The Excalibur clock tower erupted into chaos, a dazzling storm of flashing lights and streaking magic as Godric and his friends clashed with Volg and his entourage. Wands sliced through the air with precision, unleashing spells that collided in bursts of energy. Gusts of wind roared, and puffs of ethereal smoke filled the space, swirling amidst the cacophony of shouts, grunts, and the hum of raw power. The sound was deafening, every spell exchanged with lethal intent and unerring focus.
Rowena's sharp gaze locked onto Derek, the unspoken decision made—they would face each other. Sparks flew as they exchanged spells, their movements calculated and fluid, each testing the other's limits.
Marcus barreled through the fray, his hammer a blur of iron and fury. The chain coiled around his arm rattled with every swing, deflecting spells and smashing debris as he charged toward Helga. Her amber eyes narrowed, wand at the ready, meeting his onslaught with quick, precise counterspells.
Meanwhile, Salazar and Rance strode toward each other, their steps deliberate, their smirks betraying a mutual loathing barely contained beneath a veneer of mockery.
"It's time to pay the Devil, snake," Rance sneered, slashing his wand forward. A blazing bolt of light streaked toward Salazar, who deflected it with an almost dismissive flick of his wand.
"Right here, you brainless troglodyte," Salazar shot back, spreading his arms with a mocking grin. "Come on then—if you've got the nerve."
At the heart of it all, Godric charged forward, his teeth bared, eyes blazing with a fiery determination. His grip tightened on his sword as he hurtled toward Volg, who stood waiting, his own expression twisted with equal fervor.
"Come on, New Blood!" Volg shouted. "Let's see if you're brave enough to meet your end, or if you'll die like the worthless boonie you are!"
Godric's reply was a thunderous roar. "Come try, you gutless wretch!"
The clash of wills and steel echoed as their collision became the centerpiece of the chaos, the battle escalating into a spectacle of unyielding power and vengeance.
****
Godric and Volg collided in a storm of steel and magic, the clash ringing out as blade met spell in a relentless exchange. Godric's sword moved in sweeping arcs, the polished steel flashing as it sought openings, only to be deflected by Volg's expertly timed Protego. Unlike Argus, the highland hound Godric had faced before, Volg wielded his defensive magic with far greater skill, holding it for brief intervals to repel the blade before seamlessly transitioning to offensive spells.
Volg's spells came swift and precise, but Godric countered each one, his blade cutting through the air with near-blinding speed. Sparks flew as steel met the shield of magic again and again, neither giving an inch. Volg's ability to keep pace began to irritate Godric, his mind flashing back to Professor Serfence's warning: Volg has wielded magic far longer than most his age.
Godric shifted his stance, stepping to the side and letting his blade twirl in a practiced flourish. He swung in a wide, powerful arc, the strike crashing into Volg's shimmering shield, sending a cascade of sparks scattering across the floor.
Volg's smirk deepened as he steadied himself, his chest rising and falling with effort, sweat trickling down his temple. "You're looking a little winded, Gryffindor," he taunted, his tone as sharp as the spells he cast. "Didn't expect me to put up such a fight, did you?"
Godric returned the smirk. "You call this a fight?" He gripped his sword tighter. "Let me know when you're done warming up."
"How about now!" Volg broke his shield with a pulse of energy that repelled Godric's blade. His wand snapped up, trained directly on his opponent.
Seizing the opening, Godric surged forward, his sword sweeping in for a decisive slash. But before the blade could land, Volg's grin widened, and he thrust his left hand forward. Godric's crimson eyes caught a faint glimmer—a gauntlet, its back adorned with a glowing gem that pulsed with an eerie light.
The blade collided mid-air, but not with flesh or a wand-cast shield. Instead, an unseen barrier flared to life, the gauntlet radiating the spell as it absorbed the impact.
"What the—?" Godric's words were cut short as Volg barked a spell.
"Depulso!"
The force struck Godric squarely in the chest, sending him flying backward. He landed hard, skidding across the ground, his breath knocked from his lungs. Coughing, he dropped to his knee, one hand gripping his sword while the other pressed against his ribs as he fought to regain his footing.
