Chapter 70: A Tale Of Consequences

Rance's wand whipped through the air with erratic movements, firing off a relentless volley of spells. His face twisted with rage, his desperation mounting with every failed attempt as Salazar deftly dispelled, redirected, or dodged each attack. Salazar moved with an almost theatrical grace. His steps exaggerated as if he were waltzing to some unseen rhythm. His half-lidded gaze and the sardonic smile curling his lips only added to Rance's frustration.

The hissing of the serpents filled the chamber, a deafening symphony that reverberated off the ancient stone walls, amplifying their eerie presence. It was as if they were cheering him on, a sinister chorus urging him forward. Their slit-like eyes glimmered, unblinking and intent, tracking every movement with predatory focus. Forked tongues flickered in the air, tasting the tension that hung thick like a shroud, their collective presence a living, breathing omen of the power that commanded them.

"Come on, Gramont," Salazar taunted, deflecting another spell with ease. "Is that really the best you can manage? Stop trying to hit me and just hit me already!"

With a flick of his wand, Salazar retaliated, firing off spells with ruthless precision. Each blast struck Rance—his stomach, chest, and face—drawing blood from his nose as he staggered backward, his eyes squeezing shut in pain. Before Rance could recover, Salazar raised his wand once more, its obsidian surface glinting.

"Expelliarmus!" Salazar flicked his wand, a streak of red magic blasting forth and striking Rance's own. It spun through the air, landing with a clatter at Salazar's feet. He bent down leisurely, picked it up, and turned his gaze to the fuming boy before him.

"One more," he said before casually tossing the wand back. Salazar shifted into a relaxed stance, tilting his head with a taunting smirk. "Come now. Show me something worth my time."

Rance caught the wand, his trembling grip betraying his fury. With a feral cry, his wand flared to life, spells firing erratically as he hurled his rage at Salazar. Salazar deflected each spell with ease, his wandwork elegant and unhurried. He leaned back, yawning exaggeratedly.

"Really? Is that all? You're making this far too dull." Salazar sidestepped a particularly clumsy blast. "How in Scáthach's name have you managed to hold onto your position as Volg's second? Unless, of course, his only requirement is how well you lick his boots."

"I'll kill you, Slytherin!" Rance screamed, his motions growing more erratic, his spells wild and unfocused. "Even if it's the last thing I do! Even if I have to use my bare hands!"

"Ascendo!" Salazar's voice rang out. The spell launched Rance into the air, his back colliding with the ceiling in a sickening thud. His gasp of pain echoed through the room.

"Descendo!" Salazar followed up, slamming Rance back down with force. The boy's face smashed into the chequered floor, leaving cracks spiderwebbing around the impact.

"And that, my dear Rance, is what we affectionately call the Hufflepuff Special," Salazar said with a flourish of his wand, punctuating the statement with a theatrical bow. A sly smirk tugged at his lips as he added, "Though, I'd advise against mentioning it to Helga. She'd never let me live it down."

Rance let out a guttural scream as he slammed his fist onto the fractured tiles. He pushed himself up, blood dripping onto the ground. He staggered to his feet, his wand flailing as he hurled another barrage of spells at Salazar. "You're filth!" he spat with unrestrained hatred, stepping forward with each attack. "You and that bastard Gryffindor!"

Salazar deflected the spells with calculated precision, like the thrusts of a rapier. His expression remained calm, his gaze piercing.

"You think you're worth something?" Rance voice cracked under the weight of his manic anger. "You're an abomination! Nothing but a step on my path, on Volg's path!" He slammed a fist against his chest, a fireball erupting from his wand. Salazar deflected it effortlessly, the flames dissipating into the ceiling.

"You freakish monster!" His entire frame shook from the force of his vitriol. "How dare you think you're more? How dare Gryffindor and his flea-bitten pelt think they're more! We're the Calishans! We're the best! We're superior!" His words ended in a desperate, furious scream. "We're—!"

"Alright, that's quite enough out of you," Salazar said. He traced his wand over his lips, and his amber, serpentine eyes pulsed ominously. "Quiet."

