Transfigured Coliseum – Morning
The fortress groaned as ancient wards unfurled like vibrant banners, reshaping both stone and sky with their powerful magic. What had once been a practical dueling courtyard had blossomed into something extraordinary.
The Transfigured Coliseum now stood wide and circular, its tiered walls humming with containment magic as if they were alive. Platforms floated gracefully at different elevations, resembling chess pieces suspended mid-game, each poised for action. Spell-absorbing sigils sparkled across the smooth marble floor, eagerly prepared to absorb any backlash from spells cast within the arena. Above, illusioned banners rippled, displaying the names and vibrant flags of the four remaining academies: Ilvermorny, Mahoutokoro, Uagadou, and Castelobruxo, their colors vivid and proud.
The four remaining duelists from Ilvermorny lingered just beyond the imposing inner gate, their heads tilted upward as they took in the grand scale of the transformation before them.
"Damn," Ben muttered, awe evident in his voice. "They turned it into a bloody theatre."
"Not theatre," Severus corrected softly, his expression serious. "Arena. There's a significant difference."
Evie rubbed her arms in an attempt to chase away the chill that settled not from the wind, but from the atmosphere thick with anticipation. "They want a show," she said, a hint of dread in her voice.
"They'll get one," Alessandro replied, checking his wand with a calm demeanor, though the tightness of his jaw betrayed the tension swirling within him.
None of them spoke for a moment, the tension in the air palpable. This wasn't about rankings anymore; it transcended mere competition. This was about names—who would be remembered, who would leave a legacy etched in memory.
A bell tolled solemnly across the magical loudspeakers, its sound echoing in the charged atmosphere. "Finalists," came a voice from the overhead speakers, clear and authoritative. "Please step forward."
And just like that, they were separated, their unity shattered in an instant. No more group tactics—a carefully crafted alliance dismantled. No whispered reminders to keep their resolve, nor knowing glances that shared reassurance. Just silence, heavy and profound, accompanied by the spotlight that illuminated each individual in its glaring beam.
As Severus walked toward the stage entrance, an unexpected warmth surged through him. He felt something subtle pass between them all—a shared moment of understanding that tethered them together despite the impending competition. He caught a nod from Ben, a silent encouragement shimmering in that brief gesture. Evie's hand brushed against his shoulder for just an instant, a fleeting connection that ignited a spark of camaraderie. Alessandro, standing tall, lifted his chin slightly in acknowledgment—nothing overtly spoken, yet everything conveyed in that silent exchange.
No matter what happened next in this pivotal moment, they weren't merely rivals. They were a chapter in each other's story, each other's beginning, poised on the brink of something that went beyond victory or defeat.
Coliseum Arena – Morning
Severus stood at the center dais, the platform gradually rising to reveal him to the thrumming excitement of the crowd. Thousands of witches and wizards from across the globe filled the expansive coliseum, their faces alight with anticipation. Enchanted banners fluttered above them, proudly displaying house sigils and the vibrant colors of their respective academies. High above, the judges' box shimmered with an array of subtle enchantments, casting an ethereal glow over the proceedings.
Illusion magic ignited above the stadium, vibrant and dynamic. For each duelist, a glowing tapestry unfurled—vivid sequences from their past matches, captured in elegant, swirling light that danced through the air. Severus felt the weight of the moment as his name resonated through the arena—"Severus Shafiq, representing Ilvermorny Academy!" In that instant, his illusion came to life, showcasing his remarkable triple-bind victory against Kaito, the fog-cleaving precision spell he had executed flawlessly on Day 2, and finally, the clever smoke-screen feint that had masterfully disarmed Kinjo Aoi, leaving the audience in awe of his strategic brilliance.
The murmurs of the audience echoed around him, but not with admiration. Instead, they buzzed with palpable anticipation, a sense of expectancy buzzing in the air. Severus felt the shift within himself; he was no longer an outsider in this vibrant arena. He had transformed into the wildcard of the competition, a force to be reckoned with.
The draw commenced, a spectacle of shimmering orbs that glowed with an ethereal light, swirling gracefully in midair. As they spun, names materialized, flickering momentarily before locking into place with a finality that sent shivers through the crowd.
First Duel: Severus Shafiq vs. Alessandro DeLuca
Second Duel: Evie Sterling vs. Sanjiv Rao
Third Duel: Benedict Hale vs. Kinjo Aoi
Excitement rippled through the spectators, their cheers echoing in the air like the thrilling crescendo of an impending storm. Yet, amid the electric atmosphere, Severus felt an unusual calm. His heartbeat remained steady, a reassuring rhythm in the chaos surrounding him.
