Chapter 72: A Tale Of The Endgame

A heavy silence blanketed the entire Congregation in the wake of Godric's thunderous declaration. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as every eye remained fixed on the young warrior, his fiery resolve radiating across the halls. Then, like the ignition of a firestorm, a resounding cheer erupted, breaking the stillness and shaking the very foundations of the structure.

The roar of approval spread like wildfire. Students from all five Houses, members of rival Clans, and even outsiders who had been drawn to watch the spectacle, raised their voices in unison. Fists pumped into the air as jubilant cries reverberated throughout the grand hall.

Anton leaned casually against one of the ornate pillars, arms crossed, a confident grin spreading across his face as he watched the spectacle unfold. Nearby, Adrian and the former Calishans exchanged knowing looks, their own smiles betraying a shared sense of vindication. From the rounded sofa, Údar and her hounds leapt to their feet, their cheers bursting out in raucous Gaelic chants that carried over the din.

Even Serfence and Workner, ever composed and calculating, couldn't resist the moment. Workner allowed himself a broad grin as he nudged Serfence, who, despite his usual stoic demeanor, felt the reluctant tug of a smile creeping at the corner of his lips.

All across Excalibur, the reaction was the same. In the common rooms, the dormitories, and even hidden away in private corners, students gathered in clusters, their collective excitement impossible to contain. Whether in the bedrooms or the quiet sanctuaries of the library, they cheered in unison, celebrating not just a declaration of defiance, but a rallying cry that had shaken them all to their cores.

For the first time in years, it wasn't just a duel being fought—it was a moment of shared unity and unyielding resolve, a reminder of what it meant to stand for something greater. And Godric Gryffindor stood at the center of it all.

****

High above the Congregation, seated at the illustrious High Table, Genji watched intently, his sharp eyes fixed on his personal screen. His fingers were steepled in front of his face, his lips curving into a subtle, knowing smile. He offered a sidelong glance to the three others seated alongside him. They avoided his gaze, their faces impassive, unwilling to grant him the satisfaction of acknowledging his decision to side with the young Lion of Ignis.

Yet, their energy betrayed them—some restrained, others quietly exhilarated. Despite their stoic exteriors, they were as drawn to the duel as he was, unable to ignore the significance of the battle unfolding below.

Genji leaned back slightly in his chair as his gaze remained locked on the screen. "The first step toward victory," he said, his tone almost reverent, "is finding the courage to take a stand."

His smile deepened as he straightened, his eyes alight with a rare glimmer of admiration. "Now, young Lion of Ignis," he continued, "bare your fangs. Let your roar echo through every corner of every realm and show them who you truly are."

****

Godric slashed his blade through the air, the movement precise and deliberate, as he settled into his stance. A sharp breath escaped him, and then, with a sudden eruption of power, the atmosphere around him seemed to ignite. His circuits blazed brighter, streaks of lightning crackling across his body. The air itself came alive, trembling with the raw energy coursing through the tower, the faint hum of power echoing in the ears of all who watched.

Volg staggered, his hand instinctively rising to his mouth as a violent heave overtook him. He pulled his hand back, his gaze narrowing as he stared at the smear of blood on his palm. His teeth clenched in frustration and fear. He could feel it—the Nova's effects were nearing their end. Time was no longer on his side. If he wanted victory, he had to seize it now.

Gabriel's normally stoic demeanor cracked ever so slightly. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, his hands gripped his biceps, his knuckles white. His sharp gaze remained fixed on the battle below, and the faint voltaic charge in the air made the hair on his arms and neck stand on end.

Helena rubbed her fingers together absently, feeling the charge between them, her wide eyes fixed on Godric. The electrified air felt eerily familiar, reminding her of the moment he had unleashed his power at The Congregation months ago.

Helga and Rowena stood motionless. Their breaths shallow as they watched the two figures poised for the final clash.

Raine watched from her corner, her trembling hands clasped tightly in prayer. Her lips moved silently, though no words escaped her. Even as she prayed, her breath hitched, and she found herself holding it, unable to look away from the unfolding storm before her.

They all knew it: the endgame was here. Whatever came next would determine the victor. No one dared to blink.

****

Godric tightened his grip on his sword, his stance low and steady as he drew a deep breath. His eyes snapped open, now glowing with an intense yellow light, radiating raw power. A thunderous war cry tore from his throat, shaking the very air as he launched forward in a blur of speed. The ground beneath him shattered into a crater with the force of his acceleration.

