Alexander moved first because hesitation would kill them all. His obsidian erupted from the ground in a wave of black glass, not the wild uncontrolled surge from the training clearing but precise, calculated, shaped by weeks of grief hammered into discipline. The volcanic glass formed a wall between them and Johann - between them and Vazroth - buying seconds they desperately needed. Seconds that vanished the moment Johann's hand passed through the barrier like it was smoke.
Not phasing. Not bending reality. Just moving with speed that suggested the laws of physics were polite suggestions he'd chosen to ignore. His fingers closed around the obsidian wall and crushed it, the sound like breaking bones amplified through crystal, and Alexander felt the impact in his chest like a physical blow. Ivy's voice cut through the chaos.
Scatter!
Her poison-enhanced reflexes already carrying her left while Noel yanked Maeve right. Astra went up, starlight manifesting as platforms beneath her feet, and Lisa went down, thorns burrowing into earth that welcomed them like old friends.
Alexander went forward. Stupid. Suicidal. Exactly what Johann would have done, which meant exactly what Vazroth would expect. But Alexander had spent weeks learning to be unpredictable, learning to fight like someone other than the disciplined student everyone thought they knew.
His fist drove toward Johann's jaw - toward Vazroth's jaw - but connected with empty air as the body twisted with serpentine grace that Johann had never possessed. A counter came instantly, knuckles aimed at Alexander's temple with force that would crack his skull. Thorns intercepted. Lisa's vines erupted from the ground between them, hardened with minerals drawn from deep soil, and Vazroth's fist shattered them like glass. Splinters rained down, but the split-second delay was enough for Alexander to roll back, to create distance, to breathe. Astra called from above, her voice steady despite the impossibility they faced.
He's not dodging. He's just that fast.
Alexander gasped.
Noted.
His obsidian was already reforming, crawling up his arms in patterns that felt organic now, alive with barely contained violence.
Ivy, can you-
Already trying.
Ivy's hands moved in precise patterns, poison misting the air in concentrations that would drop a normal person in heartbeats. But Johann - Vazroth - breathed it in like perfume, and his smile was the worst thing Alexander had ever seen. Not cruel. Not mocking. Fond. Vazroth spoke, and it was Johann's voice but wrong, carrying harmonics that shouldn't exist in human speech.
You've improved. In weeks, you've grown more than in the previous year. Necessity is such an effective teacher.
He moved again, and this time there was no warning, no telegraph, no preparatory shift of weight. One moment he stood ten feet away, the next his hand was around Noel's throat, lifting the barrier-user off the ground with casual strength that made mockery of human limitation.
Noel's barriers manifested instantly - diamond-hard constructs that should have forced Vazroth's hand open. Should have. But the fingers didn't budge, didn't even flex under pressure that could have stopped bullets. Vazroth examined Noel like a scientist with a specimen.
Interesting ability. I studied you during the tournament, watched you hold impossible things at bay. But what happens when the impossible is already touching you?
Maeve's scream was primal, desperate. Her hands moved in patterns Alexander didn't recognize, temporal manipulation that should have been impossible for someone her age to master. The air around Vazroth rippled, time itself stuttering, trying to slow him, trying to freeze him, trying to give Noel a chance-
Vazroth released Noel and caught Maeve's wrist mid-gesture, and the temporal manipulation collapsed like a house of cards. His head tilted, and the movement was too fluid, too smooth, like a predator considering prey.
Borrowing tricks from your future self? How much did that cost you? How many years did you trade for seconds?
Alexander's voice was flat, obsidian gathering in his palms like dark water.
Let her go.
Around him, the others were moving into position - Astra above, Lisa below, Ivy circling wide, Noel recovering and manifesting barriers between Vazroth and every escape route. Coordination born from three weeks of desperate training, from knowing that individual skill meant meaning nothing against this.
Vazroth looked at Alexander, and for just a moment, something flickered in those eyes. Recognition, maybe. Memory of friendship that preceded his existence, inherited from the original he'd been copied from years ago. Then it was gone, replaced by the cold assessment of a being that had outlived empires.
He released Maeve, and she stumbled back into Noel's arms, gasping. Alexander saw the gray in her hair that hadn't been there seconds before. The price of borrowed time. Vazroth spoke softly.
Johann would be proud. All of you. The way you've hardened yourselves, prepared for this moment. The way you're willing to attack someone wearing your friend's face.
He spread his arms, and the gesture was pure Johann - that same open invitation to strike that Alexander had seen a thousand times in training. But the smile beneath it was ancient, patient, completely alien.
So attack. Show me what weeks of knowing you're outmatched has taught you. Show me if grief makes better warriors or just more desperate ones.
The air tasted like ash and distant thunder. Above them, Astra's starlight gathered into shapes that defied geometry. Below them, Lisa's roots spread in patterns that suggested sentience, purpose, coordination beyond plant consciousness. Around them, Ivy's poison misted and concentrated, seeking any opening. Beside them, Noel's barriers thickened while Maeve's temporal manipulation created pockets where time moved at different speeds.
And in the center of it all, Alexander stood with obsidian dripping from his hands like liquid night, facing the body of his best friend worn by something that had forgotten what friendship meant. He said quietly.
Together.
Not a question. Not a plea. Just acknowledgment of the only strategy they had. Around him, five voices answered in unison.
Together.
They moved as one, and the real fight began.