When he glanced across the platform and caught sight of Alessandro's confident smirk, the burdens of expectation and pressure did not weigh him down. Instead, this moment sharpened his focus, igniting a fierce determination within him.
Central Platform – Late Morning
The coliseum fell silent, a palpable tension enveloping the crowd. This was not merely a duel; it was a spectacle that held the attention of every onlooker—two former allies, two brilliant minds that had once fought side by side, now standing on opposing ends of the arena, bracing for a confrontation that would captivate the world.
Severus stood at one end of the dusty field, an image of calmness, his face a mask of tranquility that belied the storm of emotions swirling within. Across from him, Alessandro paced lightly, exuding an aura of energy as he rolled his shoulders and gripped his wand tightly, readying himself for what was to come. Both individuals inclined their heads in mutual acknowledgment, the air thick with anticipation.
Alessandro executed a dip that was the hallmark of a pureblood heir: practiced, poised, and brimming with confidence, every movement reflecting the years of formal training and expectations that shaped him. In stark contrast, Severus offered a deeper bow, one that was precise and deliberate—a quiet assertion that mingled respect with an unyielding sense of determination.
With a resonating chime, the bell signaled the beginning of their clash. Alessandro was the first to act, launching himself into action with remarkable speed and precision. His triple-feint was masterfully orchestrated, a sweeping arc of distraction designed to mislead before revealing the true nature of his assault. The chain-hex erupted forth—an impressive golden whip comprised of linked, crackling bolts of energy—snaking menacingly toward Severus's midsection, a harbinger of the fierce contest that was about to unfold.
Severus dropped low, sliding swiftly across the dusty ground as his wand carved an intricate glyph into the surface. In an instant, a ward erupted upward, forming a hemispherical shock barrier that scattered Alessandro's chain spell into sizzling, whirling fragments.
However, Alessandro was already repositioning himself, his movements fluid and precise as he launched a heat-surge charm that arced through the air like a boomerang. The spell came at Severus with fierce intensity, but he reacted just in time, deflecting it with a compact ripple-shield that shimmered under the force. Seizing the moment, he countered with a mist-shroud that swiftly rolled across the arena, enveloping the space in a veil of ambiguity and weaving threads of confusion into the visibility around them.
He needed time to strategize, but Alessandro wasn't about to grant him that luxury. With a decisive flick of his wrist, Alessandro summoned a crackling whip of lightning—his signature spell, now refined and more deadly than ever. The whip shot forward, a roaring bolt of searing force that thundered through the air.
Just in time, Severus conjured a mirror-dome, the brilliant barrier shimmering as it absorbed the impact. The whip rebounded violently off the dome, shooting into the sky where it exploded in a dazzling net of light, momentarily illuminating the entire stadium in a breathtaking display.
Both combatants staggered slightly from the force of the collision, their breathing ragged from the intensity of the duel. The audience leaned forward in anticipation, captivated by the unfolding spectacle.
Now Severus launched his offensive.
His initial onslaught was strategic: he unleashed overlapping hexes designed to capture rather than harm. It was a clever ruse—cornering, constricting, and exhausting his opponent.
With a calculated flick of his wrist, he triggered a terrain shift beneath Alessandro's left foot—an illusionary sink-spot that caused the stone to give way slightly, pulling it down by an inch. Caught off guard, Alessandro stumbled but quickly regained his composure, conjuring a fire shield that ignited the surrounding mist, transforming it into scalding steam.
Severus pressed on without hesitation.
A pulse trap exploded into action—timed precisely to coincide with Alessandro's retreat. Yet, as if anticipating the move, Alessandro reacted mid-step, casting a powerful terrain inversion spell that heaved a wedge of stone upward, creating a makeshift barrier around him.
The force of the impact sent Severus reeling. He hit the ground hard, the shock racing through him as he rolled to regain his balance. He staggered to his feet, feeling the warm trickle of blood from a gash at his temple, realizing he was wounded.
The crowd gasped collectively at the sight.
Severus tasted the metallic tang of copper in his mouth, a reminder of the damage inflicted upon him.
But he stood, determination coursing through him despite the pain.
Alessandro was panting heavily, his breath coming in rapid bursts, yet he remained focused. The shield charm he had cast flickered precariously, its shimmering surface fraying under the weight of accumulated stress and impending danger. His lips moved in silent incantations, words meant for the air alone.
Their eyes locked in an intense gaze.
Something charged the space between them—a spark of recognition, perhaps, but it held no hint of mercy. It was pure challenge, a silent declaration of intent.
Then, without warning, Severus moved.