Rance's body froze mid-step, his movements halted as though he were a puppet whose strings had been cut. His muscles strained, trembling as he fought against the invisible grip, but nothing responded. His jaw twitched, his lips quivered, yet no sound emerged. Panic flickered in his wide, darting eyes.

"I bet you're wondering what just happened," Salazar stepped closer, his tone conversational but chilling. "Allow me to clarify." He gestured to the hundreds of snakes encircling them. "No, this isn't a spell—not exactly. It's a gift, one I've acquired… along with this."

"Total dominion over all serpents," Salazar continued, circling Rance like a predator toying with its prey. Rance's eyes followed him, the only part of his body still capable of movement. "And something more—something far rarer. The power to compel anyone foolish enough to lock eyes with me."

He stopped in front of Rance, leaning in, his amber eyes glowing brighter as they pierced into Rance's soul. "This isn't some mere Slytherin parlor trick. Parceltongue? Oh, that's hereditary, a quaint little gift passed down from my ancestors. But this?" Salazar gestured to his glowing eyes. "This is all me."

Salazar shrugged, drawing a deliberate breath. "Well, ole' chap, it's been… amusing. But I'm afraid our little tête-à-tête must come to an end." He stepped back with a casual air despite the darkness creeping into his words. "Given how pitifully you've performed, I'd typically just knock you out and claim my victory."

His smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, unrelenting gaze. "But…" he said, his tone hardening. "You dared to strike my friend. That, Gramont, is an unforgivable sin, and had it not been for the Enforcers that day, you'd already be a memory." His eyes burned amber again, glowing with an eerie light. "Now…" His voice dropped. "Kill… yourself."

Rance's body betrayed him. His arm jerked upward, his hand trembling as it moved his wand to rest under his chin. His breaths quickened, frantic and shallow, as his wide, tear-filled eyes stared down at the glowing tip. Strangled cries escaped his throat, his mouth gaping in a silent scream.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Salazar mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "A Forbidden Curse requires absolute intent to be effective. Or else, just one misstep, one careless slip of the tongue, and someone could topple over, never to take another breath."

"But then you might ask," His tone mockingly academic as he tilted his head, "Salazar, how is this any different from the Imperius Curse?" He paused for effect. "An excellent question. The Imperius Curse, while infamous for granting full control over a person's body, has its limitations. Even it cannot force someone to turn the Killing Curse on themselves."

"But with these," he gestured once again toward his glowing, serpentine eyes, a sinister glint reflecting in their amber light, "I can make you mean it, even if you don't. Strip away your doubts, twist your will into alignment. It's efficient—mercilessly so."

Salazar's expression shifted slightly. "I might even consider it cruel. If you weren't the absolute epitome of human refuse, I might actually feel a shred of sympathy for you."

"P-pl-ea… d-don't," Rance choked. "I… I'm s-sor…"

"What's that?" Salazar leaned in, placing a hand to his ear with mock attentiveness. "You'll need to speak up, Gramont. I can barely hear you."

Salazar straightened as he shook his head slowly. "Unfortunately, it's far too late for apologies now," he said. "Such a shame, really. You see, Raine—that 'flea-bitten pelt' you're so fond of insulting—her life is going to continue. She'll laugh, love, and thrive."

He leaned in slightly. "Yours, however, ends here. Cold. Worthless. Alone. No friends to comfort you. No family to grieve for you. All because you threw in your lot with Volg Dryfus. And lost."

The tip of Rance's wand began to glow a sickly, vibrant green, the cursed light illuminating his pale, tear-streaked face. His body trembled violently, and choked, desperate sounds spilled from his throat as if he were fighting a battle, he knew he couldn't win.

"A word of advice for the journey ahead." Salazar's smirk deepened. "When you get to Hell, do mention my name. Perhaps even the devil himself might take pity on you. Now... you know the words. Say them."

Rance's lips trembled as the words stumbled from his mouth. "A-a-av-a…"

"Louder!" Salazar commanded. "Say it!"

"Avada Kedavra!" Rance screamed as a flash of green light exploded around him.

