Chapter 146: The spell That Shocked Everyone
The soil continued to shift and combine as it flew—starting from idle grains of sand, forming clumps of earth, and eventually becoming solid rocks.
These rocks stopped before Phineas and began stacking one atop another. Each time two pieces made contact, they merged into a larger mass. Eventually, all the gathered soil fused into a colossal form.
This towering figure resembled a human, complete with limbs, a torso, and a head.
It had facial features and visible musculature, with a faint red glow shining through the gaps in its form. Upon closer inspection, the glow came from burning-hot stones—magma-like, liquid rock flowing through its veins.
Behind the giant, a staircase formed, spiraling upward.
Phineas stepped onto the staircase, which shifted and carried him to the summit—the giant's head.
The moment Phineas reached the top, the clay titan's eyes snapped open.
A red light gleamed in its gaze, and everyone on the battlefield felt their hearts tighten.
Even Ministry of Magic agents from Norway, who had come investigating the commotion, were struck by unease.
Because within those eyes—there was wisdom.
One of the most immutable laws of Transfiguration holds that it is impossible to create life from nonexistence.
Put more simply: wizards cannot create souls. Without a soul, there can be no true intelligence—no real life.
In the first Transfiguration class at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall often turns her desk into a living creature to awe young students. But those creatures have no mind of their own; their actions are entirely guided by the caster.
There is an old saying in the wizarding world: "Beware all things that think for themselves."
That's because most such creations involve dark magic—and a soul. The enchanted artifacts Phineas and George once crafted using Gryffindor's notes were powered by memory fragments and magic—a kind of magical artificial intelligence.
But now, the being before them was different.
Its eyes glowed with the unmistakable light of intelligence—of a soul.
And that wasn't what frightened the onlookers most.
The giant opened its mouth slightly, and from it emerged a low, thunderous sound.
Though the sound was heavy and muffled, its sheer magnitude made it deafening.
As it rang out, the vampires present suddenly clutched their heads, blood pouring from their mouths and noses, and collapsed unconscious.
And still, the giant moved.
It raised both arms. From them extended hundreds of mud-formed snakes that slithered toward the unconscious vampires and then coiled around them, becoming earthen ropes that bound them firmly.
These two actions alone proved it had wisdom—and the ability to cast magic.
Before, one might have assumed that Phineas had simply created a new sentient creature.
But this... this was a sentient magical race capable of spellcasting.
And that possibility sent a chill through every wizard on the battlefield.
Because if it were true, then another war like those waged with goblins, centaurs, vampires, werewolves, and others might not be far behind. A new intelligent species meant a new challenge to the long-standing balance of power.
Fortunately, what came next offered relief.
After subduing the vampires, the clay giant slowly began to disintegrate.
Everyone felt the ground quake beneath their feet.
Only then did they realize the terrain had changed completely—Phineas's magic had hollowed out the entire foundation beneath them. What was once mountainous terrain had become a level plain.
The giant shrank—from hundreds of meters to just a few dozen. Its dissolving slowed.
After gently lowering Phineas to the ground, it turned and calmly walked away.
Then, to everyone's astonishment, it lay down and transformed into a volcano.
The titan's earthy body became the mountain; its muscle gaps and internal furnace became veins of magma.
The ambush had ended.
But Phineas's magic had not.
Lisa, still standing near him, noticed something startling: his wand had split, torn from the middle. Exposed within were fiery red phoenix feathers.
And the gloves Phineas had just received—once pristine—were now ancient and frayed, as if aged by centuries.
In truth, they had simply burned through all their stored magical power.
"Thank you."
A deep, resonant voice echoed from the volcano—it was the giant's final words to its creator.
As it spoke, a glowing golden crystal slowly rose from the crater and floated toward Phineas.
It was irregular in shape, roughly the size of a fist, and glowed with radiant light. Within the translucent crystal danced illusions of fire, earth, wind, rain, thunder, and lightning—music of elemental power.
This was the true product of Phineas's magic.
The giant had only been its vessel.
Just as Phineas had said: this spell took over two months of inspiration, experimentation, and refinement to perfect.
And it wasn't just his own knowledge. He had drawn from the magical texts of Ravenclaw, from the writings of Nicolas Flamel, Dumbledore, and many other great minds in wizarding history.
He had stood on the shoulders of giants.
Had he invented this magic from scratch, it might have taken decades to realize.
To many, it seemed he had created a new intelligent race—beings capable of spellcasting.
But that was only an illusion.
The real creation was the crystal—his masterpiece.