Steel met steel in a relentless tempest. Swords against scythe, strike after strike, their movements a blur in the glow of the clock tower's crystal sconces. Godric, Asriel, and Lamar moved so fast they seemed to flicker in and out of the light, the crash of their weapons drowning out the groaning gears and the ponderous tock of the pendulum overhead.
Lightning coursed through Godric's frame, golden circuits blazing beneath his skin as he tore across the stone floor, each bootstep cracking the surface. His sword flashed in tight arcs, meeting Lamar's twin scythes in a shower of sparks. A clean slice carved a shallow line across the side of Lamar's neck, drawing a streak of red. The old man only gritted his teeth and answered with a vicious swing, the curved blade tearing through Godric's jacket and grazing his side.
Lamar spun, scythe a whirlwind in his grip, forcing Godric back, but there was no pause, no breath drawn before Asriel vaulted over his comrade. The claymore came down in a brutal arc, wreathed in black and crimson fire. Lamar caught the strike, steel shrieking as their weapons locked, the floor groaning beneath their weight.
"Isn't this poetic?" Lamar snarled through a wild grin. "The Grim Reaper meets the Terror of Death. A shame fate was so cruel to you. You'd have made a fine addition to the Tower."
Asriel's amber eyes burned. "Fate… FATE?" He surged forward, slamming his forehead into Lamar's nose with a crack. The older man reeled, blood spraying as he staggered, barely leaning back in time to let the tip of Asriel's sword pass a hair from his throat.
"What happened to me. What happened to Tala and her family was not fate!" Asriel roared, blade raised for another strike. "It was because of you!"
Asriel lunged, claymore whipping forward, the black-and-crimson blade crashing against Lamar's twin scythes. Steel rang out in deafening bursts, each blow cracking the air and rattling the clock tower's windows, shockwaves shuddering through the stone beneath their feet.
"Every life you ended. Every future you stole. Every misery you orchestrated!" Asriel snarled, his claymore spinning in his hands before he raised it high and brought it down with both arms. The impact jarred up his arms as Lamar caught the strike, scythes crossed in a grinding lock.
"You were the architect of all their pain," Asriel drove the blade sideways, forcing Lamar back a step, "but that's not what makes you the monster."
Lamar's smirk deepened, but Asriel's voice rose, raw and searing. "It's how you look at all you've done—" he stepped in, blade slashing in a vicious arc, "—and laughed!"
The strike missed by inches, carving a deep scar into the wall and showering stone chips. Lamar dropped low, spinning his scythes in a rising sweep, only for his blades to smash into Godric's sword, sparks exploding on contact.
Godric's crimson gaze locked on him. "Incantatio… Flamma."
The steel in his hands ignited in a searing red glow, flames coiling along the blade. Lamar's eyes widened.
"Calidus Gladius," Godric muttered, then roared. "Infernus!"
The sword erupted, spewing a wave of fire that burst into a roaring fireball. Lamar leapt back, the explosion swallowing him in smoke and heat. He hit the wall hard, jacket smoldering, patting out the flames as he emerged from the haze. Face twisted with fury, tendrils of smoke curling from his frame.
When the smoke thinned, Godric and Asriel stood shoulder to shoulder, both weapons raised. Godric's blade blazed with red light, his eyes narrowed to slits, burning with murderous intent.
Lamar's fury eased into a slow, curling grin, a low chuckle slipping past his lips. Not from mirth, but from a perverse sense of amusement. "So," he drawled, "you've been dabbling in the Vermillion Family's Imperial Magic." His gaze slid over Godric's blade, the faintest glimmer of appraisal in his eyes. "Self-taught, no less. A crude, cheap imitation at best… but I'll grant you this—" his grin widened, "—it's not half bad."
Pushing himself off the wall, Lamar began to pace, scythes hanging loosely in his hands. "Let me hazard a guess. In that insatiable hunger to bury the rage clawing at your insides, you buried yourself in the library. Scouring every dusty shelf, tearing through scrolls and tomes for something, anything, that could make you stronger. Hunting for spells that were destructive… vicious… deadly."
