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[Promotion (Red)]
Spell Card
Gives a temporary boost to one of your summoned units.
Lasts 10 minutes, cools down for 24 hours.
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The Promotion Card had been activated on Anzu, and immediately, Anzu's entire form became enveloped in swirling black mist. Feathers melted into shadow, shape flickering like a distorted silhouette caught between reality and illusion.
Anzu spread his wings silently and glided toward the basilisk, his shadowy form blending seamlessly with the gloom.
The massive serpent didn't sense his approach—he had become a phantom in the dark.
As Anzu slid above the basilisk's head, its instincts barely registered the presence before a stabbing cold sliced across its face—followed by a piercing pain in one of its eye sockets.
"ANGHHH~!" The basilisk reared back and let out a thunderous screech of agony. The sluggishness caused by the frigid air vanished instantly as pain overtook everything else.
At that very moment, the suffocating magical darkness blanketing the chamber faded.
The dark field cast by Anzu's magic had evaporated with that final attack.
But now, very few torches remained. Most had been crushed or flung away during the basilisk's rampage.
In the flickering shadows of the ruined underground chamber, the basilisk thrashed violently. One of its once-terrifying eyes now gushed dark blood from a ragged socket.
Anzu had successfully gouged out one eye with a razor-sharp talon!
Unfortunately, he had failed to strike the other. Anzu's plan had been to claw out both eyes in one swift movement, but even in its dulled state, the basilisk had managed to twist away just in time, dodging his second strike.
The roundhouse motion of his attack missed its full mark.
Though the Promotion Card had elevated Anzu's strength to that of a top-tier magical beast, his physical size remained the same.
He simply couldn't reach both eyes at once.
But Ted had been prepared for this.
Just as the shadows lifted and the faint light returned, a spell streaked from the darkness, striking the basilisk squarely between its eyes.
Under normal circumstances, a creature of the basilisk's size and magical resistance would shrug off most spells like water off dragonhide.
But this wasn't just any spell—it was Ted's Level 5 Conjunctivitis Curse, the Conjunctivitis Curse, cast with every enhancement he could muster.
A full-power hex.
Spells that reached Level 5 often bore personalized tweaks from their casters. Ted's Conjunctivitis Curse, in particular, was refined to amplify magical output and directly target the optic nerves.
Just like how his Level 5 Scourgify Charm could gently clean dust off almost perfectly, this spell could cripple even hardened foes by exploiting sensory overload.
He also possessed Level 1 Magical Penetration, allowing his spell to pierce magical resistances more effectively.
The basilisk's remaining golden eye slammed shut instantly, the pain roaring through its head like Fiendfyre.
The cursed agony spread from eye to brain, unleashing an uncontrollable frenzy.
It began thrashing wildly, its tail smashing into walls, floors, even brushing against the towering statue of Salazar Slytherin.
Yet the statue stood firm—clearly enchanted with powerful protections.
Tom, watching this unfold, was panicking.
His current state was unstable—his magic mostly leeched from Draco Malfoy, barely enough to sustain control over the basilisk.
He couldn't hold it together much longer.
He wasn't physically strong or well-defended, and the basilisk had been his greatest weapon.
Now, with the return of light and the destruction of its deadliest gaze, everything was falling apart.
Though the Conjunctivitis Curse wouldn't cause permanent blindness, it rendered the basilisk's eyes useless for now—too painful to open, each twitch sending fresh waves of torment.
"Push through it!" Tom barked in Parseltongue. "Ignore the pain! Find them and kill them! They're close by!"
But the curse had broken the beast's focus entirely. Ted's hex inflicted wave after wave of neural agony, overriding even Parseltongue influence.
And Tom had no time left to reassert control.
This was their moment.
Ted shouted, "Now! Hit it!"
Neville followed, "Hit it!"
Harley, her voice fierce and sharp, yelled, "Hit him!"
Ron added, "Hit—HIM!"
"Expelliarmus!" Neville roared, his wand flashing as he cast the first spell of their counterattack.
But your Tom, although young, is Voldemort after all.
Even if Neville and the others stood against a half-formed, 16-year-old version of Voldemort, they were no real match. It was like trying to stop a storm with an umbrella.
The spell Neville had cast—one of his best—was easily deflected by a flick of Tom's wand. It veered off and landed harmlessly against the Slytherin statue behind him with a soft, unimpressive "snap."
Tom curled his lip in disdain. "This level? I could handle this in second year," he muttered with a sneer.
What he conveniently forgot was that Neville was in second year now.
But then came Harley's Stunning Curse and Ron's Slug Curse.
Tom dodged the stunning spell easily, his robes sweeping behind him like a shadow. But Ron's spell was timed perfectly—it cut off Tom's escape route, forcing him to raise his wand and cast a quick Shield Charm to block.
The Slug Curse hit the barrier with a strange splat, bursting into a slimy mass of mucus that oozed down the surface of Tom's magical protection and dripped onto the stone floor.
Tom's expression twisted in horror and fury.
"Disgusting Weasley! You dare use such foul magic on me? Reducto!" Tom's voice rose, shrill with anger.
He recognized that spell instantly.
Tom had once manipulated Ron into practicing it during their diary conversations—especially after Ron had accidentally backfired it on himself during the Quidditch spat.
It had been an opportunity for Tom to weasel deeper into Ron's trust.
And now that same spell had nearly splattered mucus all over his face.
It's like 'Snape's classic outburst—Potter! How dare you use my own spells against me?!—
Tom was fuming.
But Ron was quick. The moment he saw Tom's fury, he ducked behind a thick stone pillar, still nervous of the infamous sixth-year.
Tom's retaliation only managed to blast apart the stone column, sending pebbles flying and ringing Ron's ears, but otherwise leaving him unscathed.
Neville and Harley didn't give Tom a moment's rest. They followed up with another wave of spells.
Harley, learning from Sirius, cast a modified Ventus charm. A small but ferocious tornado, nearly three meters high and just under a meter wide, spiraled toward Tom with a howl.
It shimmered with blue sparks, humming with raw magical force.
The gust twisted the ends of Tom's robes and made his hair flutter. He had no choice but to stop and counter the spell, abandoning his chase after Ron.
This curse caught his attention.
It wasn't some flashy, impractical piece of spellwork—it had range, duration, and even a tracking function.
Clearly Sirius had fine-tuned this.
Tom scowled, dispelling the vortex with a sharp incantation.
But Neville was already tossing things from his magically-expanded pouch.
Mushrooms, snapping cabbages, curling vines, and poisonous tentacles spilled onto the stone floor like someone had upended a vegetable garden onto a battlefield.
"Engorgio!" Neville shouted, pointing his wand.
The Growth Charm surged through the enchanted plants. A moment later, he cast again—this time a spell to enlarge them even further.
The changes were almost comical.
A giant puffball mushroom swelled to nearly two meters across, spewing lavender bubbles from its oddly expressive face-like cap.
Devil's Snare and Poison Ivy burst into violent tendrils, slithering over the stone and reaching for Tom.
Dozens of chomping cabbages bounced and tumbled forward, all teeth and leafy determination.
To anyone else, the scene might have been absurd. To Tom, it was insulting.
He scoffed at the creeping chaos. "Really? A garden battle?"
Tom had always hated Herbology.
He considered it beneath him—weak, slow, too simple for a mind like his. Even when he needed rare ingredients for his Dark Arts experiments, he preferred exotic magical beasts or forbidden relics over plants.
Now, surrounded by enchanted produce, he bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile.
"Ha! The boy who Lived and defeated Voldemort. And this—this is your big trick? A vegetable ambush?!"
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Word count: 1434
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