Godric closed his eyes, his chest rising as he drew a deep, steadying breath. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, the royal blue grip pressing into his palms. The air in the arena shifted, a palpable force rippling outward from him like a shockwave, silencing the crowd for a heartbeat.
"Set your heart ablaze," Godric murmured, his voice calm yet charged with raw intensity. His crimson eyes snapped open, now glowing with fierce determination. "Surpass your limits!" With a swift motion, he shifted into a low stance, his blade glinting as it rested poised by his side.
"Unleash the hounds of war!" Argus bellowed, his voice echoing across the arena as he completed his spell. "Firaga Maxima!"
The arena erupted in a blinding flash of crimson light. A massive fireball, blazing hotter than anything the crowd had ever seen, roared forth from Argus's wand. Its heat was so intense it licked the edges of the stands, making the audience recoil and shield their faces. The fireball barreled toward Godric with a deafening roar, its destructive power shaking the very ground beneath their feet.
"Sweet cheese and crackers!" Anton's voice broke through the cacophony, trembling with awe and alarm. "It's DunBroch's signature move! Can Gryffindor possibly survive this inferno?!"
Just as the fireball closed in, a strange and electrifying energy filled the arena. The air itself seemed to come alive, vibrating with an otherworldly charge. A sharp, voltaic hum rose, as if the entire arena were caught in the heart of a lightning storm.
Golden sparks danced along Godric's form, growing brighter and more erratic with each passing moment. The ground beneath him trembled, and the swirling sand began to rise in defiance of gravity. His circuits pulsed with brilliant light, emitting a sound like rolling thunder as the spell hurtled ever closer.
The crowd held its collective breath, the tension in the arena so thick it was suffocating. All eyes were locked on the young swordsman as the clash of fire and fury seemed inevitable.
****
Salazar rubbed his fingers together, the faint crackle of static dancing across his skin. His emerald eyes gleamed with a mix of intrigue and excitement, his grin stretching wide. "Curiouser and curiouser, eh, Gryffindor?" he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement and anticipation.
Helena turned sharply to him, her brows furrowed as she looked around, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. "What in Hecate's name is happening?" she asked, her voice trembling with both awe and confusion. "The air—it feels… alive!"
Professor Workner leaned forward, gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white. His wide eyes locked on the arena; his normally composed demeanor replaced with unrestrained excitement. "By the Old Gods!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder. "This is… this is incredible! I've never seen anything like it!"
****
The jagged, glowing circuits coursing through Godric's body now pulsed vividly, streaking down his arms and into his sword. The blade ignited in a radiant golden glow; the runes carved into its steel shimmering like molten fire. With a roar that shook the very air, Godric let out a thunderous battle cry, his voice resonating with raw, unbridled power.
In the blink of an eye, Godric vanished, leaving behind a sonic boom that rattled the arena's foundations. The sheer force of his speed split the ground beneath his feet, sending cracks rippling through the earth as he surged forward like a lightning bolt.
Argus barely had time to react as Godric's blade slashed through his massive fireball, cleaving it cleanly in two. The blazing inferno dissipated in an instant, its energy scattering harmlessly into the air. Argus's eyes went wide, his disbelief written across his face as the ground beneath him trembled.
The golden energy coursing through Godric roared to life, taking the form of a massive lion's head that surged forward, its mouth wide and fangs bared. The ethereal beast let out a deafening roar, its power echoing through the arena.
A single, precise slash filled the air with a ringing trill of steel. In the same moment, Godric skidded to a stop behind Argus, his blade humming with a soft bluish glow. He exhaled slowly, his breath steady as if the monumental display of power had cost him nothing.
"Ouh… blast me…" Argus groaned; his voice weak. His eyes rolled back as he collapsed back-first to the ground, the remains of his clothes fluttering around him, shredded beyond recognition. "Me… favorite kilt…"
The arena erupted in a violent display of unleashed power. Walls split with deafening cracks, and splinters of wood rained down like shards of glass. Dozens of jagged slash marks etched themselves across the ring, carving deep scars into the stone and earth. The ground trembled as the aftermath of the attack rippled outward, silencing the crowd in awe-struck disbelief.