His approach lacked precision; elegance was the last thing one could expect from him. Instead, he embraced chaos. He shattered his own rhythm—stumbling momentarily, altering his stance to something jagged and erratic, casting spells from angles that defied any discernible logic. He transformed from a predictable opponent into an unpredictable force.
Alessandro hesitated, caught off guard for barely half a second.
That moment was all Severus required.
Suddenly, a dense smokescreen erupted across the battlefield—not to obscure himself from view, but to obscure the very movements of his wand, masking the spell that was about to unfold.
Behind the grey haze, Severus prepared himself for the final moments of the duel, his heart racing with adrenaline. He cast two silent spells with precision. The first spell was designed to draw Alessandro's attention upward, creating a sudden flash that illuminated the dim arena. The second spell, a carefully aimed disarming hex, flew low and struck with uncanny accuracy.
The blue bolt hit Alessandro square in the wrist, causing his wand to fly from his grip and spin through the air like a shooting star.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the match.
A hush fell over the crowd as the significance of the moment sank in. Then, like a dam breaking, the stands erupted in deafening cheers—a wave of sound that swept through the coliseum. The enchanted announcer's voice boomed, echoing off the ancient stone walls.
"Victory: Severus Shafiq of Ilvermorny!"
Severus stood there for a moment, his chest rising and falling heavily as he caught his breath. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, and dust coated his robes, but he felt an exhilaration coursing through him.
As the excitement in the arena continued to build, he noticed Alessandro walking toward him slowly, every step taken with a mix of weariness and determination. His opponent's face was framed by bruises and glistened with sweat, a testament to their fierce battle.
"You better win the final," Alessandro said, extending his hand in a gesture of camaraderie.
Severus clasped it firmly, an unspoken acknowledgment of the challenge they had just shared. "You almost stopped me," he replied, a hint of admiration lacing his tone.
Alessandro smirked, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, conveying his appreciation for the competition. "Would've been an honor," he said, his eyes glinting with respect.
They parted ways with no animosity, only a mutual respect forged in the heat of battle—a bond that transcended the rivalry and spoke to the spirit of true sportsmanship.
Shadowed Edge of the Arena – Stands
James had observed everything unfold before him. Severus bleeding, yet somehow emerging victorious. The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices a cacophony of excitement, chanting his name as if he were a hero. The judges whispered praises among themselves, nodding appreciatively at his skill. Even his own father had offered a brief acknowledgment, a subtle nod that felt both fleeting and monumental. Sirius had almost joined in the applause but barely stopped himself, however his enthusiasm evident, while Remus remained silent, lost in his thoughts.
James lingered in the shadows, feeling an overwhelming sense of neglect, as if the world had forgotten he was even there. A deep sense of longing gripped him, the weight of ambition heavy on his shoulders. It should've been me, he thought bitterly, clenching his jaw and feeling the tension coil in his fists. I'm still a Potter, he reminded himself, the legacy of his name a flicker of hope in the chaos.
Resolute, he rose to his feet, invisible amidst the revelry around him. Leaning into the tumultuous wind, he whispered softly, "It still can be."
Crystal Platform – Midday
Evie stepped onto the glittering, reflective platform, her heart racing as she faced Sanjiv Rao. He towered over her, calm and composed, his tall frame adorned with intricate subtle gold runes that seemed to pulse softly in the ambient light. A duelist hailing from the Indian Confederation, Sanjiv had a formidable reputation for weaving spells into stunningly elegant spirals, seamlessly blending offensive and defensive techniques.
From the very first move, the clash was nothing short of beautiful chaos.
Evie unleashed her spells with precision, each incantation crisp and deliberate—brilliant flashes of energy illuminating the air around her, wall arcs of light cutting through the atmosphere, and needle-precise bursts radiating with intensity. In response, Sanjiv conjured intricate mandalas of shimmering energy, expertly deflecting her hexes and redirecting them into spirals that rebounded elegantly off his protective shields.
The two combatants moved as if in a dance—fluid, dynamic, and never still.
Evie struck first, a calculated attack that burned a cutting line across the fabric of Sanjiv's robe, singeing the edges with a vivid flash.
But Sanjiv was ready. With a swift spatial flicker, he vanished from her sight and reappeared behind her in an instant, binding her leg with a golden lasso that pulled taut, nearly sending her tumbling off the precarious edge of the platform.
With determination, she adapted.
Instead of matching his flow, she disrupted it—interrupting his intricate spell cycles with unexpected silence zones, timing her hexes perfectly during the still points between his rapid spins. Her final maneuver was a slowing field artfully woven into a misdirected hex. Unaware, Sanjiv stepped into the trap, and the field froze his counter long enough for her to unleash a dazzling shimmerblast.