Godric's knuckles whitened on the hilt of his sword. Asriel's glare never left Lamar.
"But here's the thing about magic you've barely scratched the surface of…" Lamar's eyes drifted to Godric's hands, lingering on the raw, reddened burns along his fingers. "You risk turning it on yourself. Just as I'd wager happened the first time you toyed with Vis Vitalis. Oh, the books and tomes will happily spell out the steps, but they never quite prepare you for the cost, do they?"
He inhaled slowly, almost as if tasting an old memory.
"But I suppose I can understand, boy," Lamar went on. "I know that feeling. I know it better than you think. Once upon a time, I sought the same truths. People prattle endlessly that 'knowledge is power.'" He gave a derisive scoff. "No. Power is power. And to seize it, you must first know where to find it—and how far you're willing to go to claim it."
He tilted his head, almost as if in admiration. "In a twisted way, I'm impressed. That single-minded devotion. That willingness to carve your soul into a weapon for one purpose alone. Even if that purpose is to see me lying dead at your feet."
Lamar's gaze slid to Asriel, his tone turning almost conversational, though every word was laced with venom. "Unlike Valerian here," he said, "all that strength, all that bluster, the name that was meant to freeze a man's blood in his veins… none of it mattered when it truly counted."
Asriel's jaw tightened, the flicker of rage building behind his eyes.
"Perhaps," Lamar went on, smirk curling into something uglier, "when they took your precious little peck like the mewling quim she was, you secretly enjoyed it." He gave a low, mirthless chuckle. "I know I did. Hearing that the traitor's daughter had been ravaged repeatedly… oh, it brought a smile to my face. And knowing they made you watch—" his tone dipped, cruel and mocking, "—well, that was the finest part."
The roar that tore from Asriel's throat was raw and unrestrained. He charged, his claymore a blur as it came swinging in a murderous arc. Lamar's scythes snapped together into one long, wicked blade, meeting the strike in a shower of sparks.
Godric's circuits blazed to life, the air around him crackling as he vanished in a burst of lightning. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared before Lamar, sword in motion, and the three of them were locked once more in the savage storm of battle.
****
Bran's eyes fluttered open, the haze of pain and smoke slowly giving way to fractured clarity. He groaned through clenched teeth, every breath grinding against bruised, perhaps cracked, ribs. The scent of fire and soot clung thick in the air, and somewhere beyond, the clash of steel rang faint but steady. His blurred vision steadied and found a face he knew.
"Gra… Grandfather?" he rasped.
Winston exhaled, the faint glow at the tip of his wand fading. "Good. You're awake."
Bran pushed himself upright on the shattered stone, glancing down at his chest. The wound was raw, still aching, but no longer bleeding.
"It was the best I could manage under the circumstances," Winston said, shifting slightly as he cradled Rowena in his arms, her breathing slow but steady. "We need to get you both to the Hospital Wing."
Bran's gaze snapped to her. His eyes widened, alarm breaking through the fog of pain. He scrambled forward on hands and knees. "Rowena, by the Gods…" His fingers brushed gently through her hair before turning to Winston. "What happened?"
"She…" Winston paused. "She used her power. To save you both."
"Blast it!" Bran swore, dropping his gaze. "Stubborn girl. I told her not to."
Winston's wand traced carefully over her minor cuts and bruises. "She'll recover. But that magic… it takes its toll. It's a force that could unravel the very fabric of reality. One the Council feared for good reason. And no power of that magnitude comes without a price."
"What of Lamar?" Bran asked.
Winston inclined his chin toward the chaos behind him.
Bran turned—and the breath caught in his chest. Asriel, Godric, and Lamar were locked in a brutal storm of steel, their movements a blur. Blades met with the force of thunderclaps, sparks bursting in showers with every strike. Asriel and Godric moved in seamless rhythm, vaulting and twisting, their swords spinning in tight arcs, while Lamar's massive scythe swept in wide, murderous swings. Each cut sang through the air with a weight that made the very stone seem to tremble.
