After a period of quiet observation, Alan had gained a fundamental understanding of these werewolves' physical capabilities. Their magical and physical resilience was far superior to that of a human wizard, and they possessed the lethal advantages of explosive speed and predatory reflexes. Above all, they carried the lycanthropy virus; allowing a werewolf to land a single bite was an unacceptable risk.
To fight werewolves effectively, the first rule was to maintain distance. Facing a pack of this size, however, required the intervention of area-of-effect magic.
Alan lunged from his vantage point, and mid-descent, he unleashed the Wild Lightning spell he had perfected during his summer research: Stormeye.
Stormeye was a sophisticated optimization of meteorological charms. It forced the formation of a condensed thundercloud ten meters above his focal point. At the heart of the cloud, a core of Wild Lightning coalesced, designating every target within a thirty-meter radius as a strike point. As long as a hostile entity remained within the zone, the cloud would discharge a high-velocity bolt once every second. The duration depended entirely on the magic power Alan chose to sacrifice.
The spell was devastating, but it possessed one glaring flaw: it was indiscriminately hostile to everyone except the caster.
But Alan had already engineered a solution.
The werewolves and centaurs, locked in their desperate struggle, saw a wizard plummeting from the canopy. Above his head, a dark, churning cloud mass flickered with violent electrical sparks, trailing him like a vengeful halo as he sprinted toward the center of the fray.
"Awooo!" The nearest werewolf roared, its bloodshot eyes locking onto Alan. It dropped to all fours, charging him with terrifying speed.
CRACK! BANG!
A bolt of silver-white lightning lanced down from the Stormeye cloud, striking the werewolf the instant it entered the perimeter. The creature's fur was scorched black in a heartbeat, and the force of the discharge sent it cartwheeling backward. The sharp, metallic scent of ozone and burnt meat filled the air.
Yet, the werewolf's vitality was monstrous. Despite the charred flesh, it rolled through the impact and scrambled back to its feet, snarling in a blind, predatory rage.
"Sectumsempra!"
Alan didn't give it a second chance. The invisible blade of the curse hissed through the air, aimed precisely at the creature's throat.
SWISH!
The blade bit deep, severing the neck in a clean, vertical stroke. The werewolf's head spun away into the darkness, its body collapsing in a heap of twitching muscle.
In a single heartbeat, a werewolf had been executed. The battlefield froze. Friends and foes alike stared at the newcomer in stunned silence.
"Hold fast! The omen of the North Star has arrived! Rally to me—charge!" the Centaur Elder cried, his voice ringing with renewed hope as he watched the thundercloud roil above.
"Kill him! No one survives the fangs of the pack! Tear that wizard apart!" the werewolf wizard roared, his face contorting as he snapped a Killing Curse at the Elder.
Alan's intervention acted as a massive adrenaline shot for the centaurs. The Elder shattered the incoming green light with a powerful thrust of his spear and led his remaining warriors in a counter-charge. However, their stamina was nearly spent; three of their number already lay unconscious from the sedative. Their desperate push resulted in more wounds but failed to break the encirclement.
Responding to their leader's command, two werewolves veered away from the centaurs and lunged toward Alan. Alan ignored them entirely. He took a massive leap, clearing the gap and landing directly in the center of the centaur formation.
"Static Pulse!"
Alan pointed his wand at the earth between the hooves of the gathered centaurs. A glowing, pinkish-blue orb expanded instantly from the point of contact. The shell of the sphere crackled with visible static, while thin filaments of electricity spiderwebbed through the interior.
Before the centaurs could move, the orb detonated with a sharp "CRACK!", washing a violent but harmless electrical shock over every centaur in the circle.
The display left everyone bewildered. The werewolves paused, and even the centaur Elder began to doubt his vision. Why would the messenger of the stars unleash such an aggressive-looking spell on the very people he came to save?
But as the light faded, the centaurs realized they weren't hurt. Their coats stood on end, and faint sparks danced across their skin, but there was no pain.
"Don't just stand there! The lightning won't touch you now," Alan shouted over the roar of the wind. "Gather the wounded and stay close to me!"
The Static Pulse was a "tagging" spell Alan had developed specifically to offset the danger of Stormeye. By saturating the centaurs with a specific static frequency, he ensured his lightning would recognize them as part of his own field and bypass them entirely.
The werewolf wizard's fury boiled over. He realized the wizard wasn't an enemy of the centaurs, but a highly disciplined threat to his operation.
"Tear them down! Kill them all—no prisoners!" the alpha howled, his voice echoing through the trees.
The pack responded in kind, a dozen wolves lunging simultaneously from all sides. Alan watched them come with a cold, focused smile. He knew Stormeye's discharge rate was too slow to handle a coordinated swarm. But he wasn't finished.
"Thunderstorm Orbs! Electrical Circuit!"
Alan cupped his left hand, bringing it to meet his wand at his chest. A fierce burst of sparks ignited in his palm, and five miniature spheres of humming electricity, each no larger than a marble, coalesced in the air.