My face is pressed against scorched earth and I can't breathe. The weight is absolute. Not just physical pressure but something deeper, something that attacks will itself. Vazroth's presence bearing down like centuries compressed into single moment, reminding me that I'm mortal and finite and completely insignificant.
My obsidian won't form. The frost in my chest has spread so far that every breath feels like inhaling glass. My ribs are broken, my body is failing, and the simple act of existing takes everything I have.
But I'm not staying down.
My fingers dig into dirt. Not trying to push up yet. Just establishing that I can still move, that somewhere beneath this crushing weight there's still Alexander who makes choices instead of just enduring.
Johann is out there. Trapped inside his own body. Fighting Vazroth from within while wearing my best friend's face.
I push against the ground. My arms shake immediately, muscles screaming protest. The weight multiplies, Vazroth's presence responding to my resistance by pressing harder. My elbows want to buckle but I lock them, force them to hold despite every physical law suggesting they shouldn't.
My forehead lifts off the ground. Half an inch. Maybe less. But it's movement, defiance of the weight that says I should stay prostrate.
Around me I can hear the others - labored breathing, quiet sounds of suffering. All of them crushed. All of them still here.
I get to my hands and knees. The weight is impossible, crushing down with force that should flatten me completely. But I'm moving anyway, pushing up degree by degree, refusing to accept that Vazroth's presence means I don't get to choose.
My head lifts. I can see the battlefield now. Can see Vazroth standing there wearing Johann's face, watching my struggle with something that might be interest or might be amusement.
I get one foot under me. Plant it. The weight tries to force me back down but I'm committed now, past the point where retreat is option. My knee comes off the ground and every muscle I have screams that this is impossible.
I don't accept impossible.
My other foot plants. I'm crouching now, still bent under pressure that should be crushing me flat, but no longer prostrate. No longer kneeling. Just compressed, fighting for every inch, refusing to stay where Vazroth commanded.
I start to straighten. My spine cracks, protests, threatens to break under pressure that shouldn't be survivable. But I'm moving anyway, standing up despite Vazroth's overwhelming presence, despite every rational calculation suggesting this is impossible.
The frost in my chest burns. My broken ribs grind together. The weight multiplies again, and I feel Vazroth's attention focus on me fully.
But I keep rising.
I'm almost upright now. Not standing fully, still bent under pressure that wants to drive me back down. But vertical, defiant, refusing to accept that Vazroth's power means Johann is beyond reach.
My obsidian tries to form. Cracks immediately. Reforms anyway. Shatters again. Keeps trying because I keep willing it.
VTH: Impressive.
Vazroth's voice carries amusement, and I look up to meet his eyes. Johann's eyes worn by something ancient.
VTH: Most people accept the weight. But you're fighting gravity itself, forcing a body that should be broken to stand anyway. Why?
I straighten fully. Still compressed, still hurting, still barely holding together. But standing, meeting Vazroth's gaze without looking away.
ALX: Because he's my friend.
VTH: Friendship doesn't overcome physics.
ALX: Maybe not. But it's all I have.
The weight presses harder. My knees want to buckle. My obsidian keeps cracking. Everything physical says I should fall. I don't fall.
ALX: You can break every bone in my body. You can crush me flat. You can prove a thousand times over that you're stronger than anything I'll ever be.
My hands form fists, and obsidian tries to coat them despite knowing it'll just shatter.
ALX: But you can't make me abandon him. Can't make me accept that he's gone. Can't make me stop fighting even when fighting is pointless.
VTH: Then you'll die pointlessly.
ALX: Probably.
I take a step forward. One step, fighting against pressure that should make movement impossible. My foot hits the ground and stays there.
ALX: But I'll die trying to save my friend. And that's better than living after giving up on him.
Around me, I hear stirring - the others responding to my defiance, starting to push back against the weight. Not standing yet, but moving, refusing to stay crushed.
Vazroth watches with ancient patience, and I see calculation in his expression. Understanding that breaking our bodies isn't the same as breaking our will. I take another step.
ALX: You asked if we think we can win. And the answer is still no. We can't beat you. Can't overcome centuries with weeks.
My obsidian reforms. Shatters. Reforms again.
ALX: But we can refuse to surrender. Can keep fighting even when fighting changes nothing.
I meet Vazroth's eyes - Johann's eyes - and speak the words I've been holding since the moment Astra's light proved he was still in there.
ALX: I will save my friend. Not because I think I can. But because he'd do the same for me.
The weight presses down with renewed force, trying to drive me back to my knees. My body wants to collapse. I stay standing.
ALX: So do your worst, Vazroth.
Obsidian crawls up my arms despite the frost, despite the pressure, despite everything.
ALX: I'm still not leaving without him.