Volg's wands flicked furiously, spells hurtling toward Godric like deadly missiles. Godric weaved through them, dodging with precision, his blade striking Volg's magical shield with explosive clangs. The sheer force of their exchange shook the tower, leaving deep scars in the stone and sending debris flying in every direction. Spells blazed at supersonic speeds, matching Godric's relentless movements, while his blade arced in devastating sweeps from every angle.

Volg snarled, his shields barely holding as Godric's attacks came faster, his blade glowing with fiery intensity. Yet, Volg retaliated, his wands launching spell after spell. The battle became a storm of flashing lights and shattering stone, each strike and counterstrike more ferocious than the last. Blood dripped from Godric's cuts, but he pressed on, his teeth gritted against the pain. Volg, too, was faltering—his wounds no longer healing as quickly, and some not healing at all.

Volg let out a desperate, guttural cry, raising his wands. "Zoltraak… Maxima!" A blinding beam of light erupted from each wand, then split into a dozen smaller beams that curved and homed in on Godric with deadly precision.

Godric's gaze sharpened as he planted his feet. He slashed his sword against the ground, lifting a massive chunk of stone, and with a powerful swing, shattered it into shards. The stone fragments flew like projectiles, intercepting the beams mid-flight, the collisions lighting up the tower like a storm of sparks.

The final beam closed in on him, brighter and fiercer than the rest. Godric raised his sword, meeting it head-on with a defiant cry. The blade glowed brighter as it clashed with the beam, splitting it cleanly in two. The divided energy roared past him, obliterating the wall behind.

Godric straightened, his blazing eyes locked on Volg. The boy's wands trembled in his grip, his wide eyes reflecting both disbelief and dread.

Volg's face twisted in fury, veins bulging at his temple. "Even now, you dare defy me! Even now, you think yourself more than you are!" he roared, his wands flicking in rapid succession as he unleashed a torrent of spells. "Even now, you oppose the natural order!"

Godric dashed forward, his speed cracking the ground beneath him before he reappeared directly before Volg, his blade already arcing through the air. The sword struck Volg's shimmering magical shield with a deafening clang, sparks flying between them as they locked eyes. Godric's gaze burned with unyielding determination, glowing with magical intensity, while Volg's radiated manic hatred.

"You're nothing but a speck beneath my feet!" Volg bellowed. "A disgusting, half-blooded, mundane-born filth! You dare to raise your blade against those who stand above you—against your betters?"

Godric pushed harder, his blade grinding against the cracking shield. "I'll raise my blade against anyone!" he shouted. "You, the faculty, the law, the so-called authority—anything that stands in my way! Be they commoner or king, pureblood or mundane-born, the demons or the Gods themselves—I'll cut them all down!"

His grip on the blade tightened, veins bulging in his arms as his circuits blazed brighter. The magical shield groaned under the strain, fractures spiderwebbing across its surface.

Volg screamed in defiance, a surge of raw magic erupting from his body and repelling Godric's blade. The force sent Godric flying backward, but he twisted in mid-air, flinging his sword toward Volg with precision. The spinning blade sliced across the boy's face, leaving a deep, bleeding gash before embedding itself into the wall behind him.

He staggered, clutching his cheek, his fingers slick with blood. His glowing eyes burned with humiliation and fury. Godric landed with a roll, sliding to his feet, his stance steady and his gaze locked on his enemy.

"You're bleeding, Volg," Godric said. "Seems like your little shortcut has a time limit," he added. "And you're just about out of it."

Volg's face twisted with unrestrained fury, veins bulging against his temples as he screamed, magic surging from his body in wild, chaotic waves. "Forget a body! When I'm done with you, there won't even be ashes left to mourn!"

He unleashed a storm of spells, each one laced with raw, unbridled power, all converging on Godric at once. Godric disappeared in a crackling flash of lightning, streaks of yellow arcing across his body as he moved with blinding speed. His crimson eyes darted to the sword embedded in the wall, his sole focus.

Dodging, weaving, leaping, and spinning, Godric narrowly avoided the barrage of spells exploding around him, each impact shaking the very foundation of the tower. The sheer heat of the magic scorched the air, but Godric pressed on, his muscles screaming in protest, the toll of Vis Vitalis clawing at his body.

Sweat dripped down his face as he gritted his teeth, his mind racing. There was no way to face Volg head-on—not with the overwhelming power he wielded. If he was going to end this, it had to be from a place Volg least expected. His narrowed gaze swept the battlefield, searching for an opening. This was it—the final gambit. He had seconds before his body gave out.

Volg spun his wand in a wide arc, the tip glowing with a piercing brilliance. "Die, Gryffindor!" he roared, firing a cluster of beams that streaked through the air like falling stars.

