Shards of debris spiraled through the air, hurled by the force of Alexander's mere presence. Each of his footsteps fractured the ground further, reducing the cracked asphalt into splinters of blackened earth. The air warped with heat around him—his orange aura flaring like wildfire, feeding off the ruin that surrounded him.
Caspian lay sprawled across a twisted steel beam, one torn from the collapsing skeleton of the Blackwood Tower. His breath came ragged, each inhalation like swallowing fire. Just beside him stood Cain, blood trickling from a gash along his arm, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He kept his eyes locked on Alexander's approaching figure—immense, merciless, undeterred.
Cain didn't need to say it aloud. He knew. They both knew. This fight wasn't theirs to win.
Alexander hadn't even begun to try.
The monstrous figure advanced like a god made of smoke and fury—untouched, unshaken, unrelenting.
"Cain," Caspian rasped, forcing himself to sit up, wincing as pain coursed through his ribs. His voice, though strained, still carried urgency.
Cain turned, his expression grim, sweat slicking his brow. "What?"
"I think I have a plan," Caspian said, meeting his eyes. "But you're going to have to trust me."
Cain stared at him in disbelief. "Well, it's not like I have a choice" he muttered bitterly. "Alright then. Spit it out. What's this brilliant idea?"
Caspian glanced at the skyline—the skeletal remains of surrounding buildings still barely standing, leaning like drunk men on the verge of collapse. "I'll distract Alexander. I need you to get vines into the foundations of these buildings. Wrap them. Weaken them. Then pull them down on top of him."
Cain's face twisted, caught between horror and exasperation. "You're serious?" he said flatly. "You want me to collapse a city block on him?"
"It's all we've got," Caspian said with a crooked grin. "You said it yourself—we don't have a choice."
Cain stared at him for a moment longer. Then he exhaled sharply and looked away.
"God, I hate kids," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples with a bloodied hand. "You better not die before I pull this off."
Caspian didn't respond. He was already running—each step a defiance, each breath a prayer. Dust swirled in his wake as he charged straight toward Alexander, the titan standing in the heart of the destruction he had wrought.
The heat grew unbearable the closer he got, but he didn't stop.
Cain crouched low, pressing his uninjured hand into the scorched earth. Vines burst from the cracked asphalt, slithering like snakes through debris, wrapping themselves around support beams and weakened walls.
Time was thinning.
"Alexander!" Caspian screamed, voice raw, broken, and furious—every syllable meant to draw that monstrous gaze.
Alexander slowly turned.
The bait had been taken. Now all that remained was whether Cain could collapse the city in time.
And whether Caspian could survive long enough for it to matter.
"Why do you still struggle, when your death is certain?" Alexander's voice thundered across the shattered cityscape. The form he wore was no longer human—his body thrummed with orange energy, visible beneath his scorched skin, each pulse like a heartbeat carved from fire. He stood amid the ruins like a god made of fury and loss.
Caspian knelt atop a mound of debris, blood smeared across his temple, one eye nearly swollen shut. He raised his head slowly, the tendons in his neck taut with pain. His gaze met Alexander's, and though he said nothing, the look he gave was defiant—unyielding.
Alexander's lip curled. "You cling to hope," he said, stepping forward. Each movement cracked the earth, fire flaring in his wake. "But hope is a lie. Your death is already written."
Behind them, steel screamed as vines erupted from the ruptured ground. Cain crouched low, one hand plunged deep into the soil, sweat streaking his face. Verdant tendrils snaked up from the underworld, coiling around support columns and skeletal beams, probing the weak points of a thousand-year-old city.
Alexander sneered. "Your friend plays games with plants. How quaint."
Caspian forced himself upright. A sick crunch echoed in his ribs as he stood. His breath came shallow. "You still think this is mercy," he said through clenched teeth. "But it's not. This is survival."
A laugh burst from Alexander—deep, furious, and echoing like the groan of collapsing monuments. Flame rippled across his limbs. "Survival? You took everything from me. Layla. Andrew. Camael. My home. And now you stand there, accusing me of cruelty?"
Caspian's knuckles whitened. "No. You broke yourself."
Alexander's eyes burned darker. "A man with nothing to lose… is a man who cannot be defeated."
Cain's vines grew wild now, lashing in every direction. Buildings shivered as stone cracked, supports buckled, and ancient foundations began to moan beneath the strain.
Alexander's fury boiled. "You will never kill me!" he roared, thrusting both hands toward the skyline. Energy exploded from his palms, detonating into a fiery shockwave that shattered windows and flayed the landscape with molten shards.
But it was too late.
Cain gave a wordless cry, a tremor running through him. And then the world fell.
All at once, the buildings collapsed.
Steel bent like reeds. Towers split down their centers. Windows exploded outward. The skyline cracked and bent, becoming a curtain of ruin. Concrete rained from above. Entire structures—dozens of them—toppled as one, drawn inward by the irresistible tug of Cain's roots. A thousand screams echoed in the city's bones. Gravity took hold—and the city devoured itself.
Alexander's eyes widened. "No—!"
