Chapter 25: The Last Struggle

They ran.

The walls of Greystone shook under the force of pursuit. Spells lit the corridors behind them—ruthless, coordinated, relentless. There were no more safe places. The staff had stopped pretending. The hunt was open now.

"They've sealed the northern corridor!" Talwyn shouted, shielding Lina with one arm as they ducked beneath a collapsing beam.

Caelum's mind burned with exhaustion, but it still worked. They had planned for a chase. They hadn't planned for Rosier.

He had come down himself.

The Grey Circle's escape had lit a fire under something deeper—older—in the man. Rosier was done orchestrating from behind glass and ink. This was personal now.

And the building was turning against them.

Doors that had always been unlocked were now sealed. Floating wards pulsed in corners they hadn't even known existed. The air felt thicker, twisted with containment magic. Everything reeked of precision, control.

"We have to go down!" Caelum called.

"No!" Julian said. "That leads to the lower archive levels—they'll have us trapped!"

But a crash behind them ended the debate.

A pair of enforcers turned the corner, robes whipping behind them, silent as wraiths.

They opened fire.

"Get down!"

A stunner cracked overhead.

Caelum turned mid-run, flicking his wand at the pipework along the ceiling. Steam burst from a ruptured joint, blinding the corridor in a hiss of white fog.

Behind the curtain, one of the enforcers slipped. Caelum saw him go down hard.

Without hesitating, Caelum doubled back, grabbed the enforcer's wand, and turned.

"Talwyn—catch!"

Talwyn caught the wand mid-run and fired a defensive jinx behind them.

It wasn't much. But now they had two wands.

A small, miniscule edge.

…

They ducked into an old processing chamber—abandoned, empty but for broken terminals and rusted cabinets.

The Grey Circle collapsed into cover. Lina was pale, blood on her lips. Julian slumped against a wall. Talwyn's sleeve was torn, his arm scorched from a grazing curse.

Caelum remained standing. Barely. Wand in hand, his breaths shallow.

The door behind them hissed.

And opened.

Rosier stepped through.

No armor. No entourage. Just a long, dark coat, soot-smeared at the hems. His presence quiet but commanding. A man who belonged here—in shadows, in control.

"Caelum Sanguine," he said smoothly. "Not quite the reunion I imagined."

He walked slowly, eyes scanning the ruin around him. "You've burned through years of my work. Wasted excellent resources. And upset the careful equilibrium of this entire facility."

Caelum stepped forward, shielding the others with his body.

"You turned this place into a slaughterhouse," he spat.

Rosier's lips curled faintly. "It's just business. Nothing more."

Then his wand flicked.

The air exploded.

…

The enforcers surged in. Spells flew in tight arcs—silent, efficient.

Caelum barely deflected the first blast. Talwyn countered with a shield, shaky but fast. Lina screamed, and Julian stepped in front of her just as—

A red bolt caught him in the chest.

He dropped.

Hard.

"Julian!" Talwyn screamed.

Caelum froze. For a heartbeat, all sound vanished under the roar in his ears.

He fumbled at his belt, pulled free a small flask—the last of the blood taken earlier.

And drank.

…

It hit like fire.

The magic ignited his veins. Pain receded. Thought sharpened. He felt knowledge snap into focus—spell structures, rhythm, how to break shields with angled pulses, how to move before an opponent even lifted their wand.

And the flame answered.

"Luxardent"

"Ignis Obscura"

Wild fire spilled from his hand—silent, writhing, alive.

One enforcer vanished in a howl of flame. Another stumbled back, cloak alight. Caelum moved like a predator now—striking, dodging, casting without words.

Rosier's wand raised—he parried one flame with a twisted deflection charm, the heat singing his coat. His face contorted with something close to surprise.

"Impossible, he's already at this stage" he hissed.

Caelum didn't answer. He launched another burst, this time pouring every ounce of magic he had left into it—a torrent of fire and fury, raw and unrefined but devastating. The chamber groaned under the pressure, stone blistering, walls cracking from the sheer force. The remaining agents faltered, staggering back as heat rolled over them in waves.

Rosier tried to counter—

"Reducto!"

But it was too late. The blast struck him full-on, sending him spinning through the air. His left arm twisted unnaturally, charred and smoking as he slammed into the wall with a shriek of agony.

Caelum took one more step forward—

Then crumpled to one knee, gasping.

His body refused to move. The magic had taken everything.

Across the room, Rosier slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Silence followed. The remaining enforcers stood stunned, their formation broken. None dared move. The chamber, scorched and crumbling, held its breath.

…

The chamber stilled.

And then—boots.

Heavy, deliberate. Amidst that the sound of uneven footsteps—a wooden clunk followed by a gravelly stomp, pacing closer with grim intent.

Clunk. Thud. Clunk. Thud.

The rhythm was unmistakable.

A familiar growl followed:

"Hell's teeth, kid—what've you done now?"

Alastor Moody stood in the ruined doorway, wand out, eyes burning with battle-readiness.

Behind him, a squad of Aurors surged in, spells ready.

Greystone had finally been breached.