Volg flexed his fingers, the glow of the gauntlet fading as the shield dissipated with a faint shimmer. His smirk remained firmly in place, dripping with satisfaction.
"What… what the hell was that?" Godric wheezed as he struggled to steady his breath.
Volg gave a low chuckle, lifting his gauntleted hand. "Oh, this?"
"Just a little something extra," Volg smirked as he flexed his fingers. "Did you really think I'd come at you with just my wand? How dumb do you think I am?"
The glow of the gem flickered ominously, a silent promise of more surprises yet to come.
****
The Congregation erupted into chaos, a mix of boisterous cheers and outraged cries at the sight before them. Some shouted accusations of foul play, others roared their approval, while a cacophony of voices continued to bark bets at the frantic bookies. Meanwhile, at a small table near the bar, two professors observed in silence, their attention fixed on the screen.
"Is that—?" Workner's steely eyes widened as he focused on the gauntlet adorning Volg's arm. "It can't be. I thought the Atlas Institute was still in the experimental stages with CADs."
Serfence leaned back slightly, his fingers interlaced, his expression cold. "Cast Assist Devices," he muttered disdainfully. "Hubris. Yet another technological shortcut degrading the noble art of magic." He spat the words out through clenched teeth.
"Psionic Magic, fascinating." Workner stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I've read the patents filed by my colleagues at the Institute. CADs were initially developed for combat applications. They're capable of preloading a single spell, allowing it to be cast instantly without incantations or wandwork. In Dryfus' case, it's Protego."
"That aside," Serfence interjected, his dark eyes narrowing, "I'm more concerned with Mister Dryfus' movements. Those are not the actions of a typical Second Year. They're precise, deliberate—those of a seasoned duelist. It's clear the boy has trained extensively, and specifically, to counter a swordsman."
"Ever since his humiliating defeat at the hands of Genji Shimada, it's no wonder he'd set his sights on such a goal," Workner said with a slow nod. "It's clear he sees Gryffindor as nothing more than a stepping stone on his climb toward the High Table." He sighed, his expression heavy. "It seems Volg may indeed possess a talent equal to his brother's. Such a pity that this is the path he's chosen to tread."
"A shame indeed," Serfence agreed, his gaze sharpening. "Now, Gryffindor… let's see how you weather this storm."
****
Volg extended his arm, displaying the gauntlet with an air of smug superiority, his smirk widening. "Impressive, isn't it?" he gloated. "Had it specially designed to give me an edge against that slant, Shimada. Never thought I'd need it against the likes of you, but I suppose I should be grateful. Consider this a test run—in the heat of battle, no less. With this beauty, I can defend and attack simultaneously, rendering your precious sword completely useless."
He brandished his wand, a glow building at its tip as his smirk deepened. "And without your sword, Gryffindor, you're nothing!" With a cry, he slashed the air. "Diffindo!" A glowing arc of energy erupted from his wand, hurtling toward Godric.
Godric's gaze sharpened, and in a swift motion, he reached into his robes and drew his wand. With a calculated swipe, he dissipated the incoming spell, the arc vanishing into harmless sparks. Volg's smirk faltered, his eyes widening in surprise as Godric rose to his feet, his sword gripped firmly in one hand, his wand in the other.
"You seem to forget, Volg," Godric said evenly, bringing the wand to his face, "I'm not just a warrior. I'm also a wizard. And I told you—things will end differently this time. Now, let me show you what I'm really capable of."
"Confringo!" Godric roared, firing a blazing ball of fire from his wand. Volg raised his gauntlet, and the glowing gem absorbed the spell, the impact deflecting harmlessly into the air.
Godric dashed forward, his sword sweeping in a wide arc. Steel met the shimmering barrier of Volg's gauntlet, sending a shower of sparks flying. The two boys launched into a furious exchange, spells crackling and swords clashing in a chaotic dance of offense and defense.
