Phew. I didn't expect this God-slayer Slash to consume so much magic. It nearly drained me dry, Alan thought, his heart still hammering against his ribs.
It was fortunate that the werewolf wizard had fled when he did; otherwise, Alan wouldn't have had the stamina for a counterattack. This was a spell he had only recently finalized in his notes and hadn't even had the chance to field-test. He had intended to gauge its baseline effectiveness, but the raw power had nearly spiraled out of his control.
The potency of the God-slayer Slash exceeded even his most optimistic calculations. Through his recent research, he had discovered a unique property of the Wild Lightning rune: extreme compressibility. Provided the wizard possessed enough raw magic and focus, the electrical energy could be condensed almost without limit, causing the voltage and destructive potential to scale exponentially.
In the ancestral memory he had glimpsed from the rune, the Thunderbird diving into the heart of the tempest had absorbed a massive atmospheric charge into its own marrow. Clearly, that biological capacity for storage was the foundation of this magic.
Alan's theory for the God-slayer Slash was simple: inject as much magic as possible into a rune compressed to its absolute physical limit. In theory, the power was infinite, capable of tearing through even divine protection. Simple and brutal—exactly how Alan liked his finishers.
He had compressed nearly ninety percent of his total reserves for that single outburst. The outflow was so violent and rapid that he'd barely had time to track the targets; most of his effort had been spent jerkily reorienting his wand to catch the other wolves in the arc. It was an absurd waste of energy—like using a naval cannon to swat a mosquito—but the results were undeniable.
The sensory feedback was equally punishing. Alan's vision was swimming with afterimages from the flash, and a high-pitched ringing echoed in his ears. He realized that the bottleneck wasn't the magic itself, but the wizard's sensitivity. Most casters simply couldn't exert the level of microscopic control needed to stabilize that much energy. To use this as a routine combat spell, he would need to find a better balance between compression and output.
After downing two bottles of Invigoration Draught, Alan began to recover his senses. He scanned the clearing. The five wolves were gone, reduced to ash, which served as a grim reminder of the magic's lethality.
The alpha had Apparated the moment the first bolt cracked. Including the four killed earlier, ten of the eleven enemies were dead. The final werewolf lay at his feet, bound and drained by the Soul-Binding Serpent. He had deliberately kept this one alive; he needed a source of intelligence to understand the pack's hierarchy.
Alan turned his attention to the centaurs. Under the Elder's direction, they had staunched their bleeding and were beginning to move. It looked like they would all survive.
"Kiki!" Alan called out, walking toward his captive.
With a soft crack, the house-elf appeared at his side. "Master! You are too amazing! You took care of all those monsters in just a few moves! And that last spell... Kiki thought the sun had fallen into the forest!"
"Less talk, Kiki. Why didn't you tell me these werewolves were carrying Blood Frenzy Potions?" Alan asked, pulling a pair of Magic-Suppressing Handcuffs from his pouch. He snapped them onto the wolf's wrists and used the serpent to gag the creature, never taking his eyes off his work.
"But Master did not ask! And Kiki cannot recognize every bottle in the master's crates... I do not know what a Blood Frenzy is. Did Kiki fail you?" She wrung her small hands, her face a mask of anxiety. She looked around for a stone to kick in penance but remembered his earlier command and froze in a state of visible conflict.
"You need to learn to think proactively, Kiki. Start observing, not just following. Now, help me clear the area. Once I have the answers I want from this beast, we're leaving."
He needed to know more about that wizard. Making an enemy of a man that dangerous and letting him live was a strategic error he intended to correct.
"Ahem. Young man," the Centaur Elder spoke up, realizing Alan was treating them as part of the scenery.
"I know your kind doesn't care for humans, but I have work to do here. If my presence bothers you, feel free to depart," Alan replied without looking up.
"No, young wizard. We bear you no ill will. Your courage saved the lives of our kin. We simply wish to express our gratitude." The Elder stood tall, placing a hand over his chest in a sign of deep respect. After witnessing the God-slayer Slash, none of the warriors behind him were in any hurry to challenge the boy's presence.
"Gratitude?" Alan stood up, adjusting his silver monocle. "I accept it, but understand I was hunting these wolves for my own reasons. If I saved you, consider it a favor to Hagrid."
"Hagrid? The gamekeeper from the castle?" A younger centaur stepped forward. He was strikingly handsome, with piercing blue eyes, shimmering platinum hair, and a sleek silver coat.
"Firenze," the Elder said, turning to him. "Do you know this friend of Hagrid's?"