Both of them collapsed, exhausted and drained from the intense duel. As the final score tally flickered above the platform, it revealed that Sanjiv had triumphed by a mere single mark, a testament to their evenly matched prowess. He extended a hand to help her up, the camaraderie evident even in defeat.
"You fight like a storm," he remarked softly, a hint of admiration in his voice.
Evie smiled, panting and breathless. "You fight like you've already won," she replied, acknowledging the strength and confidence he carried with him.
Stone Spiral Dais – Afternoon
Ben Hale strode in with a familiar swagger, bruised yet exuding a confidence that belied his injuries. Standing opposite him was Kinjo Aoi, unarmed and serene, clad in flowing blue-gray robes that seemed to shift like water as he moved. His eyes, deep and inscrutable, offered no hint of his intentions.
As the bell signaled the start, Kinjo seemed to fade from the moment, his presence slipping away like a whisper in the wind.
Not a single sound accompanied his movements; there was no discernible rhythm, just the barest suggestion of a breeze as he maneuvered gracefully.
In response, Ben unleashed a furious array of attacks—shock spheres that crackled with energy, stagger walls that shimmered ominously, and kinetic mines primed to detonate.
Yet Kinjo deftly evaded each one, a ghost in the fray. He maintained no defensive shields, offered no counterattacks, only a calm determination.
Then, in an instant, he struck—once and with precision.
A sudden wave of cold air surged from his sleeve, enveloping Ben's legs and locking them in an immobilizing grip that sent a chill coursing through him.
In defiance, Ben summoned all his brute strength, shattering the floor beneath him in an explosive display of force. But Kinjo was already a step ahead, having moved once again into the shadows.
A second strike—a silent flash—cut through the air and surged into Ben's wand hand with startling intensity. Ben instinctively dropped to one knee, the shock reverberating through him.
The duel dragged on for what felt like an eternity, but in reality, it lasted only three minutes. When it finally concluded, Kinjo stood there confidently, his stance unyielding and untouched by the clash. The crowd, once buzzing with nervous energy, fell into a deep silence, an air of disbelief settling over them.
The announcer, sensing the tension, cleared his throat, his voice breaking the stillness. "Victory: Kinjo Aoi of Mahoutokoro."
In that moment of realization, it struck everyone like a bolt of lightning—Kinjo had been holding back throughout the entire tournament, revealing only a fraction of his true power.
Quiet Tower Room – Post-Semifinals
The room was dimly lit, a sanctuary shielded from the prying eyes of cameras and the distracting din of the outside world. They'd all triumphed through the semi-finals—well, everyone except one.
Evie sat nestled in a worn armchair, a soft blanket draped over her shoulders like a comforting embrace. Although she had faced defeat at the hands of Sanjiv, the memory of the match remained vibrant and bittersweet in her mind. Her voice was low, yet carried a hint of pride. "I made him bleed first," she confessed, recalling the moment with a mix of triumph and frustration.
Ben, still favoring one leg from his brutal duel with Kinjo, raised an eyebrow at her. "Yeah, well, he made me question my very existence. I'm honestly not convinced he even has blood," he remarked with a laugh, eliciting chuckles from the group.
Alessandro, his arm wrapped in a light healing cloth that concealed the effects of his recent battles, gestured toward Severus with a lopsided grin. "You win tomorrow, and I'll finally owe you that drink I keep promising," he said, his tone light despite the tension that hung in the air.
But Severus didn't respond. His gaze was fixed on the window, his thoughts seemingly miles away. Outside, the coliseum was alive with energy, its runes glowing ominously as they shifted and pulsed in preparation for the impending final.
"It's just me and Kinjo," he murmured, the weight of the upcoming confrontation slipping into his voice as he faced the daunting reality before him.
Ben rose to his feet, a sense of urgency in his demeanor. "Then we plan. We don't sleep until you're ready," he asserted, his tone filled with determination.
Severus, however, shook his head slowly, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "No," he replied quietly but firmly. "I don't want a plan."
The room fell silent as they exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern.
"I want to feel it," Severus continued, his voice steady as he laid bare his thoughts. "I want to know I earned it." His gaze was intense, revealing the depths of his resolve.
Evie, seated nearby, nodded in agreement. Her eyes flashed with conviction. "Then burn him to the ground," she declared, her words igniting a fierce determination in the air.
They settled into an uneasy camaraderie that lasted until midnight, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. Instead of planning their next move, they simply existed together in this fragile moment.
As the hours ticked away, the weight of the night hung over them, but they remained steadfast, united in a quiet understanding. Tomorrow, they all knew, the world would change irrevocably.
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