Godric's eyes widened. The beams connected in a deafening explosion, debris and dust erupting into the air, blanketing the battlefield in a thick, impenetrable haze. For a moment, everything was still.

****

"Godric!" Helga's voice cracked as she fell to her knees, her amber eyes wide with disbelief. "No… no, this can't be happening!" Her hands trembled as they pressed against the ground.

Rowena staggered backward, her sapphire eyes shimmering with tears. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, struggling to suppress the sobs threatening to escape. For once, the ever-articulate Rowena found herself utterly speechless.

Helena stood frozen. Her fists clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles turned white. Her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. Only the silent fury and anguish painted across her face betrayed her emotions.

Raine's golden eyes were fixed on the dust-filled battlefield, wide with terror and disbelief. Her breaths came in staggered gasps as she clutched her chest. "Godric…" she whispered. "Please, no…"

****

"I… I did it… I did it!" Volg cried out, throwing his head back in a manic laugh. "I killed him! That bastard Gryffindor is finally—"

He faltered as the dust began to settle, revealing no trace of Godric. "Where…" His words trailed off as his eyes darted frantically across the battlefield, then snapped upward.

There he was. Godric stood with his feet planted firmly against the ceiling, his body poised, glowing with raw energy as his crimson eyes locked onto Volg below.

Volg's face twisted in confusion and fury. "You… you're—!"

Godric gritted his teeth, his eyes darting to his sword, still embedded in the wall. His mind raced, recalling his lessons with Professor Eridan, the dwarven charms master whose words now echoed in his thoughts. A surge of determination coursed through him as his heart seemed to reach out, bridging the distance between him and the blade.

The bond between them felt magnetic, unbreakable, a force of will tethering him to the weapon. This was his moment—his final stand. If he faltered now, everything he had fought for, everyone he had fought for, would fall with him.

"Volg!" Godric roared, his circuits igniting in a fiery blaze of energy, streaks of lightning crackling across his body.

His muscles coiled as he launched himself downward with explosive force, the impact rippling outward and shattering the ceiling. The shockwave burst through the room, blowing out the massive glass panes of the clock face, sending shards scattering like falling stars.

As Godric hurtled through the air, his hand stretched toward the sword. His roar echoed through the chamber, shaking its very foundation. The blade flickered in response, trembling in its place before wrenching itself free from the wall. It flew to him with a resounding clang, landing firmly in his grip.

Energy surged around him, his blade blazing with light, its shape transforming as the flames licked upward. The roaring visage of a lion formed, its fiery mane trailing behind Godric as he descended like a meteor toward Volg.

"This ends now!" Godric bellowed.

****

"Go, Gryffindor!" Workner bellowed as he pounded his fist on the table, his eyes locked on the screen.

"End that gobshite!" Údar roared, leaping to her feet, her good eye blazing with intensity.

"Split that bastard in two!" Cú shouted.

The entire Congregation erupted into a deafening chorus, their collective voices shaking the very walls of the chamber. Students from every corner of Excalibur joined in unison, their cheers echoing through the halls and rooms, a tidal wave of support that seemed to ripple through the very heart of the castle.

"End it, Gryffindor!" Adrian bellowed. "This is your moment—finish it!"

****

"Gryffindor!" Volg roared as he unleashed a torrent of spells. Godric's blade gleamed as he slashed through them, his battle cry echoing with unwavering determination.

Volg's left hand whipped up, conjuring a magical shield, while his right hand drew back, the tip of his wand glowing with a sickly green light. "Avada—"

Before the incantation could finish, Godric's blade cleaved through the shield in a brilliant explosion of sparks and shattering magic. The clang of the breaking barrier reverberated through the tower. Volg's baby-blue eyes widened in horror, realization dawning too late as Godric's blade arced through his right arm, severing it cleanly at the elbow.

The severed limb hit the ground with a sickening thud, the wand still clenched in its lifeless fingers. The violet streaks coursing through Volg's body faded instantly, his monstrous glow dimming as his eyes returned to their normal, pale blue.

The ground pulsed with a crackling voltaic energy, the air charged and electric as if a storm had erupted within the tower. Godric spun with precision, his blade gripped tightly in his hands. His war cry echoed like a thunderclap as he drove the blade forward, plunging it into Volg's stomach with unyielding force. The blade pierced clean through, the metallic scrape resonating through the chamber.

Godric's teeth clenched, his gaze locking onto Volg's wide, panicked eyes. The defiance in Godric's crimson stare was unwavering as he twisted the blade. Without hesitation, he yanked it free, the sound of steel ripping through flesh filling the air.

