Imlerith was being swallowed by the swamp.
Harry raised his wand.
A nearly immobilized target—perfect for a clean shot.
Petrificus Totalus!
The spell burst forth, splashing a wave of foul mud from the swamp surface—but it missed. Not because Harry's aim was off.
In an instant—
Imlerith vanished. Though a warrior, he bore some unicorn blood within him, allowing for limited teleportation—not like his navigators, who could open portals between worlds, but enough for personal, short-range jumps.
And just like that—
He teleported out of the mire and appeared behind Harry in midair, his warhammer crashing down!
Depulso!
Harry spun, blasting him with a spell.
It struck Imlerith's armor dead-on and flung him backwards.
Reducto!
Harry cast again, but this time the spell passed through a fading afterimage—Imlerith had teleported again!
He reappeared on Harry's left—hammer swinging down once more.
Imlerith was the most troublesome opponent Harry had faced outside of Snape, Dumbledore, or Voldemort.
He wasn't a wizard or a sorcerer. He was a warrior.
Ordinarily, warriors were no problem. Their reliance on close-quarters combat made distance their greatest weakness—precisely what Harry's battlefield-control spells were made for. A few well-placed enchantments could keep a melee fighter at bay long enough to wear them down.
But Imlerith could teleport.
He didn't care about distance or Harry's clever tricks. One thought, and he could be at Harry's side—before him, or at his flank.
And he wielded a warhammer.
In strength and bulk, he eclipsed Harry. A hammer weighing over 100 pounds, even without magical force, could pulverize someone with a single strike.
Harry didn't meet him head-on.
He danced, dodged, and fought with spells alone.
"Witcher!" Imlerith growled, his attacks growing erratic, his swings more furious. "Is this all you know? Parlor tricks? Didn't you say you'd fight me alone?"
"You think the Elder Blood and that little witch can handle my knights?"
"They're probably torn apart by now!"
"So what are you still fighting for?!"
He bellowed with rage.
For any close-combat fighter, nothing is more infuriating than having your opponent just out of reach, spell after spell pushing you away.
Harry remained unmoved.
He could feel it—Hermione and Ciri were still fighting not far off. Their magical signatures were strong. They were holding their ground.
He fired another spell.
CLANG!
Imlerith blocked with his shield. The runes on it shimmered, but the protective enchantment was visibly weakening.
Early in the fight, Harry had considered transfiguring Imlerith's armor or weapons—using the very things protecting him to destroy him.
But the Aen Elle weren't fools.
His gear was warded. The runes held tight, resisting alteration.
Each of Harry's attacks wasn't just for harassment—they were wearing down those enchantments.
Now was the moment.
Harry raised his wand and cast a Transfiguration spell.
The shield in Imlerith's hand twisted. The grip transformed into two thick iron cables, which coiled tightly around his wrists.
He felt it instantly—something was wrong.
The shield wrapped around him?
He tried to pull free, but the metal coils clung to him. No amount of jerking could shake them off.
Without hesitation, Imlerith raised his hammer to smash the shield.
But—it was too late!
The shield unraveled like a spiderweb, slithering through the seams of his armor, binding his body tight.
Harry's Transfiguration was intricate—masterful.
The metal wrapped around Imlerith's fingers, pulling, forming spikes that dug into his joints, prying his grip loose.
CLANG!
The hammer dropped from his hand, crashing to the ground.
Harry didn't stop.
He poured his magic into his wand. It pulsed violently as he struck at the remaining enchantments on the armor. After nearly thirty seconds of brute-force spellwork, the Aen Elle's protections cracked.
CLINK-CLANK—
The armor unraveled into chains, binding Imlerith tighter, the ends stretching ten meters away—forming a massive iron weight on the ground.
Even with teleportation, Imlerith couldn't escape now.
He lacked the power to teleport with so much metal.
Twisted in chains, spine bent, Imlerith managed to raise his head, locking eyes with Harry.
He looked dazed—disoriented.
In just a moment, the tide had turned.
He was bound—defeated.
How had it happened?
Harry stared into his eyes—and cast Legilimens.
He dove into the elf's mind, searching quickly for intelligence.
He found it—a conversation with Eredin.
Just a few lines.
And what he discovered made his heart sink.
Eredin hadn't told Imlerith that Caranthir had been captured.
Nor that he was working with Voldemort.
It was as if—
Eredin didn't even know who Harry was. Or what wizards were truly capable of.
But that was impossible.
A flash of lightning crossed Harry's mind.
Damn it.
Imlerith was bait.
Thrown out by Eredin to keep Harry trapped in this world.
And the reason they could be certain Harry would stay—
Was because Eredin and Voldemort had orchestrated it so.
The attack tonight wasn't the point.
The point was the time frame—from the moment the scouts appeared last night, to Imlerith's appearance tonight. That was the window in which they knew Harry would remain in this world.
Harry's eyes flicked away from Imlerith.
"What did you do to me?" Imlerith growled, teeth clenched, his head foggy. His mind felt violated.
Harry didn't answer.
He waved his wand.
A chunk of steel transformed into a massive, gleaming axe.
It fell from the sky—
And with perfect precision, cleaved off Imlerith's head.
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Powerstones?
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