whole display with a sneer, finally spoke, his voice booming over the intercom, echoing throughout the sub-levels, and beyond. “Ziya Loxian!” he bellowed, his voice laced with venomous triumph. He yanked Robi’s hair, forcing the boy’s head up so his terrified, vacant eyes met mine. “Your attempted execution will be the opening act of tomorrow’s live Neo-Murim Broadcast. A public spectacle. A final lesson for anyone who dares defy the Loxian Syndicate.”

The Basement Battery