Amid the chaos, Argus hit the ground with a dull thud, unconscious and utterly defeated.
For a heartbeat, the arena remained still, the tension almost suffocating. Then, the walls trembled as the crowd erupted into deafening cheers. The noise was thunderous, the air electric with excitement as the spectators leapt to their feet, chanting Godric's name in unison.
"Unbelievable!" Anton's voice rang out above the roar, his arms thrown wide in exhilaration. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have witnessed history tonight! I present to you, your champion—the Lion of Ignis, Godric Gryffindor!"
The chants grew louder, the audience's energy almost palpable as they celebrated the boy who had defied all odds. In the center of the shattered arena, Godric stood tall, his sword glowing faintly in his hand, his crimson eyes gazing out at the roaring crowd. For the first time, he felt the true weight of his potential—and the destiny that awaited him.
****
"He did it! He actually did it!" Helena exclaimed, leaping to her feet and clapping her hands with unrestrained glee. "Godric, you absolute madman!" Her face was alight with both relief and pride as she cheered for her friend.
Professor Workner wiped his brow with a handkerchief, his face flushed with excitement. "In all my years on this earth…" he said, shaking his head in disbelief, a wide grin spreading across his face, "I never thought I'd witness such raw, untampered power. Truly extraordinary."
Salazar, leaning casually against the railing with a satisfied smirk. "And that, my dear friends," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement and pride, "is why you never underestimate a Gryffindor." His gaze lingered on the arena where Godric stood tall amidst the wreckage, the crowd roaring his name. "Well done, my brave little lion cub. Well done indeed."
****
As the thunderous cheers of the crowd echoed around him, Godric exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging slightly as the adrenaline began to ebb. With a practiced motion, he slid his sword into its scabbard on his back, the blade locking into place with a satisfying click. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his breaths coming heavy but steady.
"I could really use a butterbeer right about now," he muttered under his breath, his tone dry but laced with exhaustion.
Then, his gaze flicked upward, locking onto Salazar, who leaned casually against the banisters above. Godric's expression darkened, his glare sharp and unyielding.
"But first…" he growled, his voice cutting through the lingering noise of the arena, promising a reckoning yet to come.
****
"Much obliged," Salazar said with a sly grin, plucking a jingling pouch from the betting table. He shook it next to his ear, savoring the sound of clinking coins. "Not too bad, if I say so myself."
His gaze shifted abruptly to Godric, who was stomping toward him with fury etched into every line of his face. Salazar's smirk widened as he spread his arms in mock celebration. "And there he is, the man of the hour! Come, let us—"
Before he could finish, Godric growled and seized Salazar by the collar of his robes. In one swift motion, he slammed Salazar back-first into a nearby pillar with a resounding thud. Salazar's smirk faltered slightly as Godric's blazing crimson eyes bore into him, his expression pure, unrestrained rage.
Nearby, Helena instinctively raised a hand, halting a group of Congregation staff who had begun to move in, their concern palpable. "Wait," she said softly, her eyes fixed on the confrontation. "Let him handle this."
"What the hell were you playing at, you treacherous snake?!" Godric snarled, pressing his forearm against Salazar's throat, pinning him in place. His voice trembled with fury. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't run you through right here and now!"
"Easy, easy, Godric." Salazar raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk slowly creeping back. With deliberate calm, he shifted the small pouch into Godric's line of sight. "How about… a hundred? Specifically, a hundred Platas. Call it the spoils of our 'investment.'"
Godric growled again, swatting the pouch from Salazar's hand with a sharp motion. The pouch burst open, scattering platinum coins across the floor in a cascade of silver and gold. "You really think I give a damn about that?!" Godric snapped, his voice rising. "You could have gotten me killed! For what?!" He leaned in closer, his voice dripping with venom. "Your own twisted little schemes?!"
"Perhaps not," Salazar said with a nonchalant shrug. "But…" He gestured toward the far end of the arena. "I believe a certain someone owes you an apology."
