Alex glanced at her, his decision made. “We’ll intervene, but not yet. Let them tire each other out. When the time is right, we’ll strike.”
The battle between the centaur elder and the werewolf wizard had devolved into a tense stalemate. The werewolf wizard flung curses with unrelenting speed, only for the elder to deflect them with precise sweeps of his spear. Occasionally, the elder managed to counter with a quick thrust, but the werewolf wizard, agile and resilient, dodged with infuriating ease.
While the duel dragged on, the rest of the centaurs found themselves in dire straits. Outnumbered almost two-to-one, and with three young centaurs among them, their charge had been stopped cold. Forced into brutal close combat, the centaurs fought desperately. Their powerful hooves landed punishing blows, and their spears and bows inflicted grievous wounds on the werewolves.
In the opening clash alone, two werewolves were severely injured. But werewolves excelled in close quarters. Their smaller frames allowed for faster, more flexible movements compared to the centaurs’ broad, sweeping attacks. The werewolves darted around their foes, slashing at exposed flanks and retreating before the centaurs could land a counter.
The werewolves’ natural regeneration tilted the battle further in their favor. Alex watched as one werewolf, pierced by an arrow, bit through the shaft, snarled, and charged back into the fray. Even those who retreated briefly to nurse serious injuries soon returned, their wounds partially healed.
The centaurs, however, had no such advantage. Each wound sapped their strength, and their blood loss slowed their movements. Some of the centaurs’ coats were stained crimson, and their heavy breathing betrayed their mounting exhaustion. The sleeping potion vapor conjured by the werewolf wizard was taking its toll as well. The centaurs began showing signs of dizziness, their footing faltering.
The situation became even more precarious when the two werewolves who had been lying in ambush struck. Launching themselves from the high ground, they targeted the young centaurs. With swift, calculated strikes, they destroyed two of the young centaurs’ bows, rendering them weaponless.
It was clear these werewolves weren’t aiming to kill. To the werewolf wizard, the young centaurs were valuable prey to be captured and traded. Their attacks were deliberate, designed to disable without causing excessive harm. The young centaurs, already weaker in stamina and magic resistance, began to succumb to the effects of the sleeping potion. One of them staggered, his eyes fluttering as he struggled to stay awake.
Seeing their young at risk, the adult centaurs grew frantic. Their attacks became fiercer, their movements wild. Some even wielded their large bows as melee weapons, swinging them furiously to keep the werewolves at bay. But the desperate counterattack came at a cost. The centaurs’ uncoordinated movements left gaps in their defenses, leading to more injuries. The increased exertion quickened their blood flow, accelerating the sleeping potion’s effects. “Haha! Your prophecy is failing, old nag!” the werewolf wizard jeered, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Tell your broken stars to save you now!”
The elder centaur’s expression remained calm, but doubt flickered in his eyes as he watched one of the young centaurs collapse under the potion’s influence. ‘Had his vision been wrong? Was the Morning Star no longer on their side?’
Alex, observing from the sidelines, knew it was time to act. The centaurs wouldn’t last much longer, and while he was tempted to test the elder’s prophecy by doing nothing, he couldn’t stomach the idea of letting the werewolves win. “Wimzy,” Alex said, his voice sharp and commanding. “Stay here. Do not move. If anything dangerous approaches, Apparate immediately.”
“Yes, Master,” Wimzy replied, clutching her robes tightly. Alex drew his wand, his resolve steeling. He leapt from the tree. “Thundris Vortex!” The spell Alex cast was one of his own creation, refined after months of experimentation. Thundris Vortex was a modified version of the Atmospheric Charm, designed specifically for crowd control.
At the point of his focus, 5 to 20 meters above the ground, a swirling thundercloud formed. The cloud’s core crackled with concentrated energy, a roiling mass of power. The spell targeted everything within a radius of 10 to 30 meters from the cloud’s center. Any entity within range became a target, subject to relentless lightning strikes.
The storm began its assault immediately, unleashing high-speed bolts of electricity at a rate of nearly one per second. The attack frequency, strength, and duration were determined by the caster’s magical output. Alex had poured a significant amount of his magic into the spell, ensuring 50 strikes at full intensity. The first bolt struck a werewolf that had been advancing on a young centaur. The lightning carved through the air with a deafening crack, slamming into its target and sending the creature sprawling, its fur singed and its howl of pain echoing through the clearing.
The werewolves turned their glowing eyes upward, confusion and fear flashing across their feral faces. Before they could react, another bolt struck, then another.
The Thundris Vortex was powerful and destructive, but it had one critical flaw—it didn’t distinguish between friend and foe. Alex, however, had long since accounted for this. What the werewolves and centaurs saw was a lone wizard leaping into the battlefield, his wand raised high. Above him, a swirling thundercloud crackled with electric energy as it moved toward the center of the chaos.
The nearest werewolf, its scarlet eyes blazing with bloodlust, immediately abandoned its current fight and lunged at Alex, charging on all fours.
Crack! Boom!
A bolt of lightning shot down from the thundercloud, striking the werewolf before it could reach Alex. The creature’s fur charred instantly, and it was thrown backward by the force of the strike. The acrid stench of scorched flesh filled the air. But the werewolf’s resilience was as fearsome as ever. It rolled to its feet, snarling in rage, and prepared to attack again.
“Sectumsempra!” Alex didn’t wait. With a precise flick of his wand, an invisible blade slashed through the air.
Swish!
The werewolf’s head separated cleanly from its body, and it crumpled to the ground, lifeless. The sudden and brutal death silenced the battlefield for a moment. Centaur and werewolf alike froze, stunned by the sheer efficiency of the kill. “Hold fast! The Morning Star has sent its sign!” the elder centaur roared, his voice filled with renewed vigor. “Close ranks and charge toward the wizard!”
“Kill him!” the werewolf wizard snarled, spinning to face Alex. He raised his wand and sent a jet of green light—a Killing Curse—straight at the elder centaur. But the elder centaur, emboldened by Alex’s arrival, deflected the curse with a powerful swing of his spear. He led the centaurs in another charge, their spirits lifted by the unexpected reinforcements.
Despite the boost in morale, the centaurs were far from victory. Three of their number had already succumbed to the effects of the sleeping potion and collapsed mid-charge. The remaining centaurs were bloodied and weary, their movements sluggish. Seeing the shift in momentum, two werewolves broke away from the pack and charged toward Alex, snarling as they closed the distance.
Alex ignored them. Instead, he jumped straight into the heart of the battlefield. “Electra Surge!” He thrust his wand forward, and a powder-blue sphere of light expanded outward from the centaurs’ position. The sphere crackled with electric energy, its translucent shell flickering with arcs of lightning. The centaurs froze as the light engulfed them, their eyes wide with confusion. The sphere exploded in a brilliant flash, bathing the battlefield in a blinding glow.