Godric ducked low, the scythe passing so close it sheared strands from his hair. "Calidus Gladius!" His sword flared to life, encircled by a burning wheel of flame. "Nova… Stella!"
A surge of fire roared outward, forcing Lamar to leap back. The blaze licked across his jacket, scorching fabric and searing skin. Before he could fully recover, Asriel closed in, his claymore wreathed in blackened flame. With a two-handed swing, he brought it down in a fiery roar that split the floor. Lamar cut through the inferno with a savage sweep of his scythe, only to find Godric already upon him again, circuits alight, fury erupting in a raw cry as his blade came crashing in.
"Asriel… and Gryffindor?" Bran's brow furrowed in confusion. "How in blazes did they get here? And that magic—those are the Imperial Arts of House Vermillion. How is Gryffindor—"
"They appeared from thin air," Winston cut in. "I'd wager Valerian's magic had a hand in it. As for Gryffindor—" his gaze flicked to the fight "—your guess is as good as mine. But if I were to hazard one, I'd say he worked it out for himself."
Bran blinked in surprise before looking back at the battle. "House Vermillion is one of the five Imperial Houses from the Nine who allowed their magic to be studied openly. Nobles called them mad for sharing it with common folk, but they claimed the world could refine it on their behalf." He adjusted his cracked glasses. "Even so, wielders of Calidus, like Vis Vitalis, are rare. The sheer physical strength it demands makes it like… well, wielding a blade far too long and heavy for most to lift."
"I'll agree with that," Winston said. "But take a closer look at Gryffindor. See the difference?"
Bran glanced back, one brow raised.
"As far as I know, the Vermillions use Calidus bare-fisted," Winston continued. "They've always prided themselves on raw strength and explosive strikes. You'd never see one of them touch a weapon, let alone a sword."
Bran's gaze sharpened. "Come to think of it, you're right."
"And yet here's young Gryffindor, using their techniques with a blade," Winston said. "Which means he didn't just teach himself, he adapted it. Is it perfect? Not in the least. It's an imitation, and it's burning him every time he calls on it. But you can't deny it's bloody impressive. With some time, and perhaps some proper training, he might just give the Vermillions a run for their money."
Bran gave a low chuckle. "I wouldn't let loud-and-crazy catch wind of the lad," he said. "She'd probably try to adopt him. Forcefully, at that."
Winston's lips curved faintly. "On that point, my boy, I've no doubt whatsoever."
A faint groan broke the moment. Rowena stirred, her sapphire eyes flickering open to find Winston above her. "Grandfather…" she murmured.
"Hello, little crow," Winston said softly, a smile breaking through the battle-worn lines of his face.
Bran leaned closer, relief clear in his expression. "Rowena… thank the Gods."
Rowena's gaze dropped. "I'm sorry, Grandfather. I made a promise… and I broke it."
"Hush," Winston said, though the word carried no warmth. "Your apology means little when it's tied to such foolishness. What matters now is that you're breathing, though that's no excuse for what you've done." His eyes hardened, a cold weight in his stare. "You could have died, Rowena. And for what?"
She flinched, her throat tightening.
"Grandfather, it's not her fault, she—" Bran tried to cut in.
"And don't delude yourself into thinking you've no share of the blame, Bran," Winston snapped. Bran froze under the weight of his words. "You both knew exactly who Lamar is. You know the blood on his hands, the carnage he leaves behind. Yet you still went after him as if you were walking into a schoolyard brawl. If I hadn't arrived when I did—"
He paused. "I would have been left with the unbearable task of burying you both. Do you think I could face your parents? Your grandmother after that? Do you think I could carry that weight to my grave?"
The silence that followed was heavy. Rowena's eyes glistened, Bran's jaw tightened, and both looked at him with softened gazes, the sting of his words lingering between them.