The room descended into an eerie, oppressive silence. Rance's body crumpled to the floor with a lifeless thud, his wand slipping from his slack grip and rolling aimlessly across the fractured tiles. His unseeing eyes remained fixed in a frozen mask of terror, his final expression etched with the raw despair of a man who had glimpsed his end and found it unforgiving. The air hung heavy, the echoes of his last moments lingering like a specter.

Salazar exhaled deeply, his gaze lingering on Rance's lifeless form. A low, sardonic chuckle escaped his lips. With a whispered command in Parseltongue, the spear, still lodged in the ground, twisted itself free and floated to his side. Nirah slithered up his arm with practiced grace, settling onto his shoulder and hissing sharply, her tone laced with reproach.

The spear split seamlessly into its two halves, the blackened metal gleaming ominously in the dim light as they slid effortlessly into the holsters on his back. The green sash tied to the spear fluttered faintly, moving with an uncanny life of its own.

"My apologies, Nirah," Salazar murmured, the fiery amber glow receding from his eyes as they returned to their natural emerald hue. "You're right to be upset. It's not like me to be so… impassioned."

His fingers brushed against the golden locket resting against his chest, his grip tightening on the cool metal. "It's strange, really, feeling this way for anyone other than myself. Do you think… do you think this is what she meant?" His gaze drifted to the serpent perched on his shoulder.

Nirah hissed softly, her forked tongue flicking as if offering her own cryptic answer. Salazar's lips curved into a faint, wry smile. "I suppose you're right," he said, nodding slightly. His tone hardened, the fleeting vulnerability vanishing. "Now, tell your kin to scatter. The Congregation will be here any moment, and I'd rather not have them questioning our… arrangements."

Nirah hissed sharply in acknowledgment before slithering down his arm and onto the floor, disappearing into the writhing mass of serpents. The others began to disperse like shadows retreating from the light, vanishing into the cracks and crevices of the room. Salazar adjusted his robes, his expression impassive as he turned and began to make his exit.

"Strange indeed," he muttered.

Sure enough, a doorway materialized within a glowing frame of light, the air shimmering as it swung inward. Salazar stopped in his tracks as Eskel and two Enforcers strode through, their wands drawn and their eyes scanning the room with razor-sharp focus. The air was thick with the remnants of chaos—the jagged fragments of shattered stone scattered across the chamber. Yet, an unsettling quiet hung in the air, the room devoid of life save for the chilling sight at its center.

The bodies of the mercenaries were gone, spirited away by the serpentine tide that had vanished as mysteriously as it had come. Left behind was Rance, sprawled on his back, his lifeless eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling.

Eskel approached cautiously, his expression shifting from alarm to suspicion as his gaze swept over the scene. "Slytherin," he said. "What happened here? What's going on?"

One of the Enforcers knelt beside Rance, checking for any sign of life. A grim look crossed their face as they glanced up at Eskel and shook their head. Eskel's breath hitched, his eyes widening in shock before narrowing sharply as they turned to Salazar, who stood in the middle of the wreckage, unruffled. In an instant, all three wands snapped up, their tips glowing ominously as they were aimed directly in his direction.

Salazar raised his hands, a mock gesture of surrender, his sly grin curling at the corners of his lips. "Now, now, gentlemen," he began, "I know exactly what you're thinking. But I assure you, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this."

The Enforcers exchanged uneasy glances. Their wands unwavering as they remained trained on him. Eskel stepped forward, his expression a storm of disbelief and barely contained fury. "Then, by all means," he growled, "enlighten us."

Salazar's grin widened, his emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. "Would you believe me," he drawled, tilting his head ever so slightly, "if I told you he did it to himself?"

****

A sharp clang of steel meeting magic reverberated through the clock tower, sparks dancing in the air as Godric slid back across the fractured stone floor. His boots scraped against the shattered tiles, but his sword remained unwavering in his grasp, even as his chest heaved with each labored breath. Across from him, Volg stood, wand still aimed, his own breaths ragged and heavy. Their gazes locked, both bloodied and battered, robes torn and smeared with crimson. Time seemed irrelevant; the only thing that mattered was the unyielding resolve to remain standing until the other fell.

