[Unexpected pain from his head and his stomach hit him at the same time. He makes no sound but he bends to put a hand on the injury with a sucked in breath. Bright blood stains the front of his shirt.

He looks down. Flashes of memories curl in his mind. He pulls his shirt up. His chest and stomach are covered in scars from battles and now, a bullet hole seeps blood.

He steps away from the barrier and the fingers of his free hand glow with heat. He wraps them over the hole. There is a horrible searing sound as he burns it shut. He breathes through his nose, but doesn’t acknowledge the pain. His face is a few shades paler.]

People have shot those at me before, but no. I have never used one. [He never needed to.]

Pick another target. If we’re wrong, I’ll seal the next one.