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Without waiting to see where they were coming from, Hector launched himself away on an iron pillar.

Explosions chased him, and even though they did little more than tear his clothes, they were becoming a problem due to all the smoke they left behind. If he allowed his vision to become obscured, he really would be fighting blind, because he couldn’t rely on Garovel to locate his opponents’ souls.

The solution was a platform, he decided. A platform for everything--all around the houses, filling the backyard and rising past the rooftops and nearer the trees above. He aimed to raise himself up along with everyone he couldn’t see. He even covered the roofs with iron and raised those sections as well, making sure to attach them to the greater platform horizontally so that they didn’t put pressure on any of the houses and cause any cave-ins.

It was tricky work, because he had to do it whilst avoiding the scarcely visible distortions in the air from the multiple destruction users who were ganging up on him, but Hector kept his bearings, and soon enough, the fruits of his labor revealed themselves. A broad plateau of solid iron stretched out before him, pressing among the trees and indeed, crushing most of the branches in its way. He’d been far more concerned with maintaining precise construction around the civilian homes to bother himself with protecting all the damn trees, too.

Most importantly, however, he could hear the constant drum of footsteps rushing across the iron. He couldn’t see any of the bastards, but they were definitely there, and they were already tearing into his work with theirs--explosions, acid, destruction, all cutting into what he’d done.

So he converted the plateau into a bed of spikes, save only where he was running. A half-dozen streams of blood revealed immediate results, and Hector prepared his next move.