Volg staggered back, clutching desperately at the wound as warm blood poured between his fingers. His gaze dropped to his trembling hand, now slick with crimson. For a fleeting moment, silence enveloped the room, broken only by the faint dripping of blood onto the shattered stone.

Then, the realization struck him.

A low, guttural cry escaped Volg's lips, swelling into a piercing scream of pure agony. Blood spilled freely from the gaping wound, seeping into the pristine white of his robes, staining them a deep, ominous red. He stumbled backward, coughing violently, blood spilling from his mouth in thick, viscous globs. His trembling fingers clawed at his chest as if trying to hold himself together, his panicked cries raw and desperate.

Collapsing to the ground with a resounding thud, Volg writhed in pain, his body convulsing as he clutched at the gory remains of his arm. His eyes, once filled with arrogant malice, now flickered with terror and disbelief. He wheezed, gasping for air, as his broken form lay amidst the wreckage of his ambition, drenched in the crimson consequence of his hubris.

****

The castle erupted with cheers, the echoes of victory resonating through its ancient halls. Students in every corner celebrated with unrestrained joy, their voices joining in a cacophony of triumph. The Congregation was no different, the entire assembly rattling with the sound of stomping feet and jubilant cries.

Anton stroked the edges of his grand mustache, a quiet but proud smile gracing his face. Adrian hollered, throwing his fist into the air, his fellow former Calishans joining him in triumphant celebration. Údar and her hounds linked arms, breaking into a raucous Gaelic song, while Cú leaned back against the sofa, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"He did it, he really did it!" Workner exclaimed, tossing a handful of walnuts into the air before throwing his arms around Serfence. "That was amazing!"

Serfence stiffened, shooting Workner a frosty glare. "Don't touch me."

Workner laughed nervously and quickly pulled away. "Right, sorry."

"But I wouldn't start celebrating just yet," Serfence said, brushing invisible dust from his immaculate robes, his eyes fixed on the floating screen.

"What do you mean? Dryfus is down—Godric's won!" Workner frowned.

Serfence's gaze remained steely. "Have you forgotten? The terms of this duel are No Quarter. That means the duel isn't over until one of them is completely incapacitated." He gestured toward the screen. "And unless my eyes deceive me, Mister Dryfus is still very much conscious."

Workner's excitement faded, his eyes darting to the screen. "What are you trying to say, Edward?"

"Let me ask you this," Serfence said. "If the architect of all your pain now lies helpless and broken at your feet, what would you do?" He turned his piercing gaze to Workner, who visibly flinched.

Workner's jubilant expression faltered, the gravity of the question pressing down on him. "You mean... Godric wouldn't actually...?" His words trailed off, uncertain and uneasy.

"Wouldn't what? Finish it?" Serfence's tone was sharp, cutting through the noise of the cheering crowd.

"After everything Dryfus has done?" He arched a brow, his dark eyes unrelenting. "We've both stood in Gryffindor's shoes in one way or another, Workner. You know exactly how this story ends, because we lived it."

Workner swallowed hard, his earlier excitement replaced by a growing sense of dread. "But... Godric isn't like us. The lad's better than that."

Serfence let out a quiet scoff, his gaze returning to the screen. "Is he? That's what we're about to find out. The only question now is whether Godric Gryffindor will rise above, or whether he'll do what any of us would have done." His eyes narrowed. "And truthfully, I'm not sure which answer I'm rooting for."

****

Helga threw her arms around Rowena, practically bouncing with joy. "He did it! He actually did it!" she cried.

Rowena returned the embrace with a small, relieved smile, though her attention remained partially on the battlefield. Helena stood a few steps away, a faint smile tugging at her lips, though she resisted the urge to join in their celebration. Gabriel's watchful eyes loomed over her, a reminder of the ever-present rules of The Congregation. Yet, as Helena's gaze shifted to Godric, his sword still in hand and his frame tense with unresolved energy, unease began to creep into her heart.

"Sir, the duel should be over, shouldn't it?" Helena turned to Gabriel, noticing the tightness in his expression, the way his jaw clenched as though wrestling with his own thoughts. "What's wrong, Mister Greymark?"

Gabriel's hand slipped subtly into his robe, and Helena had no doubt it was wrapped tightly around his wand. The Enforcers stood rigid nearby, their postures tense, like coiled springs ready to act. "I'm afraid not, Miss Abbot."

"What do you mean?" Helena's voice quivered slightly. "Volg is defeated. Godric has clearly won."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed; his gaze fixed on Godric like a hawk. "Remember the Rules of Engagement. No Quarter. Mister Dryfus is still conscious."