A skyscraper crumpled above him like wet parchment. Another behind it followed, falling like a guillotine. In seconds, he was buried beneath a tidal wave of steel, stone, and glass. The noise was cataclysmic—the scream of a dying civilization. Dust roared outward in a blinding fog. The skyline was gone.
Silence reigned.
Caspian stumbled backward, breathing hard, his ears ringing. Cain fell beside him, eyes wide, blood at the corners of his mouth.
"Did it work?" Caspian whispered.
Cain coughed, nodding faintly. "It… it had to."
They stood among the craters of broken towers, bodies lit by the pale red glow of dying fire. Dust billowed around them, masking everything in gray. Ash fell like snow.
Then the silence cracked.
A tremor rippled beneath their feet.
"Move!" Caspian shouted.
Too late.
The debris exploded outward in all directions.
It wasn't a detonation—it was a rejection. Concrete, steel, stone—all hurled skyward by a pulse of incandescent energy. A column of fire rose like a volcano erupting in reverse, sending tons of rubble flying in every direction. Cain was flung backward, crashing into a wall with bone-crunching force.
From the storm of destruction, Alexander emerged.
He stood at the epicenter, breathing slowly, surrounded by flames that wrapped his body like armor. The orange glow had grown brighter—blistering, terrible. His face was bloodied but intact. His right eye blazed like a sun. Veins pulsed visibly beneath his skin. Energy coiled around him like a storm barely contained.
He looked unbroken.
"You think that would stop me?" he hissed. "You think I would fall to buildings?" His voice was quieter now, but it cut deeper than before—razor-sharp and soaked in hate.
Caspian stood paralyzed, stunned.
But Cain didn't wait for Alexander to move.
The ground erupted beneath his feet, and vines launched him forward like a javelin hurled by the earth itself. He struck Alexander with the full force of a war hammer—his fist sheathed in bark and glowing with molten light. The impact cracked across the air like thunder, sending out a shockwave that rippled through the stone courtyard.
Alexander staggered.
Only for a moment.
Then he snarled and retaliated with a blast of fire from both hands. Cain crossed his arms, roots coiling around his limbs as a shield, and the flames surged over him, charring the outer layers but not breaking through.
Caspian moved. He broke into a sprint around the edge of the battlefield, eyes on Cain. He knew they wouldn't get a second chance.
Cain met his gaze—brief, sharp.
A sword, grown from twisted dark wood and thorned ivy, took shape in Cain's hand. With a grunt, he hurled it across the space between them.
Caspian caught it mid-run.
It felt alive—pulsing with quiet strength, wrapped in something old and green and aching.
Alexander turned, eyes narrowing.
Caspian didn't hesitate. He dashed in, low and fast, and swung the blade at Alexander's side. The strike connected—but only barely. Sparks flew where the edge met Alexander's skin, and blood welled, but the wound was shallow.
Alexander snarled. "You dare?"
His hand snapped forward, catching Caspian by the collar, and hurled him back with bone-breaking force. Caspian crashed into a pillar and dropped, dazed.
Cain seized the moment. Vines exploded from his arms and the earth, forming barbed whips that lashed at Alexander from all sides. One wrapped around his ankle, another across his throat, yanking him off balance.
Alexander slammed his palms against the ground.
A column of fire erupted in every direction, incinerating half the vines and throwing Cain back. He hit the wall with a grunt, smoke rising from his shoulders.
But he rose again. "I'm not done."
"Neither am I," Caspian coughed, stumbling to his feet.
Alexander turned in time to see Caspian lunge again. The blade flashed—this time aimed for his throat.
Alexander caught the sword in his bare hand.
The wood sizzled.
The thorns bit into his skin but didn't cut deep. With a roar, he wrenched it from Caspian's grasp and snapped it in two, tossing the pieces aside.
Caspian tried to fall back, but Alexander moved faster.
A punch struck Caspian's ribs—another to his jaw—then a final one square in the chest. Caspian flew backward, hitting the ground hard. He rolled, gasping.
Cain snarled. The ground trembled.
A wall of roots surged between Alexander and Caspian, buying precious seconds. Cain hurled another tangle of vines like a spear, and it wrapped around Alexander's arm, dragging him off-balance.
Caspian crawled to his feet again, bleeding from his mouth. His vision blurred, but he staggered forward.
Cain joined him, standing shoulder to shoulder, their shadows flickering in the blaze around them.
"Together," Cain said, barely above a whisper.
Alexander descended like a storm.
Caspian ducked low; Cain vaulted high.
For a moment, it worked—Caspian slashed with a sharpened length of broken vine, carving a gash across Alexander's thigh while Cain came down with a hammer-fist of roots aimed at Alexander's skull.
It struck. Alexander staggered—momentarily stunned.
But rage replaced pain.
With one hand, he caught Cain mid-swing and hurled him across the courtyard. The vines tried to catch him midair—but they snapped under the force. Cain slammed into the far wall, ribs crunching.
He didn't scream. He just collapsed.
"Cain!" Caspian shouted—and was too slow.
Alexander was already there.