Volg gritted his teeth, his focus divided between countering Godric's relentless strikes and firing off his own attacks. Godric spun his blade with practiced precision, weaving between slashing arcs and bursts of magic. Each movement carried an unyielding determination, their duel becoming a blur of motion as they circled one another, locked in a deadly rhythm. The clash of magic and steel echoed through the tower, neither willing to yield an inch.
****
Salazar and Rance exchanged spells in a brutal, unrelenting clash. Their gazes burned with an intensity far beyond a student duel—it was a fight of raw hatred, as though both sought to annihilate the other. Their wands moved in tight, precise flourishes, every motion efficient and deliberate. Spells crackled through the air, bursts of light illuminating their deadly dance as they dodged, countered, and unleashed waves of magic.
Salazar gritted his teeth when a spell struck his chest, sending him stumbling backward with a sharp exhale.
"Everte Statum!" Rance roared, a bolt of white light streaking toward Salazar.
"Protego!" Salazar raised a shimmering shield that absorbed the blast, dissipating it in a shower of sparks. In a fluid motion, he spun and countered. "Stupefy!"
The spell connected squarely with Rance's face, snapping his head back as if he'd taken a punch. Blood trickled from his nose, and he staggered, fingers brushing his split lip. His eyes darkened as he examined the crimson smear on his fingertips.
"Oh dear, did I do that?" Salazar taunted, a wicked smirk spreading across his face.
Rance's expression twisted in fury, his nostrils flaring. "You'll regret that, you arrogant snake!" he snarled, unleashing a flurry of spells in Salazar's direction.
The air erupted in dazzling bursts of light as their magic collided mid-air, each attack met with a counterspell or deflection. Rance's wand began to glow faintly blue, a hum filling the space as electricity arced between his fingers. A manic grin spread across his face as he gathered the energy into his palm.
"Mufulgur!" he bellowed, thrusting his hand forward.
A jagged streak of lightning tore through the air, its crackling roar deafening. Salazar's eyes widened for a split second, but determination quickly replaced shock. He thrust his wand forward, the lightning striking its tip and halting just inches from him.
Salazar gritted his teeth, channeling the energy through his wand and into his body. The electricity coursed down his arms, across his chest, and into his free hand. With a devilish grin, he thrust his palm forward, the lightning coiling in his grip.
"I believe this belongs to you!" he shouted, hurling the energy back.
The bolt pierced the air, streaking toward Rance with unstoppable force. Rance's face froze in shock, his wand twitching too late to raise a shield. The lightning struck him squarely in the chest, sending him flying backward. He crashed to the ground in a heap, rolling several times before coming to a stop.
Rance struggled to his knees, coughing violently as he spat blood onto the floor. A black scorch mark burned through his robes, the fabric still smoking faintly.
Salazar stepped forward, his wand steady. "You can't win, Gramont," he said, his smirk sharp as a blade. "I'm better than you—in every possible way."
"I know," Rance wiped the blood from his mouth as he staggered to his feet. "Which is exactly why I've made… prior arrangements." With a deliberate motion, he reached into his robes and drew out a large golden key, its polished surface glinting in the flickering light.
Salazar raised an eyebrow, a mocking grin tugging at his lips. "Ah, flattery may be the key to a man's heart, Gramont, but this feels a bit too on the nose, doesn't it?"
Rance's smirk widened, his grip on the key tightening as a glint of malice sparked in his eyes. "Charming, but no—this isn't some token of affection. Think of it more as your express pass… to Hell." With a sharp flourish of his wand, he shouted, "Nebulus!"
A thick, swirling mist erupted from the tip of his wand, engulfing Salazar in an instant. The dense fog closed in like a shroud, obscuring everything in sight. Salazar stepped back cautiously, his wand raised, the smog clinging to him as if alive.
Suddenly, from within the mist, Rance's hand shot out, gripping Salazar's arm with a vice-like hold. Their gazes locked for a fleeting second—Salazar's narrowing in confusion, Rance's gleaming with triumph.
"Got you," Rance whispered, his smirk widening.
Before Salazar could react, a brilliant flash of light illuminated the mist, dissipating it in an instant. When the light cleared, both boys were gone, leaving only a faint echo of magic crackling in the empty air.