The oppressive silence between them shattered as Helga and Rowena stepped forward, their wands raised, their expressions fierce. They flanked Godric, forming an unbreakable line against their opponent.

"It's over, Volg!" Rowena declared firm and resolute. "You've lost!"

"Your friends are out cold," Helga added, her amber eyes narrowing in defiance. "And now you're all alone."

Volg's baby blue eyes widened for a moment before flickering toward the crumpled forms of Derek and Marcus, their bodies lifelessly sprawled across the ground. He hadn't noticed their downfall amidst the chaos. His expression twisted in fury. His jaw clenched as his grip on his wand tightened.

"Worthless fools!" Volg snarled. "No better than the rest of the traitorous trash!"

Both Rowena and Helga froze for a moment, their eyes wide in disbelief before their expressions twisted into fury.

"Fools?" Helga growled through gritted teeth.

"Trash?" Rowena tightened her grip on her wand.

"They gave everything for you!" Helga's wand trembled in her grip. "They fought for you, bled for you—risked it all for your sake. And this is how you repay them?"

"They're nothing but pawns to you, aren't they?" Rowena hissed. "Expendable pieces for your little game. You sacrifice them and dismiss their worth like they're nothing. I thought I could conjure up every vile word to describe you, Volg, but even they wouldn't be enough."

Helga amber eyes blazed with fury. "You're not just trash, Volg—you're a parasite. Leeching off the loyalty and strength of others because you're too pathetic to stand on your own."

Rowena followed, her sapphire gaze sharp and unrelenting. "You don't deserve their loyalty. And when this is over, you'll have nothing. No allies, no friends—no one will ever stand with you again."

"Shut your mouths, both of you!" Volg snarled. "If I wanted to hear lip from a pair of whining harlots, I'd pay a visit to a brothel!" He forced a nervous smirk onto his face, though it wavered under the weight of his desperation. "No matter," he continued, his tone faltering slightly. "I still have Rance. Wherever he is, as long as he's standing, I—"

A sudden beeping interrupted him, drawing everyone's attention to where Gabriel stood, calm and composed. The Harbinger retrieved a small device from his robe, activating it with a flick of his wrist. A holographic screen shimmered into view, displaying data he studied briefly. His brows rose ever so slightly before his usual stoic expression returned. He deactivated the device, tucking it away with measured precision.

"It appears Mister Slytherin has defeated Mister Gramont," Gabriel announced. "Which means you, Mister Dryfus, are the last remaining member of The Calishans still in this duel."

Volg's complexion paled as the weight of Gabriel's words sank in. His eyes darted around frantically, his breath quickening as though the walls were closing in. Rowena and Helga exchanged triumphant glances, their smiles growing. Even Helena, watching from the sidelines, allowed herself a small, satisfied grin. Godric, however, remained unyielding, his crimson eyes narrowing as his grip tightened on his blade.

"No… no…" Volg stammered, his knees near faltered under the weight of his disbelief. "That's… that's impossible!" he shouted, the desperation cracking through his words.

"Rowena is right—you've lost," Godric leveled his blade at Volg. "But we're not done here. You and I have unfinished business. I'm not stopping until you're a broken heap at my feet."

His teeth bared in a snarl. "You hurt Raine. You hurt me. You've hurt countless others, not for necessity, not for survival, but simply because you could." The blade in his hand twirled, a streak of deadly precision, as he shifted into a battle-ready stance. "I've waited for this moment. And now, I'm done holding back. I'll show you exactly how I took down Argus Dunbroch."

Circuits of brilliant yellow light streaked across Godric's body, igniting from his fingertips and racing up his arms, spreading to his chest, neck, and cheeks. They pulsed with raw, fiery energy, his determination manifesting in radiant arcs of power.

"Let's finish this, Godric!" Helga called out, stepping up with her wand raised, Rowena beside her with her own wand poised.

"No." Godric's said, firm and unwavering. "I told you—Volg is mine."

Rowena and Helga exchanged glances of disbelief, their brows furrowing.