A punch caught Caspian in the shoulder and spun him around. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, pain erupting down his spine. He rolled just in time to dodge another fire blast—the stone where he'd lain turned molten.
He forced himself to his feet.
Alexander descended.
Caspian swung the broken vine-blade out of desperation.
Alexander caught Caspian's arm—the one still holding the weapon.
There was no pause.
With a savage twist and pull—
White-hot pain.
A scream, raw and torn from the soul.
Then—
Nothing
Caspian collapsed, vision swimming. The world tipped sideways. A cold numbness spread from the torn ruin of his shoulder.
His right arm was gone.
Blood gushed in waves.
He fell forward, gasping, clutching at the stump with his remaining hand. The ground slickened beneath him, red soaking into the cracks.
Alexander loomed above.
"You broke my world," he growled, fire spiraling in his hands. "Now I'll break yours."
He raised a hand
But then, movement.
Cain stirred.
Somehow, against every law of nature and every breathless second of agony, Cain rose to one elbow. His body trembled, skin blistered and raw.
His eyes locked on Caspian.
"No—" he croaked.
Vines tore from the ground again, but slower now. Dimmer. As though the land itself was dying.
Alexander turned toward him, lips curling. "You're still breathing?"
Cain didn't answer. With a roar, he raised both hands. Every root in the vicinity surged to answer. The ground cracked apart.
From below, a single massive tendril—thick as a tree trunk—shot upward beneath Alexander's feet.
It struck.
Alexander staggered, thrown back several paces.
Caspian, barely conscious, gurgled through the blood in his throat. "Run…"
Cain didn't.
He summoned the vine again, slamming it down with all the strength he had left.
Alexander caught it.
The vine burst into flame, screaming as it blackened and died.
Then, in a blur, Alexander crossed the space and drove his elbow into Cain's skull.
The crack echoed like a collapsing temple.
Cain dropped. Limp. Unmoving.
Silence fell, broken only by the hiss of burning roots and the low, labored gasps of Caspian bleeding out.
Alexander turned to him again.
The firelight cast his face in shadow.
"Now," he said, stepping closer, "we end this."
Alexander stood over him like a shadow cast by the gods—immense, unyielding, seething with power. Caspian lay sprawled at his feet, blood pooling beneath him, his left hand clutched tightly to the gaping wound where his arm had once been.
Above him, Alexander raised his right fist, glowing with a molten orange light that pulsed like a forge at the heart of a dying star.
"I'm going to savor your death for years to come," Alexander said, voice low, trembling with anticipation. "You know that, right?"
He leaned in slightly, head tilting.
"Any last words?"
Caspian blinked against the blood trickling into his eye. His breath was shallow. Each heartbeat roared like a drum in his ears. But still—he smiled.
"Yeah," he rasped, teeth stained crimson. "Just one."
His fingers curled, trembling—but deliberate.
A deep blue light flickered at his fingertips. It grew, swirling up his arm, winding like smoke and starlight across his chest, into the air, into the earth. The stone beneath him cracked outward in a perfect circle as the energy built to a roar, unnatural and unrelenting.
The grin on Caspian's face widened, even as blood dripped from his chin.
"Encore"
Caspian jolted upright, breath catching in his throat. Cold sweat clung to his skin like a second layer, and for a moment, his eyes darted wildly around the room, half-expecting ash and ruin. But no. The ceiling above him was smooth and untouched. The walls—whole. The gentle hum of electricity pulsed through the light fixture overhead. It was quiet. Too quiet. And mercifully familiar.
He exhaled, long and slow, chest rising with something between relief and disbelief.
He was in his bed. The Blackwood building still stood. No flames. No blood. No ghosts of fire curling along the floorboards.
His gaze drifted to the old brass clock on the wall. 6:58.
Two minutes until dinner.
Two hours until Julius.
The weight of those thoughts pressed down on him, but he forced himself out of bed. His legs ached from dreams he couldn't remember, or perhaps from memories he wanted to forget. He moved stiffly across the room and turned on the sink. Cold water splashed against his hands, his face, his neck—cleansing, grounding.
He gripped the edges of the basin and looked up at the mirror.
His reflection stared back—haunted, older somehow. And then he noticed it.
The ends of his hair.
Brown.
Where once the strands had shimmered black-blue, they now frayed into a dull, earthy hue—like something vital had been leached from them, like rot blooming from within.
"What the hell…" he whispered.
Something cracked inside him. He slammed his palm down onto the nearby desk with a force that sent pens scattering and papers fluttering to the floor.
"Damn it—damn it—damn it!" he hissed, frustration cracking through his voice like shattered glass.
The shout reverberated off the walls, and for a beat, only silence answered.
Then—a soft knock at the door.
"Caspian? Are you in there?" came a familiar voice, muffled but clear. "It's time for dinner. My grandfather sent me to bring you down."
Layla.
Of course it was Layla.
Caspian inhaled sharply, wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, and cast one last glance at the mirror—at the stranger staring back with tired eyes and fading color.
He didn't answer right away.
He couldn't.
Not yet.