"Salazar!" Helga and Rowena shouted in unison. Before they could react further, they were forced to pivot back into defense, spells flying toward them.
"No time to look away, sweetheart!" Derek taunted with a sly grin, his wand flicking dangerously in their direction.
"Or you'll end up flattened!" Marcus added, hefting his hammer onto his shoulder with a menacing grin.
****
Helena's brown eyes widened in shock. "By the stars, where did they go?!"
"Portkey," Eskel muttered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers. "They were transported somewhere else."
"But isn't that against the rules?" Helena demanded. She turned to Gabriel, her gaze pleading. "He can't do that, can he?"
The Harbinger drew a measured breath, his expression calm but unyielding. "Compose yourself, Miss Abbot. The use of a portkey during a Bellum Inter Duos is not prohibited, provided they remain within the academy grounds." His tone was firm. "And I trust that even Mister Gramont is not foolish enough to jeopardize his duel by violating such a clear stipulation."
Turning to Eskel, Gabriel's gaze sharpened. "Find them," he commanded.
Eskel gave a curt nod, gesturing to two Enforcers stationed nearby. Without a word, they sprinted from the clock tower, their robes billowing behind them as they disappeared into the corridors.
Gabriel's attention shifted back to Helena. "And Miss Abbot, while The Congregation does not restrict its members from forming friendships, you would do well to remember your position. You are an Overseer. Impartiality is not optional; it is required, especially in situations like this. Do I make myself clear?"
Helena's gaze dropped, her hands clasping tightly in front of her. "Yes, Mister Greymark. I understand," she replied softly.
Gabriel gave a brief nod of acknowledgment before redirecting his focus to the duel unfolding on the screens. Helena remained still for a moment, silently composing herself, before she too turned her attention back to the chaos still unfolding before them.
****
When Salazar startled awake, he found himself sprawled face-first on an unforgiving marble floor. A groan escaped his lips as he pushed himself up, feeling as though he'd been yanked out of existence and hurled across the cosmos, landing squarely on the hardest surface imaginable. Staggering to his feet, he steadied himself, his emerald eyes adjusting to the dim light of the unfamiliar room.
The space was sizeable but smaller than the clock tower he had been in moments before. The walls were plain blackened bricks, dust clinging to their surfaces, interrupted only by alabaster columns that rose to support a vaulted ceiling. Crystal torches lined the walls, their faint amber glow casting long, flickering shadows. The floor was a checkerboard of black and white tiles, reminiscent of a chessboard.
"Welcome, Slytherin," a voice drawled from the far end of the room.
Salazar's gaze snapped to Rance, who stood with a smug grin plastered across his face.
"Forgive the nasty surprise," Rance continued, "but I wanted us to have a private space, just for us."
Salazar smirked, brushing the dust from his robes. "Oh, Rance, if you wanted some alone time, you only had to ask," he quipped. "Though, I must admit, I do prefer being taken to dinner first."
Rance chuckled, though the sound quickly turned sharp, his grin twisting into a scowl. "That sharp tongue of yours," he sneered. "I've got the perfect crystal jar for it, once I'm done ripping it out."
Salazar shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze sweeping the room. "Well, that would make you both sick and remarkably stupid." He glanced around again, taking in the details. "Interesting... In all my time here, I've never come across this place before. Which leads me to a rather obvious deduction... This must be a Room of Requirement, isn't it?"
Rance clapped his hands mockingly. "Clever as always, Slytherin. Right on the money. Not only does it appear for students in need," he began, his smirk widening.
Salazar's eyes narrowed as several flashes of light erupted around the room. One by one, figures stepped from the glow, cloaked in blackened robes and adorned with polished silver masks shaped like snarling dogs. Nearly a dozen of them stood behind Rance, their presence suffocating the air with menace.
"It also gives me a space to get my hands dirty," Rance continued with gleeful malice, "without those pesky eyes watching."
