The ancient sword fell to the ground unceremoniously as I quickly cast Protego Duo. The enemies' magic crashed against the translucent shield, but within seconds, the shimmering dome began... melting? Not in the literal sense, as a physical object would, but something about the spell's interaction with their magic was akin to a slow dissolve. I had no better way to describe it.
Still, their attacks were physical enough, and as soon as I stopped sustaining the shield, the melted magic splattered to the ground. But my opponents weren't the type to be discouraged by a failed attack.
They chanted something in their native tongue, then simultaneously struck the ground with their staves, sending vibrating red beams from the crystal tips toward me.
Not wanting to risk it, even with a powerful Protego, I transfigured the ground in front of me, raising a solid concrete wall. The spell was harder to cast than expected — likely due to the deep-seated magic in these ruins that resisted my influence — but I managed. The red beams struck the material barrier and dissipated.
In the next moment, I bolted from my position, a split second before a massive earthen spike erupted from the ground where I'd been standing. I winced. I could only imagine what would've happened had I been hit by that. Not sure my enchanted clothing and amulets would've saved me. That spike reeked of Dark Magic...
Well, if they could use dangerous, unknown magic, so could I.
"Verdirax!" I muttered in Greek, waving my wand rapidly. The spell Medea had taught me had a short incantation, but the wandwork was intricate.
Luckily, the Fomorians seemed to be preparing something bigger, underestimating me once again. Big mistake. The result was instant — crystalline spikes shot from the tips of their staves, catching them completely off guard. One of them was impaled through the eye, while the other two ended up with deep gouges on their ugly faces.
Unfortunately, the spikes disintegrated within a second, as they weren't true transfigurations but temporary additions to the existing material. The trick is, you can't transfigure something heavily imbued with magic — like a wizard's wand — due to one of Gamp's five laws.
That's why this now mostly forgotten spell was such a nasty little surprise.
However, these Fomorians weren't ancient beings. If they had been, I wouldn't still be here, and honestly, I wasn't feeling much difficulty in this fight. If anything, I was drawing it out... because it was interesting. Not the most sensible thing to do, but a completely "normal" wizard would be abnormal anyway.
I hadn't yet fully lost that childlike awe and wonder for magic that I'd had when I first found myself in this reality and this body. Unlike the more commonly known magic that had become mundane and professional for me, ancient or forgotten magic brought back emotions from a decade ago, rekindling that sense of excitement.
And now, snapping out of their surprise from my previous attack, the Fomorians began casting something far more serious. They stepped back, gripping their staves with both hands and spinning them at impressive speeds. Within moments, two crimson-green circles spun toward me from the rapidly turning staves.
Something told me that neither pure magical nor physical defense would save me this time. If it weren't for the brutal training I'd undergone with Medea, I might have lost my nerve by now, even more so than when the spike nearly impaled me.
I couldn't help but feel some sympathy for those who had to face the disciples of ancient monsters. You think you're up against an ordinary teenager, only to find him outmaneuvering full-grown wizards without breaking a sweat.
If I were to draw a comparison to regular people, it's like putting an average adult civilian against a fifteen-year-old who's been trained by a squad of experienced special forces since childhood. It doesn't matter how different their weight classes are — the kid would flatten them without even noticing.
"Secans Magicae Veldatha!" I incanted, emphasizing the final consonant and making two sharp flicks with my wand. Two onyx-black crescents shot forward, cutting cleanly through the incoming magic like it was nothing, then continuing on toward the scrambling Fomorian sorcerers.
A brilliant spell, created by some Venetian wizard. Unfortunately for the Fomorians, if that thing connects with organic material, the victim is in for an excruciating experience. It's almost like Cruciatus, though with its own nuances. No wonder it became one of the most notorious Dark spells.
In moments like these, I can't help but think back to canon and realize just how poorly magic was portrayed there... It's time I fully accepted that the books tied to this reality were merely simplified, child-friendly retellings. Perhaps even Harry Potter isn't the outright weakling he's depicted as in Rowling's work. I might get the chance to see for myself one day.
Why am I letting my mind wander during the fight? Well, it's essentially over. The purple-skinned creatures, winding up for another attack with their spinning staves, didn't dodge in time. One lost an arm, and the other was almost completely bisected from shoulder to waist.
Tsk, tsk. A troll would've only received a long, deep scratch from that spell.
I'll have to investigate further — was the ultimate evil in Irish mythology really this underwhelming?
I ended their death throes with Bombarda. Why that spell? Simple — it's one of the most energy-efficient spells in terms of cost versus effect. All the commonly known spells, like Protego and Stupefy, became popular precisely because of their excellent efficiency. Historical records mention countless variations of modern spells in the past, all differing in some way or another.
That's why I don't use national spells every chance I get. Most of them simply can't compete with the more canonical ones, many of which originated in Britain. Foggy Albion is home to a huge number of magical inventors, the most famous of which is Merlin. A somewhat bitter fact for various patriots, but I believe magic transcends those kinds of boundaries.
"Such disrespect!" Orna yelled when I picked him up from the ground and hurried on. "But, not entirely unexpected," he added, suddenly calming down. "Yes, yes, why did I even hope for anything different from a German?" he scoffed, his voice laced with perfect disdain, transmitted through his mental connection.
"I wouldn't say there's a big difference between us and the Irish," I retorted, brushing off his complaints as I dodged a patrol of five Fomorians armed with clubs and spears. Their eyes were wild, and they charged toward the still-burning heart of the ruins, drawn by the same ancient magic that made them so appealing to Fiendfyre.
Ancient magic attracts Fiendfyre like a magnet — whether it's organic or inorganic, the fire doesn't care. Magic is magic.
Another fight was something I wanted to avoid. I could handle another group of three sorcerers of the same level, and probably even the next group... but after that, even a first-year could finish me off. Despite my current skill level being comparable to a twenty-five-year-old Auror, which is quite impressive, my magical reserves were the issue. The difference in age once again threw up a massive roadblock.
It won't be long before I find the rituals necessary to bypass this limitation. Though I know the price for such power will likely require sacrifices — not the ordinary kind either. And with that comes the corresponding difficulties, both moral and material.