Do I think we have a chance at winning? The question hangs in the air between us, and I answer it the only way that matters. I charge forward, obsidian reforming around my fists, and Vazroth's smile widens like he was hoping I'd do exactly that.
ALX: We don't need a chance. We just need you to make one mistake.
My fist drives toward his jaw. He catches it. My other fist comes up fast. He blocks with a forearm wrapped in my own obsidian, copied perfectly, wielded better. The impact sends shockwaves up my arms, makes my bones rattle, but I don't pull back.
VTH: One mistake in centuries of experience? Those are terrible odds.
ALX: I've fought worse.
I haven't. But he doesn't need to know that. I twist out of his grip, obsidian forming spikes along my knuckles as I swing low toward his ribs. He sidesteps, and thorns erupt from his shoulder - Lisa's thorns, grown from flesh that shouldn't support them. They catch my arm mid-swing, wrap tight, yank me off balance.
I let them. Use the momentum to drive my knee up toward his stomach. He blocks, but the obsidian on my knee cracks his guard, forces him back half a step. First ground he's given up all fight.
Behind me, I hear the others moving. Astra's starlight creating openings. Ivy's footsteps circling. Noel's barriers forming walls that will shatter but buy us seconds. Lisa's reluctant thorns at least trying. Maeve's temporal manipulation aging her for moments we need.
We're coordinated. We're desperate. We're losing. But we're not stopping.
My obsidian forms a blade as I slash toward his throat. Vazroth's hand catches my wrist, and suddenly his free hand is pressed against my chest, and I feel cold fire spreading - Nilah's fire, the kind that freezes instead of burns. Frost crawls across my ribs, making breath painful.
I drop the blade. Grab his wrist with both hands. Pull him close enough that we're face to face, close enough that I can see Johann's eyes looking at me from behind Vazroth's ancient consciousness.
ALX: He's still in there.
VTH: Wishful thinking.
ALX: I saw him flinch when Astra's light hit. I saw recognition. He's fighting you.
VTH: Reflex. Nothing more.
But his voice has the slightest edge now, and I press the advantage even as frost spreads across my chest.
ALX: You're threatened by six fighters who can barely touch you. Why? Because you know we're right. You know he's still resisting.
I yank him forward, use his own momentum against him, and we go down hard. Obsidian dissolves as we hit the ground, my power too scattered to maintain it. Just two people grappling in scorched dirt, and for half a second he's not an ancient evil in stolen flesh - he's just wearing my best friend's face while trying to choke me.
Ivy's blade comes down where his head was. He rolls left, taking me with him, using me as a shield. I see the blade coming and can't do anything except hope she'll adjust. She does, barely, the poisoned edge missing my face by inches.
Vazroth's knee drives into my stomach. Air leaves my lungs. His elbow comes down toward my throat. Noel's barrier manifests between us, transparent but solid, and the impact makes it crack but holds long enough for me to roll free.
I come up gasping, frost still spreading across my ribs from where he touched me. My chest feels like it's freezing from the inside out, like my lungs are turning to ice with every breath.
VTH: You're all so determined to save someone who's already gone.
He stands, and obsidian armor crawls across his skin - my obsidian, perfected in ways I've never managed. Behind him, Lisa's thorns surge only to be burned by his fire. Astra's starlight rains down only to shatter against his barriers. Maeve's temporal manipulation stutters only to be reflected back at her.
All our powers. All our training. All of it his to command. And still we don't stop.
Astra charges from the left. Ivy from the right. I go straight forward because retreating accomplishes nothing. My obsidian reforms despite the cold spreading through my chest, despite knowing it'll just be used against me, despite every logical reason to give up.
We converge on him simultaneously.
He catches Astras' strike. Blocks Ivy's blade. His thorns wrap around my legs and yank, sending me face-first into dirt. But in that fraction of a second where he's dealing with all three of us, Lisa's thorns find his ankle. They don't attack - they can't, they still want to help him grow - but they tangle, they slow, they create the opening Maeve needs.
Time stutters around Vazroth. He moves through molasses while we move through air. Just three seconds, but three seconds where Noel's barriers can layer properly, where Astra's starlight can build to critical mass, where we can actually coordinate instead of just react.
The barriers slam shut around him. Diamond-hard constructs from every angle, geometric perfection creating a cage that should hold anything. Astra's starlight pours into the gaps, building pressure, building heat, trying to burn through whatever ancient consciousness wears our friend's skin.
For one heartbeat, I think it might work.
Then Vazroth's hands press against two barriers simultaneously, and obsidian spreads from his palms like infection. My obsidian. My power turned against Noel's defense. The barriers crack, shatter, dissolve into nothing. He steps out of the cage we'd built, brushing starlight off his shoulders like dust.
VTH: Admirable coordination. You've improved significantly since this fight began. Three weeks of training condensed into minutes of desperation.
His smile is the worst thing I've ever seen. Fond. Appreciative. Completely certain of victory.
VTH: But improvement isn't victory. And determination isn't power. You're fighting an opponent who has survived longer than your civilization. Who has mastered abilities you're still learning. Who knows you better than you know yourselves because Johann studied you, catalogued you, copied everything you could do.
He spreads his arms, and every power we possess manifests simultaneously. Fire and ice. Thorns and obsidian. Barriers and starlight. Poison misting around temporal manipulation. All of it his, all of it perfect, all of it overwhelming.
VTH: So I ask again, with genuine curiosity: do you really think you have a chance?
I push myself up despite the frost eating through my ribs. Despite obsidian that feels heavier with each manifestation. Despite knowing he's right about the odds, about the power imbalance, about everything except the one thing that matters.
ALX: Chance doesn't matter.
Vazroth's expression shifts slightly. Interest instead of certainty.
ALX: We're not fighting because we think we can win. We're fighting because Johann is our friend. Because he'd do the same for any of us. Because giving up on him isn't an option even when winning is impossible.
I form obsidian around my fists again, watching it crack and reform and crack again. Around me, the others are doing the same. Ivy retrieving her bent blade. Lisa calling thorns that want to betray her. Astra's starlight flickering but not fading. Noel's barriers manifesting thinner but still manifesting. Maeve's hands moving through patterns despite the gray spreading through her hair.
ALX: So no. We don't think we have a chance. We know we're outmatched. We understand you've already won every tactical calculation.
I take a step forward. Then another. The others move with me, forming a line that's already breaking but hasn't broken yet.
ALX: But we're still not leaving without him. We're still not surrendering. We're still not accepting that he's gone.
Vazroth watches us advance with something that might be respect or might be pity.
ALX: You can break every bone. Shatter every defense. Use our own powers to destroy us. But you can't make us give up on Johann. And every second we keep you here is another second he has to fight you from inside.
The frost has spread across half my chest now. My obsidian keeps cracking. My breathing sounds like breaking glass. But I'm still standing, still moving forward, still refusing to accept that this is how it ends.
ALX: So here's our answer, Vazroth: we don't need a chance. We just need to not give up. And we're really, really good at that.
Vazroth's smile widens into something almost human. Almost Johann. And the real fight begins.