"We're sorry," Rowena said quietly. "We just thought—"
"I know," Winston cut in, his hand resting firmly on Bran's shoulder. "I know what you were thinking. His betrayal cut us all to the bone. The anger, the need for justice. It's a poison that seeps into your bones. But none of it is worth the cost of your own life."
His eyes moved between them. "You're my grandchildren. I love you both dearly. But do not ever put me in a position where I might have to arrange your last rites. I won't do it. No father should ever bury his children. Don't ask that of me, or of yours."
Bran nodded solemnly. "It won't happen again, Grandfather. You have our word."
A fresh clang of steel tore their attention back to the fight. Godric and Asriel pressing Lamar hard, flames bursting in sweeping arcs with every stroke.
Rowena's eyes widened. "Is that… Godric? And that's, by the gods—that's Calidus!"
"It's a long story," Bran said, "but your friend's more than he lets on."
"That explains so much," Rowena murmured, sitting up. "For weeks, he'd turn up to dinner with his hands wrapped in bandages. Always claimed he'd burned himself in Potions. Wrong heat, wrong timing. I never imagined he was teaching himself something so dangerous." She groaned, massaging her temple. "That fool. That stupid, reckless fool."
Winston chuckled under his breath. "Just like every other Ignis brat I've ever had the misfortune to meet."
Bran smirked faintly and shook his head. "You can say that again, Grandfather."
****
Asriel was hurled back, his boots leaving the floor as he thrust out a hand. Black portals ripped open along the walls, spewing barbed-wire tendrils that snapped forward like speartips, lashing for Lamar. Lamar pivoted, his scythe spinning in a vicious blur, cleaving the wires apart in showers of sparks. Mid-dodge, a crack of lightning split the air.
Godric appeared beside him in a blink. Lamar's eyes flared wide, teeth bared, as Godric roared and brought his blade down. Steel met steel in a screech of sparks before Lamar hooked his scythe to divert the strike, spinning with lethal precision and driving a brutal kick into Godric's gut.
The boy's breath burst from him in a choked gasp as he was flung back, skidding hard across the stone.
Asriel was already upon Lamar, his claymore a dark whirlwind. The clash rang through the chamber.
Scythe against blade, each strike heavy enough to rattle the walls. Asriel's weapon spun, biting into Lamar's midsection in a sweeping cut that drew a sharp cry. Lamar retaliated in the same breath, his scythe carving across Asriel's arm. Both men reeled back, blood on their steel, breath ragged, sweat stinging their eyes. Asriel's fingers pressed against his wound; when he drew them away, they were slick with blackened blood.
Godric pushed himself upright, using his sword as a crutch, crimson eyes locked on Lamar with murderous focus.
"Finally on your last legs, old man?" Asriel smirked. "Pity. In your prime, you might've had a chance of walking out of here alive."
Lamar's gaze dropped to Asriel's bleeding arm, a dark grin curling his lips. "I wouldn't be so cocky, Valerian. The sword's strength is bleeding out of you along with that foul blood. That cursed magic you've clung to is spent. And as far as I see it—" he gave a thin smile, "—you and I are sinking in the same ship."
Asriel glanced at the black sheen coating his palm. "You're right. Nemesis' gift has its limits. Damocles himself faded at the twilight of his vengeance, and so will I." His amber eyes lifted, hard as iron. "But I don't need these powers to end you, Lamar. Not for a man who's already dead, yet too stubborn to realize it."
Lamar's chuckle was low and venomous. "Confidence—always the final crutch of a dying man." His words dropped into a sneer. "Tell me, Valerian, will your precious Tala be there to greet you in the afterlife? Or will she turn her face away in shame at what you've become?"
Asriel's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek.
"And you—Gryffindor," Lamar turned his head, eyes narrowing on Godric. "How's that bastardized magic holding up? I wonder how long you'll last before you finally burn through that's left of your hands and start screaming." His grin widened. "When you do, I'll make certain you live long enough to watch me carve the life out of everyone you've sworn to protect. One… by… one."
