"Mr. Mercer, I'm coming in!"
Marcus Hale didn't hesitate.
The moment he tore free of the binding spell, he surged forward, his body snapping into motion with frightening precision. His palm drove toward Rowan Mercer's midsection, sharp and direct, the strike carrying far more weight than its simple form suggested.
Rowan retreated instinctively, boots skidding over packed earth as his wand flicked upward.
"Conjure volley."
Six spectral arrows formed in midair and launched forward in a tight spread.
Marcus reacted instantly. His attack shifted mid-motion, palm turning into a grab. He caught the arrows barehanded, one after another, the impacts cracking like snapped branches as his fingers closed around them.
"I don't have any golden barrier tricks," Marcus said, tossing the broken projections aside. "If something cuts, it cuts."
Rowan's eyes narrowed.
So physical resistance was limited. Enhanced, yes, but not invulnerable.
That told him enough.
As Marcus reset his stance, Rowan struck again.
"Sleep."
The spell hit cleanly.
Marcus's pupils dilated. His body swayed, knees dipping as consciousness threatened to slide away. For half a second, it looked like the match was over.
Then Marcus slammed his fist into his opposite palm and let out a sharp exhale.
The haze vanished from his eyes.
"Close one," he said, rolling his shoulders. "All right. No more holding back."
The ground cracked beneath his foot as he launched forward again.
This time, his speed doubled.
Rowan felt it immediately. The slowing field he'd cast earlier barely registered. Marcus punched through it, momentum intact, closing the distance with brutal efficiency.
Rowan raised his wand just in time.
"Shield."
The translucent barrier flared into existence as Marcus's strike landed. The impact boomed through the clearing, air rippling outward in a shockwave.
Rowan absorbed the force, boots digging in.
At this speed, he thought, most trained wizards would already be finished. Without instant defensive casting and battlefield awareness, they wouldn't last a second once Marcus got close.
Even among elite law-enforcement mages, only the best could respond this fast under pressure.
Marcus didn't give him time to reflect.
"Break!"
Both of Marcus's arms ignited with that dense internal energy Rowan had sensed earlier. He hammered the shield with a rapid series of blows, each strike landing heavier than the last.
The barrier shuddered.
Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface.
Rowan grimaced. Pure physical force wouldn't have been enough to break it, but whatever Marcus was reinforcing himself with carried more than muscle behind it.
The shield shattered.
Rowan reacted instantly.
"Repel."
Marcus was blasted backward several steps, boots carving grooves into the dirt. Before he could regain momentum, Rowan vanished in a sharp crack and reappeared near the edge of the clearing.
Marcus froze, eyes wide.
"That was displacement," he said. "Actual short-range displacement."
He scratched the back of his head, half-impressed, half-annoyed.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I can't chase that. If this keeps going, I'm just going to eat spells until I drop."
He hesitated, then looked up, expression turning serious.
"Then I'll use it," he said. "Fair warning. This is the strongest technique we've got. It targets the mind directly. I only finished mastering it recently. If you can't handle it, concede."
Rowan straightened.
"Understood."
Marcus inhaled slowly.
Then his body went still.
His eyes lost focus, posture locking in place as if someone had pressed pause.
And then something tore free.
An intangible form surged out of him, a luminous silhouette shaped like a man but sharper, clearer, faster. It moved with terrifying speed, crossing the clearing in an instant.
Rowan's breath caught.
He wasn't alarmed.
He was thrilled.
So it was possible.
Not possession. Not projection through an external medium. This was Marcus himself, separated, acting independently.
Rowan knew countless spells that affected the soul. He could damage it, restrain it, rip it out of another body by force. He could seal it, fragment it, or destroy it outright.
But separating one's own essence and fighting with it?
That was new.
And valuable.
The implications raced through his mind. A strengthened soul meant stronger mental endurance, sharper perception, and exponentially greater potential for psychic abilities. His current limits were structural, not conceptual.
If he could reinforce that foundation…
No. Focus.
Rowan lifted his wand.
"Patronus."
A surge of silver light burst forth, condensing into a radiant guardian that positioned itself between Rowan and the incoming spectral form.
The impact was immediate.
Marcus's projected self slammed into the guardian like a wave hitting a cliff, the force dispersing outward in ripples of distorted light. The guardian held firm, luminous and unwavering.
Marcus's soul-form recoiled, hovering midair in shock.
"That's… impressive," his voice echoed, layered and distant. "A manifested mental construct. Defensive and autonomous."
Rowan held the spell steady, pulse even.
Against attacks of this nature, there were only two viable responses.
The first was lethal. End the opponent outright.
The second was this.
A guardian formed from willpower itself, designed to repel and neutralize assaults that bypassed the physical entirely.
Few could cast it.
Fewer still could maintain it under pressure.
Marcus slowly withdrew, his spectral form dissolving back into his body. He staggered as consciousness snapped back into alignment, breathing hard but smiling.
"All right," he said. "That settles it."
Rowan lowered his wand, the guardian fading into sparks.
"This was worth the trip," Rowan said honestly.
Marcus laughed, rubbing his temples.
"Yeah," he said. "I think we both learned something."