Rowena, catching the conversation, turned toward them, her sapphire eyes wide with concern. "Helena, what is he talking about?"

Helena's face drained of color as realization struck her. "No," she whispered, her gaze snapping back to Godric. She watched him flick the blood from his sword, droplets splattering onto the stone floor. "No, you have to stop this!" she pleaded, turning back to Gabriel.

"I can't," Gabriel said. Sweat gleamed faintly on his brow. "The laws are absolute."

Helena clenched her fists. "Then I—"

"If you move out of turn, Miss Abbot," Gabriel interrupted, "not only will you be excommunicated from The Congregation, but Mister Dryfus will win by default. Everything Mister Gryffindor has fought for will be rendered meaningless. Is that what you want?"

Helena froze, her breath catching in her throat. Helga and Rowena exchanged panicked glances but said nothing, their own fears mirrored in each other's eyes.

"It's out of our hands now," Gabriel said. His gaze returned to the two combatants, his jaw tightening further. "Let the Gods decide their fate."

****

Raine clasped her hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks as a shuddering breath escaped her. Relief washed over her at the sight of her champion—her brave lion—standing tall amidst the ruins of their battle. She smiled softly, her heart swelling with pride and longing. How desperately she wanted to rush to his side, to feel his arms wrap around her, to lose herself in the warmth of his embrace. The day was won; love and hope had triumphed over the shadows.

But then her golden eyes met his face, and her smile faltered. Godric's crimson gaze was cold, void of the joy and passion that had always defined him. There was no triumph, no relief. Only anger. Only hate. Her eyes darted to the sword in his hand, the blade trembling slightly from the intensity of his grip. Her heart sank as she followed his gaze to Volg, sprawled on the ground, writhing like a wounded animal before a predator's killing blow.

A chill ran through her as realization struck. She knew what he was going to do. Deep in her soul, she knew. Godric Gryffindor was many things, but he was not a killer—not the man she loved. And Raine would not let him stain his soul, not for her sake.

"Alohomora."

The word came from beside her, soft and steady. The cold metal shackles binding her wrists and ankles clicked open, falling to the floor in a clatter. Raine turned, startled, her golden eyes meeting the solemn gaze of Salazar Slytherin. He held his wand aloft, his expression grim.

"Go to him," Salazar said. "You're the only one who can stop him now. Go."

For a moment, Raine hesitated, surprised by the urgency in his tone, by the unexpected allyship in his eyes. Then she nodded, determination lighting her features. Pushing past her own exhaustion and the sting of bruised muscles, she stumbled to her feet and ran. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in desperate gasps as she raced toward Godric, the one she knew she couldn't lose—not to Volg, not to darkness, and not to vengeance.

****

Volg's screams echoed through the shattered tower. "It hurts! It hurts so much!" Tears streamed down his pale, bloodied face as he writhed on the ground. His body convulsed, and he rolled onto his stomach, fear and desperation etched into his every movement. He heaved violently, vomiting a glop of blood onto the fractured stone floor. His voice cracked as he whimpered, "Am I… am I going to die?"

His trembling hand clawed at the floor, pulling himself forward inch by agonizing inch with his remaining arm. "I'm scared… I'm scared!" he sobbed, his pleas hollow against the weight of his actions.

Godric's boots crunched over broken stone. He stopped by Volg's severed arm, bending down to pick it up. With cold precision, he unclasped the golden bracelet around the wrist, his crimson gaze burning into Volg's wide, terrified eyes. Wordlessly, he let the lifeless limb drop to the ground with a sickening thud, slipping the bracelet into his robes before continuing his slow approach.

Volg rolled onto his back, scrambling in desperation, his legs kicking futilely against the floor to put distance between himself and the advancing swordsman. His baby-blue eyes, now wide with terror, darted around the room, searching for any salvation.

"Please! Please, spare me!" he begged. "What do you want? Money? Land? Anything! Just name it!"

Godric stopped, his blade dragging against the stone floor with a grating scrape that sent shivers down Volg's spine. "Every agony," he said. "Every violation imaginable."

Volg sobbed uncontrollably, his body trembling. "I don't want to die! Please, I don't want to die!" he cried out, tears mixing with the blood splattered across his face.

Godric's expression didn't falter. He raised a finger to his lips. "Hush," he said. He lifted his sword, the tip catching the dim light of the tower. His gaze bore into Volg's. "Did you forget?" He raised the blade high above his head. "No quarter."

The room seemed to hold its breath; the silence broken only by Volg's strangled sobs. Then, the blade came down.