The last words were spat like venom, his grip tightening on his scythe. "Today will not be the day Lamar Burgess falls. It will be another day he survives. Just as he always has. You may be the Terror of Death, Valerian, and you, the so-called Lion of Ignis, Gryffindor… but neither of you can kill death incarnate."
Asriel's gaze slid toward Godric, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked. Godric's crimson glare narrowed, a silent nod passing between them.
"You were right about one thing," Asriel said evenly. "I was born into war. But in all my years facing warlords and tyrants, never have I met one so enamored with the sound of his own voice. You prattle on like some deranged court jester, spinning meaningless tangents as if the world cares for your ramblings." His smirk edged higher. "Listening to you, I can't help but wonder—is there a point to any of it? Because to my ears, it sounds an awful lot like you're dictating your own obituary."
Lamar's eyes hardened, the humor draining from his face.
Godric wrenched his sword free from the stone, stepping into a slow prowl to Lamar's left. Asriel mirrored him to the right, his claymore turning with the ease of long practice, the two of them circling like wolves around their quarry.
"You and I," Asriel said, "are nothing more than killers. Out of time, out of place. It's time to return the Tower to the hands of the righteous and the virtuous." His gaze flicked briefly to the floor, then back to Lamar. "It's time for us to go."
Lamar's chuckle rumbled darkly, curling into a grin that bordered on madness. "And I suppose you fancy yourself the man to make it happen. You and this pathetic Gryffindor whelp."
"Maybe," Asriel said, his claymore bursting into blackened flame. "Maybe not. But let's give this one last go, shall we?"
Lamar split his scythe into twin blades, inverting them as he dropped low, stance coiled like a spring. "Then come on, boys—have at it."
A blinding crack of lightning split the air as Godric lunged, his blade wreathed in flame. A heartbeat later, blackened fire roared to life as Asriel surged forward. Lamar's lips curled into a smirk. Then steel met steel, and the chamber rang with the brutal chorus of their clash. Godric's flaming sword swept in sharp arcs, striking against Lamar's twin scythes in a shower of sparks, each blow driving the older man a step back.
Asriel's claymore came from the flank, vicious and unrelenting. The rhythm of the fight quickened, their strikes hammering faster, heavier, until Lamar's smirk broke. Asriel's blade tore a searing line across his back; Godric's slash bit deep into his thigh.
"Calidus… Gladius," Godric hissed, his sword igniting once more. The flames licked up the hilt, biting into his fingers hard enough to make his grip falter, but he held. "Sol…" He swung, sending a blazing jet of fire roaring straight ahead. "Ferox!"
The inferno carved the air, heat blistering as it seared past Lamar's face. The stench of singed hair rolled between them, but Lamar barely had a heartbeat to react before he realized. Asriel had stepped back, lowering into a stance, the tip of his claymore aimed directly at him. Black flames coiled and snarled around the blade, Asriel's amber eyes burning with murderous intent.
Gryffindor's attack had been the lure.
"This is the end, Burgess!" Asriel roared.
The black fire erupted, propelling him forward in a thunderous burst. Godric vanished in a streak of lightning, flanking him as Asriel's strike drove home. The claymore speared through Lamar's chest, the force blasting him backward. His body slammed into the stone wall with bone-jarring impact, the masonry fracturing into a crater as dust and debris poured down, choking the air in a shroud of smoke.
****
Bran lifted an arm to shield his face, the choking swirl of dust and stone sweeping over them in a suffocating wave. "By the Gods… is it done?"
Winston's eyes stayed fixed on the cloud, his expression grim. "No."
Rowena glanced at him, incredulous. "I know Lamar is formidable, but even he couldn't have stood through that."
"If there's one thing I've learned about my old friend," Winston said, his tone edged, "it's that he never plays his last card until you think the game is won. Whether in his hand or hidden up his sleeve, Lamar always has a move left." He drew a measured breath. "And you don't remain at the very summit of power without being the shrewdest among them."
