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Bitong was forced to leap up and preform a roll, which required getting rid of his lance.

Luckily for Bitong, he was a good thrower, and could aim well for about 12 feet with a slim lance like stick of ice that he now held.

It was concurrently unlucky for Anatoly, the target of the now speeding projectile.

Not worrying about his thrown shaft, Bitong landed his roll, turned around, and suddenly fell on his back. He had misjudged the distance and how high he had to jump, and it had cost him his balance.

Crash shrugged. "That's your problem. Do you expect your enemies to just 'take it easy' because you're kids with no experience? I think not." He turned and left the room. A clock on the wall showed 3:00, and began to count down.

Stark used the hammer to slam it out of the way, crushing and shattering most of it. He slashed his sword through the opening.

Nathan blinked. He hadn't gotten the point of that at all, had he? Well. There were a few solutions, and all of them involved deception. Nathan was still deeply considering his plan. But if he went through with it, who would he go through with it on? Blaine? Anna? Whoever he didn't go through with, he would have to talk into taking the offensive. Who could take the offensive, though? Well, it didn't matter; a shield or a ball of light was no threat to a hostage. A ball of fire, on the other hand, was.

Anna? She probably wouldn't see it coming; she trusted him. That would be a harsh bond to break.

Blaine? Was it worth that sort of thing? Would he be able to take it well enough to accept Nathan's thought process? He would hardly touch Nathan's hand; how would an arm and a bare chest feel to him?

Perhaps that wasn't the best option.

He glanced at the others, looking for ideas.

Stark leaned back and to the side, so that the spiky lance handle fell short just in front of his face. He rapidly ducked to the side and brought the hammer and sword swinging in in an X for Anatoly's chest.

Stark dodged to the side, but the ice spike grazed his shoulder. Blood flashed on the air, but Anatoly felt a strange feeling, as though Stark's flesh had not had as much resistance as it should have; it yielded too easily.
Still, Stark pressed his advantage, shoulder rushing Anatoly and knocking him to the floor. He stood over him, sword poised to poleaxe Anatoly.
"I hope you said your - "
His words were cut off as a small blue cone emerged from his chest. He looked down in confusion as it grew. It became clear what it was: Bitong had struck Stark from behind, spearing him with a second ice lance.
Blood sprayed on Anatoly as Bitong pushed it forward, widening the wound. Stark coughed once...
...and exploded.
Not literally. But he did seem to burst, turning into swirling dust. A cough was heard from the doorway and Stark walked into the room.
"Not bad," he said, holding his bleeding shoulder. "You've both done exceptionally well today. You have today and tomorrow off."
How he had accomplished what had just happened was a mystery that left Anatoly and Bitong speechless. They both got a clear impression that while they might together best Stark in combat, he was still too mysterious, too...powerful to ever beat.

The speechless Bitong could only shrug in awe. He managed to stumble to the door and head back to his room, his eyes still wide and his mouth hanging open.

Then it hit Nathan. He could still pull it off, without any enmity later. Hopefully. A warning given half a second before hand wouldn't have time to register; she would still honestly be afraid for her life. That was what they needed. It was perfect. A few signs done from where General Crash couldn't see them; there wouldn't be time to understand what he was telling her. It was too beautiful.

He turned to Blaine. Drawing closer, he leaned in to mutter his plan, too quietly for Anna to hear. "I have an idea. Last-minute warning, I give it to Anna, hold her hostage, you hurt the General. If he sees through that... we'll think from there."

Blaine nodded slowly, he wasn't sure if the plan would work, but it was worth a shot.