Just as Alan's talismans and the Soul-Binding Serpent took hold, the werewolf wizard made his move. He advanced alongside his pack, seizing the opening to blast one of the Thunderstorm Orbs into scrap. Simultaneously, he whipped his wand through the air, raining a barrage of curses down on Alan.
As the spells whistled toward him, the silver metal sphere orbiting Alan's head flared with runic patterns. Like a predator sensing movement, it intercepted the incoming magic mid-flight. The sphere hummed, projecting overlapping layers of translucent shielding. One particularly violent Blasting Curse shattered two of the barriers, but the sphere instantly generated a third, absorbing the kinetic shock and the fiery afterglow. Not even the hem of Alan's robes fluttered from the blast.
He had dubbed this creation the 'Lincoln Sphere,' and it was his most sophisticated alchemical achievement to date. Initially, he had envisioned a floating turret that could autonomously target enemies with Beam Lightning, but practical testing had proved the logic too complex.
True autonomous targeting was a nightmare—how could a machine distinguish a foe from a bystander? If it functioned on heat or malice, a stray bird or a clumsy ally could trigger a lethal counterattack. Furthermore, spellcasting required a wizard's wand to channel and condense magic; without that focal point, a projectile would dissipate into raw energy. Projectile magic also required the "gaze lock"—the specific intent and will of a caster. Without a mind to guide it, an alchemical tool could rarely produce a spell with a true trajectory.
Faced with these limitations, Alan had pivoted to defense. Locking onto incoming hostile spells was a far more achievable goal for an enchantment. To ensure its durability, he had used a staggering amount of premium materials, including an ounce of rare Urim steel. The sphere's core could withstand a Killing Curse without buckling, and it was inscribed with sixteen layers of Protego runes. It also featured an Energy Absorption array; as it deflected attacks, it siphoned off the kinetic energy to reinforce its own shields. He had calibrated it so that for every three layers broken, the absorbed energy could spontaneously manifest a new one.
With the Lincoln Sphere acting as his automated shield, Alan was free to deal with the remaining wolves.
Of the original eleven, four were dead, one was being drained by the serpent, and the wizard leader had retreated to the fringe. Five wolves remained, blinded by the darkness talisman. Two of them possessed terrifying willpower; despite their lack of sight, they used their heightened sense of smell to grope toward Alan, their claws scything the air in a desperate, frenzied search.
Alan knew standard hexes wouldn't cut through their magically enhanced hides quickly enough. Sectumsempra would bleed them, but it wouldn't stop them instantly.
He needed a one-hit kill.
He mobilized his magic, and the Centaur Elder behind him felt a sudden, crushing atmospheric shift. A pale, desolate aura erupted from the boy—a weight so heavy it felt like lead pressing against the Elder's chest, making it difficult to draw breath.
On Alan's wand, Dark Depiction, rings of silver-white electricity began to coil. The discharge spread from the wood to his hand, then raced up his arm until his entire body was wreathed in snapping sparks. Alan's pupils glowed with a metallic silver light, and his hair stood on end, flickering with static.
The werewolf wizard, standing twenty meters away, felt the spike in power and was seized by a sudden, chilling premonition. He fired a desperate Killing Curse, but the Lincoln Sphere shifted instantly into a heavy round shield, taking the green bolt head-on. The metal remained unscoured, death-magic sliding off its surface as it stayed positioned between the wizard and his target.
The alpha's heart skipped a beat. Overcome by a primal instinct for survival, he didn't wait to see the result. He slashed his wand through the air and Apparated, vanishing in a sharp crack of displaced air.
The blinded wolves he left behind were not so fortunate.
"God-slayer Slash!"
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Five thunderous roars tore through the Forbidden Forest in a rapid, staccato burst. The sound was so violent and sudden that it startled every creature within miles.
It was too fast to track, too loud to comprehend, and too bright to endure.
The Centaur Elder, who had been watching Alan with wide eyes, was momentarily blinded. Five consecutive flashes of searing white light had turned the night into a brilliant, artificial day. It was like being stared down by a thousand suns at point-blank range.
When the Elder's vision finally cleared, he saw Alan standing a few paces ahead. The boy was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as he tilted a bottle of Invigoration Draught into his mouth.
The five werewolves were gone. In their place stood five blackened silhouettes, frozen in the poses of their final charge. As a gust of wind swept through the clearing, the charcoal figures crumbled into fine, grey ash, scattering into the undergrowth.
The Elder and the few conscious centaurs gasped. They stared at the boy with a new, profound fear. What kind of magic turned creatures as resilient as werewolves into dust in a fraction of a second? Had they stood in his way, they realized, they wouldn't have even felt themselves die.