Bran's eyes widened. "You don't mean—"
****
Asriel's claymore would have been buried to the hilt in Lamar's chest, or so he thought. Something was wrong. The sensation in his hands told him this wasn't flesh or bone, but something far harder, metallic.
A low chuckle rolled from Lamar's throat, building into a laugh as the smoke cleared. He looked up with a maddened grin. Asriel's amber eyes narrowed on the torn edges of Lamar's jacket, revealing a blackened plate of steel beneath. His blade had struck true but hadn't pierced.
"How very unfortunate, Valerian," Lamar said. "That was likely your one chance to end me."
His hand closed around the blackened blade, the steel groaning under his grip as he began to shove it aside. The strength behind it forced Asriel back step by step. "I was saving this for Blaise," Lamar continued, his grin widening, "but for you and that whelp to drive me this far… I'll admit, I'm impressed."
The clang of metal rang as Lamar let his scythe fall, the blade biting into the stone floor, upright. In that same heartbeat, Godric flashed in beside him in a surge of fire and lightning, his sword already in mid-swing. The strike landed with a sharp, jarring crash, not against flesh, but against Lamar's forearm. Godric's eyes widened just before Lamar swept his arm, knocking the blade aside, his free hand snatching Godric by the collar.
With one brutal motion, Lamar shoved Asriel's weapon away and hurled Godric bodily into him. The two crashed together, the impact slamming Asriel onto his back, both of them rolling across the stone until they skidded to a halt.
Lamar stepped forward, retrieving his scythe. "Did you truly think I'd wander into battle as I am?" His smirk was all teeth. "As much as it pains me to admit it, I'm no longer the man I once was. The warrior who could bring the mightiest to their knees is long gone. Against the rabble in this school, or the dregs of this city? Child's play. But against you? The Professors…" His eyes slid to Winston. "Even old friends… I'd be outmatched."
He rested the weapon against his shoulder, his smirk sharpening. "So, I made arrangements."
It was then the fabric of Lamar's Norsefire uniform began to smolder. Lavender flames. Cold, unnatural, and unnervingly bright, licked up the fabric, consuming it piece by piece until it crumbled to ash. Godric and Asriel, still steadying themselves, kept their guards high, until the fire revealed what lay beneath. Their defiance began to give way to shock.
Beneath the charred remnants was not flesh, but armor. Not the craft of any blacksmith, but something far more advanced. Jet-black plates of polished obsidian steel encased him from chest to toe, every curve and edge pulsing faintly with lavender light. The glow traced through etched channels in the armor, all of them feeding into a crystalline core embedded over his heart. The crystal, caged behind a glass-like casing, pulsed with an almost living rhythm.
Asriel's jaw tightened. Bran's eyes widened in disbelief. Both recognized it instantly. A Crystal Core. Yet never had they seen one so small, so unnervingly compact.
"Ah," Lamar said, glancing down at himself with quiet satisfaction, "another fine gift from my dears friend at the Atlas Institute." His hand flexed as his gaze travelled down the length of his arm. "Fascinating piece of work, isn't it? Grants a man the strength of giants, the steel of dragons, and the speed of a gryphon in full flight."
His eyes rose to meet theirs, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Merely a prototype for now, but had I succeeded, every soldier under my banner would be clad in it. Picture it: an army of super soldiers, impervious to both steel and sorcery. Nations would crumble. Kings and councilmen would kneel."
He gave a low chuckle. The sound steeped in arrogance. "Count yourselves fortunate that time was not on my side. Another year, and Avalon itself would be mine. And not even the Gods could stop me."
"Laying your secrets bare for all to see," Asriel sneered, his grip tightening on his claymore. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before a man like you tired of playing Director, and started dreaming of playing King."