Godric's gaze followed Salazar's pointed finger, his eyes widening as they landed on none other than Professor Serfence. The stern professor stood silently, his arms crossed, watching with an inscrutable expression. For a moment, their eyes met, Godric's chest tightening at the realization. He had been watching the entire time.
With a scoff, Serfence turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd without a word.
Professor Workner shrugged as he watched his colleague retreat. "Well, that's Edward for you. More stubborn than a dwarf with a toothache." He turned back to Godric with a broad grin. "Still, impressive show, Mister Gryffindor. Well done indeed."
Godric released his grip on Salazar with a sharp shove, the anger still coursing through his veins like fire. Salazar rubbed his neck, wincing slightly, his usual smirk nowhere to be found.
"Helga was right," Godric said, his voice cold and venomous. "You only care about yourself, and I'm done being your little pawn. I thought you were my friend. Guess I was wrong."
For a fleeting moment, a flicker of something unfamiliar passed across Salazar's face—surprise, perhaps even hurt. His emerald eyes softened slightly as if he wanted to say more, but the words seemed to falter on his lips.
"Godric… I—" Salazar began, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
But Godric cut him off, his tone unwavering. "I've had enough of this. Enough of you." He turned on his heel, his crimson eyes narrowing. "I'm going back to the dorms."
Without looking back, Godric marched toward the arena's exit, his steps heavy with frustration. But as he moved, a strange sensation began to creep over him—a sickening distortion, like the world was tilting beneath his feet. His vision blurred, the once-solid walls of the arena wavering like reflections on water.
"Godric?" Helena's voice called out, sharp with concern as she rushed to his side. She grabbed his arm to steady him. "Hey, are you alright?"
Godric stumbled, his legs growing weak, his gaze unfocused. "I… I don't… k—" he slurred, his words falling apart as the darkness closed in.
Before he could finish, the ground rushed up to meet him. His world went black, his body crumpling to the floor. The last thing he heard was the panicked shouts of his friends echoing distantly, fading into the abyss as they surrounded him.
****
"By the Old Gods!" Professor Workner exclaimed, his voice trembling with urgency as he dropped to his knees beside Godric. His normally composed demeanor was replaced with wide-eyed panic as he checked for signs of life. "We have to get him to the Hospital Wing now! Quickly!"
Salazar stood frozen; his emerald eyes fixed on his fallen friend. "But… I… I didn't…" he muttered, his voice barely audible. His usually sharp and confident expression was replaced with a look of disbelief, a chill creeping down his spine. It was cold, dull, and deeply unfamiliar. "I didn't mean… No, this wasn't supposed to happen…"
"Move!" Helena's voice cut through the chaos like a whip. She shoved Salazar aside, her tone commanding as she cleared a path through the gathering crowd. "Everyone, get out of the way! Medical emergency coming through!"
The staff of The Congregation rushed to the scene; their wands ready as they levitated Godric onto a stretcher. His body lay motionless, eyes closed, breathing shallow.
From his perch above the crowd, Anton tapped his wand to his throat, his amplified voice tinged with forced cheerfulness. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he announced, his words stumbling slightly. "It would seem that our champion has… er… decided to take a quick nap! Nothing to worry about, I'm sure!" His nervous chuckle echoed awkwardly, failing to mask the rising tension in the arena.
As Godric was hurried out of the arena, the crowd parted like a sea, their whispers filling the space with a low hum of worry and speculation. Wide eyes followed the stretcher, their earlier cheers replaced with uneasy murmurs.
Meanwhile, on the scorched sands of the arena, Argus sat up slowly, his movements groggy and unsteady. He blinked several times, his vision clearing as he struggled to make sense of the aftermath.
"Wha-what happened?" Argus mumbled, rubbing his head. "Did I win?" His gaze drifted downward, and his face went pale as he noticed his state of undress. "Ah! I'm naked! I'm as bare as a wee babe!" he shrieked, hastily covering himself with his hands.
He glanced around in frantic confusion. "Where's me kilt?! Someone find me kilt!"