A bead of sweat traced its way down Salazar's cheek, but his wry grin remained firmly in place. "Well, this certainly complicates things." His gaze flicked to the masked figures as he clicked his tongue, shaking his head with a mix of feigned pity and amusement. "And The Black Dog Company? For little old me? Oh, Gramont, you really shouldn't have. I dread to think how much this fine ensemble has cost you."
Salazar's gaze sharpened. "Besides, I always knew you were reckless, but I never imagined you'd stoop to something like this." His words biting. "So, tell me—how desperate must you be to risk invoking the wrath of The Congregation and the High Table itself with such blatant disregard for the rules?"
Rance bared his teeth, his sneer deepening as he stepped forward. "How desperate am I?" he hissed. "You challenged us to a Bellum Inter Duos that threatens to dissolve The Calishans, to have us declared Excommunicado from The Congregation. You and that mangy backwater bumpkin from the moors jeopardize everything Volg has built. Everything we've built. Fought for. Bled for. Every ounce of progress we've clawed our way to achieve."
His voice rose, trembling with fury. "So, to answer your question, Slytherin—you've made me very desperate. And right now, you're probably regretting you ever did."
Rance began to pace, though his fiery gaze never left Salazar. "You see, I made a promise long ago—a solemn oath—that I'd see Volg claim his rightful place at The Table, no matter the cost. Even if it means turning the entire Congregation against me, I'll be the devil that gets him there. And now, because of you, he stands to lose it all. I won't allow that. I won't."
"Oh, how touching," Salazar lips curled into a mocking smirk. "Such loyalty. Like a good little puppy. Tell me, Gramont—do you fetch his slippers as well? Roll over when he commands it?"
Rance's sneer deepened, but Salazar's tone grew colder, his emerald eyes narrowing into sharp slits. "And let's not rewrite history, shall we?" he said. "I remember perfectly well that we didn't start this fight. You did. You and that egotistical whelp you so proudly call a master."
Salazar's expression hardened; his calm exterior now threaded with simmering anger. "Let me make something abundantly clear—disbanding The Calishans and booting every one of you nutless peons out of The Congregation doesn't even begin to settle the score. Not even close." His gaze burning with unyielding intensity. "Because you crossed a line, Gramont. You went after Godric's girl—the love of his life. Which you know…" His voice sharpened into a snarl. "You don't bloody do."
"You dare, Slytherin?" Rance scoffed, though his sneer faltered slightly, revealing a flicker of frustration. "The sheer audacity of you—to equate the worth of that disgusting, flea-bitten pelt to ours?!" He spat to the floor with disdain, his expression twisting further.
"I would've thought," he continued, "that your blind loyalty to Gryffindor might've given you some semblance of understanding. But no, that's clearly where the resemblance ends." His eyes narrowed. "You'd never dirty your hands, would you? Never tarnish your oh-so-precious name. But me? I'm different. Because without Volg Dryfus, I am nothing. And I will tear down anyone who dares to stand in his way."
"And by the time those petty fools from The Congregation find us, they'll be long gone," Rance said. "And you… you'll be dead. And as they say, dead men tell no tales." His sneer twisted into a wicked grin, his words carrying a chilling finality.
"I warned you, Slytherin—yours is the knell that marks your end. And every last Plata spent will be worth it to see you buried. Ending the noble House of Slytherin is just a bonus. When I kill you, I'll go down in history as the one who finally destroyed the legendary Salazar Slytherin."
"Legendary?" Salazar arched an eyebrow, his smirk curling with amused disdain. "Well, well, Gramont, it seems you're the one with the silver tongue now."
He raised his wand and shifted into a defensive stance, his expression hardening. "But as a good friend once told me, don't count your dragons before they hatch."
"Cute," Rance stepped into his stance with his wand poised and ready. "I'll make sure to have that engraved on your tombstone—right before they lower your casket into the dirt where you've always belonged."
The masked figures moved in unison, their wands raised and aimed at Salazar.
Salazar's smirk twisted into something venomous, his emerald eyes alight with defiance. "Alright, you cowardly lot," he barred his teeth. "This viper's still got his fangs. Come and have a go, if you think you're hard enough!"