"Quite right," Lamar replied. "Though truth be told, the thought never lingered much at first. I was content with my chair. My legacy. I had everything." His gaze drifted toward Bran, Rowena, and Winston with calculated precision. "The man who once blighted my ambitions was gone. The Tower bent to my will. The people were beneath my feet. And then…" His lips curled faintly. "Years ago, I had an epiphany."
Godric's crimson eyes narrowed.
"The Council of Kings. An overstuffed collection of peacocks, more concerned with their gilded thrones than progress. The Wizarding Council. Decrepit old carcasses, hoarding power, dictating the world's shape like dying gods." Lamar's words darkened.
"I grew tired of them all. So, I asked myself one simple, dangerous question…" His smirk deepened, the corners of his mouth twitching with something uncomfortably close to delight. "Why serve in heaven… when I could rule in hell?"
The air seemed to still. Rowena's hands clenched against her knees, her breath catching. Bran's jaw tightened, his eyes locked on Lamar with open disdain. Winston's expression remained calm, though his gaze sharpened, like a man committing every word to memory.
"A world without councils. Without kings. Without petty bodies to shackle ambition," Lamar continued, pacing slowly as the lavender light from his armor's core pulsed against the fractured stone. "Avalon united beneath my iron hand. I decide who lives and who dies. Who feasts and who starves. Who ascends to luxury and who rots in the filth." His eyes gleamed with a predatory glint. "Not the Council. Not the Kings. Me."
A low, chilling chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest. "I will be the beginning. I will be the present. And when all is dust and ashes… I will be the end."
His gaze cut to Godric and Asriel, sharp as a blade.
"And filth like you," Lamar said, his tone dropping into something venomous, "have no place in my perfect world."
Godric's gaze dropped to the fractured stone beneath his boots, a faint exhale slipping past his lips before he lifted his head to meet Burgess's eyes. "You know, months ago, I stood across from a loudmouthed child who thought himself untouchable."
His sword twirled in a clean arc, the steel whispering through the air before he gripped it firmly with both hands. "He made threats. Painted vivid little promises of cruelty and degradation. A world where Raine and I would be nothing more than chattel. Hard labor. Humiliation. A life stripped bare of dignity." His eyes narrowed to sharp slits. "You want to know how that ended, Burgess?"
The smirk on Lamar's lips faltered, a slow simmer of fury creeping in its place.
"I don't have to tell you," Godric said, his circuits flaring to life, lightning curling along his arms and across his shoulders. "Because you already know. You and Volg Dryfus are cut from the same rotten cloth. Cowards. Bullies who thrive on breaking those beneath you, clinging to grudges like children clutching toys they can't bear to share. You think your pain justifies your cruelty, that your bitterness makes you strong."
"And now you speak of ruling over us all. Like some mad king, grasping for power that was never yours to claim," he spat. "Your poison, your prejudice, your hate. You'd make them not just law, but the very bones of the world. Moving good men and women like pawns on a board. Playing God with lives, you're not worthy to touch."
His teeth bared in a flash of pure contempt. "You're nothing but a pitiful fraud. A murderer, a butcher, a sadistic relic who should've never had the chance to draw breath," Godric said. "If not for that badge on your chest, if not for the gaggle of decrepit carcasses you call a Council, you'd be rotting in the same cells as the filth you've spent your life locking away."
"Your whole life has been nothing but failure, and soon, no one will remember you. Not your allies. Not even the ones who once believed you mattered. Think on that, Burgess, as you draw your last breath."
Asriel's mouth curved into a thin smirk as he shifted his stance, his claymore lifting. "I couldn't have said it better myself."
Lamar dragged the edge of his scythe across the stone, carving a deep, jagged groove before settling into a low stance. The circuits threading his armor pulsed with a harsh lavender glow as his face contorted into pure malice. "Forget a grave, Gryffindor. When I'm done, your head will hang on my wall, mounted on a fine wooden plaque—right beside Valerian's." His lips curled into a cruel grin. "A fitting end for the so-called Lion of Ignis."
A roar broke from their throats as they surged forward.