But Ian gave no reply. His eyes remained calm, as if he had long since known Fiendfyre could not touch Merlin. He merely raised his wand again, its tip pressing lightly into the air.
Surging magic erupted like a tidal wave.
The paradox-born power latched onto a single thread of fate, the future in which Merlin would be struck down by Fiendfyre. Merlin's eyes narrowed, instantly grasping Ian's intent.
"So… this is your legendary essence?"
He could feel it, his own ability slipping, unraveling. Yet he did not panic. "To reveal your true nature this early… That is not the choice of a seasoned wizard."
At the very moment his body shifted from ethereal back into solid form, Merlin spread his hands wide. Golden fire roared forth in a torrent, surging to meet Ian's Fiendfyre head-on.
It was as though thunder itself split the heavens apart.
Flame against flame, the inferno divided the sky in two.
The blast wave seared across the clearing like the breath of hell, twisting the very air into shimmering distortion. The ground hissed and crackled beneath the heat, the sound sharp as molten iron plunged into water.
Two fires, one blue, one gold, clashed in midair, colliding with deafening roars. The shock of it drove Young Morgan stumbling backward, her small frame trembling. And yet her gaze never wavered, locked onto that collision of magic.
"This… this is the magic I've yearned for!"
Blue flames and golden flames tore at one another, like furious dragons locked in mortal combat. The space around them warped and splintered beneath their struggle, reality itself groaning. At the heart of the storm, the silhouettes of Merlin and Ian flickered, sometimes swallowed by the firestorm, sometimes breaking through, like phantoms dancing inside a sea of fire.
The inferno bellowed.
And in Young Morgan's bright eyes, the endless ocean of flame and the duelists within it were reflected.
A wild ambition took root. One unlike anything she had ever felt before. It buried itself deep, never to be undone.
"BOOM! BOOM!"
Fiendfyre and golden flame wrestled, tearing at one another, weaving a tapestry of brilliance and destruction. They twisted together, consumed and counter-consumed, shaking the world until the space around them buckled like a crumpled mirror on the verge of shattering.
The very sky looked as though it had been ripped open. Fiendfyre and golden fire flooded the heavens, each spark laden with devastating power, scorching the land for miles until the earth itself whitened to bone.
Countless beasts perished in the blaze.
Only Young Morgan endured, wrapped in the protective charm Ian had bestowed upon her.
"Too powerful…"
Merlin's brows knitted into a deep frown, his face shadowed with irritation. "This battlefield is ill-suited to our fight. Let us… change the stage."
Even in the midst of clashing against Ian, he found the composure to free a hand. Fingers wove through the air in complex seals, spellcasting without a wand or any tool at all, it was pure mastery of magic, born of hands alone.
Then, Merlin raised both arms high, fingers dancing in relentless rhythm, his lips spilling forth a chant in an ancient and terrible tongue. With each word, the world itself began to warp. The forest, the grass, the streams, all blurred, as though their existence was being erased by the spell.
"Hm?" Ian's brow lifted slightly. He felt it at once, a titanic surge of spatial magic.
An invisible force seized him, wrapping around his body. In the very next instant, the scenery shattered. Forest, lake, fire, everything vanished.
And when the world reformed, An endless desert stretched beneath their feet.
Ian and Merlin now stood in a barren wasteland, carried here by Merlin's spell.
The scorching sun poured mercilessly over the golden sands, its glare so blinding it seemed to burn the eyes. Fierce winds howled across the wasteland, sweeping up torrents of dust until the desert itself lay veiled in a shifting yellow shroud. The air moaned with a low, mournful wail, as if lamenting the ancient desolation of this barren land.
"Spatial magic… unlike Apparition." Ian narrowed his eyes, studying it carefully. Merlin had marveled at Ian's system of magic, yet Ian, too, felt no less wonder at Merlin's.
"This," Merlin said softly, his voice calm and unwavering, "Is the battlefield most suited to us." Even facing a fellow legend, his confidence in victory did not falter.
"What was that magic just now?" Ian asked, though his hand did not pause. His wand flicked, and once more Fiendfyre erupted from its tip, a torrent of searing azure flame.
The inferno met Merlin's golden fire in a clash that shook the desert, flames entwining like warring titans, threatening to scour the wasteland into nothingness. The sand, seared beneath their duel, blackened and cracked into scorched earth.
The scorching winds lashed at their robes, snapping cloth against skin.
"You wish to learn it?" Merlin replied, his tone carrying the faintest note of anticipation. "Then defeat me… let me taste the flavor of loss."
His gaze flicked toward Ian's wand. "That wand of yours is interesting as well. I'd like to study it. I can feel it… There's something extraordinary about that stick you wield." His words were another wager, another layer to the duel.
Ian gave no answer.
"How coincidental," He said instead, eyes calm, voice steady. "Since I began learning magic, I have never once truly lost. And today will be no different."
His wand swept down, and power surged like a dam breaking.
Virulent green plague magic erupted beneath his feet, spreading outward in all directions like a living tide. It was the Avada Plague, a form of deathly sorcery, touch it, and you die.
This was no duel like his earlier clashes with young Dumbledore, where restraint had been necessary. Against Merlin, Ian needed none. If Merlin could be killed by this… then the so-called King of Wizards was unworthy of his title.
There was no choice.
Ian knew well, his white magic could not overcome Merlin.
But black magic… that was his true dominion. If his white magic was a mere one, then his black magic was a hundred. In the span of a breath, the Avada Kedavra Plague had already crawled across the desert, reaching Merlin's feet.
"Bloodline curse?" Merlin's sharp eyes detected its nature at once, the terrifying spell could not only kill its victim, but even trace upward through blood ties, striking kin. A shadow of gravity flickered in his gaze.
"You truly have learned some frightening things," Merlin muttered, his hands flashing into motion. His fingers interlaced with dazzling speed, weaving complex patterns, and behind him, radiant golden wings unfurled.
They were not flesh. They were the manifestation of magic itself.
Each feather gleamed like hammered light, shining with a brilliance that burned the eyes. With every beat, waves of golden ripples spread outward, threatening to stain the world itself in divinity.
The desert was drowned in radiance. The wings carried within them a power that chilled the soul, magic forbidden, oppressive beyond belief. With a single sweep, the golden tide surged forth and erased Ian's plague.
The viridian death-magic that had infested sand and sky alike melted away in an instant, vanishing like frost beneath the morning sun.
(To Be Continued…)
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