"This isn't the time for foolish pride, Godric!" Rowena snapped. "We can end this now, together. Helga and I—"

"It won't matter unless I'm the one to take him down," Godric interrupted. "He needs to know—needs to feel—that not even all the Platas in Avalon can shield him from the consequences of his actions. This is between him and me."

 Rowena opened her mouth to protest again, but Helga's hand on her shoulder stopped her. The two exchanged a brief, silent glance, a world of understanding passing between them. Rowena exhaled sharply and nodded, her sapphire eyes hardening.

"If you lose, Godric Gryffindor," she said, "forget Volg—I'll kill you myself." With that, she turned and followed Helga, their footsteps echoing through the shattered expanse of the tower.

As they stepped away, the Enforcers moved in, carefully lifting the unconscious forms of Derek and Marcus. Their limp bodies were carried to a corner, where the Healers began their work, their wands emitting a soft, restorative glow that bathed the battered boys in light. The quiet hum of magic filled the air, a stark contrast to the chaos that had raged moments before.

The two girls stood next Helena. Their expressions softened as they exchanged silent glances. A subtle smile touched each of their faces, a quiet understanding passing between them. No words were spoken; the weight of Gabriel's watchful, judgmental gaze lingered heavily upon them, a reminder that they were still under scrutiny.

****

The air was thick with tension as Godric's sword let out a faint trill, the blade vibrating with energy as he slid into his stance. His hands gripped the hilt firmly, his wand pressed against the handle. He brandished it toward Volg, his crimson eyes narrowing into a deadly focus. Every muscle in his body coiled with purpose, every nerve alive with a single, searing thought: this was it. The moment he had been waiting for.

Before him stood the one who had caused so much pain, the one who had tarnished everything sacred to him. The voice in his mind screamed, urging him to take what he was owed, to rid Avalon of the filth that had stained it for so long.

A low chuckle broke through the silence, growing louder until it erupted into strained, furious laughter. Volg stood there, his hand covering his face before throwing it back, his voice echoing through the room like a storm.

"You can't be serious!" Volg bellowed, magic bursting from him in a swirling aura of raw power. His baby-blue eyes burned with unrelenting fury as he locked them on Godric. "I won't accept this! I refuse to accept this! There's no way a nameless little boonie from the moors could best me!"

Godric inhaled deeply, spreading his arms as his wand began to glow, a bright ember at its tip. "Incantatio…" He moved his wand over the blade, its edge igniting with a red-hot glow, shimmering with fiery light. "Flamma!"

Helena gasped; her brown eyes wide with realization. "Incantatio? So that's what you were working on in the training room, Godric."

Her mind raced back to a week ago, vividly recalling the scene: Godric surrounded by nearly half a dozen open books, pages dog-eared, and notes scribbled in the margins. He had been standing in the dimly lit training room, his sword laid out before him, waving his wand over it repeatedly. The room echoed with his frustrated groans and occasional muttered curses, his cries of helplessness cutting through the silence late into the night.

Rowena tilted her head, her sharp gaze narrowing in curiosity as a small frown tugged at her lips. "Enchantment magic? That's rudimentary. This isn't like Vis Vitalis; we learn basic enchantments as First Years," she said, crossing her arms thoughtfully.

"You're right," Helena agreed, her tone thoughtful. "It's usually taught for reinforcing or strengthening objects. But binding a specific element to a material? Applying it to a weapon like this?" Her eyes lingered on Godric's glowing blade, its fiery energy pulsing with life. Admiration flickered in her gaze. "It's fascinating... Perhaps it's something ancient, a forgotten technique from the wizards of old—"

"Or maybe," Helga interjected with a grin, "this is just Godric being Godric. When he doesn't know something, he doesn't let it stay that way for long. It's what makes him... him."

Rowena pursed her lips but nodded begrudgingly. "I'll admit, it's impressive. But there's still a question of how he managed to perfect it in just a week."

Helga's smile widened. "Because he's Godric Gryffindor, that's how."

Godric's sword blazed brilliantly, its fiery aura casting flickering shadows across the room. He raised the blade, pointing it at Volg. "Ready or not," he said. "Here I come."