The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

"Confringo!" Argus roared, his wand moving with practiced precision. A searing ball of fiery energy erupted from its tip, streaking toward Godric with pinpoint accuracy, its heat distorting the air around it.

Godric's gaze narrowed, and in that instant, the world seemed to slow. A charged current rippled through the arena, a palpable energy radiating from him. The grains of sand at his feet began to lift, dancing weightlessly in the sudden surge of power. His fiery crimson eyes locked onto the incoming spell, unflinching.

"Not this time, DunBroch!" he growled, his voice steady and resolute.

In a flash, Godric disappeared, leaving only a blur of motion where he had stood. The fiery spell crashed into empty air, obliterating the wooden wall behind him in a burst of flames and splintered wood. The ground where Godric had been cracked under the force of his departure, the impact leaving an imprint that radiated outward like a miniature crater.

The crowd gasped, their cheers and jeers silenced by awe. Argus froze, his wand still raised, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at the scorched earth and shattered wall.

"Where—" Argus began, spinning frantically.

****

Helena's jaw dropped, her eyes widening in shock as she stared at the arena. "By the stars... how did he just...?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the spectators.

Salazar leaned forward, his smirk growing into something both amused and intrigued. His emerald eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and curiosity.

"Well, well, Godric," Salazar drawled, his tone laced with smug satisfaction. "It appears my instincts were correct. You've been holding out on us, haven't you, dear friend?"

****

Godric reappeared beside Argus, his sword already in mid-swing, its arc slicing through the air with deadly precision. Argus's eyes widened in panic as he stumbled back, his instincts kicking in.

"Protego!" he shouted, his voice tinged with desperation.

A shimmering shield materialized just in time to catch Godric's blade with a resounding clang. Sparks flew, but before Argus could steady himself, Godric vanished again, disappearing in a blur of movement.

He reappeared behind Argus in an instant, his sword descending in another swift strike. Argus barely managed to twist out of the way, but the blade grazed his cheek. He staggered back, his fingers darting up to the fresh cut. His breath caught as he stared at the streak of blood on his fingertips.

"Too slow… laddie," Godric said, his voice low and taunting, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Argus's face twisted in rage. "Ye'll regret that, ye bloody sassenach!" he growled.

Godric vanished once more; his movements so swift they left the crowd gasping. Argus barely had time to react, throwing up another barrier with a shouted, "Protego!"

The blade came down hard, colliding with the shield in a shower of sparks. The two locked eyes over the glowing barrier, their teeth bared, each one pushing with everything they had.

The tension in the arena was palpable as the duelists squared off, the energy around them crackling with raw power. The crowd was on its feet, roaring in anticipation of the next move.

"And I'm just getting started!" Godric roared, his voice reverberating through the arena. With a powerful swing, his blade scraped across Argus's shimmering shield, sending a shower of sparks into the air. "Your magic is strong, DunBroch, but even magic has its limits!"

The glowing circuits etched along Godric's body flared brilliantly, erupting in a radiant golden light that illuminated the battlefield. Energy coursed through him, crackling like a storm unleashed.

In an instant, he vanished, his form dissolving into a blur of motion too swift for the eye to follow. The crowd gasped, struggling to track him as his sword collided with Argus's shield over and over, faster than humanly possible.

The sound of relentless strikes echoed like thunderclaps, Argus's Protego flickering under the sheer force of Godric's assault. Sparks erupted with each clash, the shield trembling under the onslaught as Godric seemed to materialize from every direction at once.

Argus gritted his teeth, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he strained to keep up. "W-what in the name of—?!" he stammered, his shield shimmering under the relentless barrage.

To the crowd, Godric was no longer a boy but a streak of golden light—a force of nature overwhelming his opponent.

****

Workner adjusted his glasses, leaning further over the railing, his face a mix of astonishment and disbelief. "By the stars…" he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with awe. "It… it can't be. That's… that's Vis Vitalis. But how?"

"Vis Vitalis?" Helena turned sharply toward him; her eyes wide with shock. "I've read about that—it's an ancient form of magic, isn't it? A type of Enhancement Magic?"

"Indeed, Miss Abbott," Workner replied, stroking his chin thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving Godric. "It's one of the rarest and most difficult branches of Ancient Magic. A form that enhances the physical abilities of the caster to extraordinary levels. It is said that even the most powerful witches and wizards take years—sometimes decades—to learn, let alone master it."

He adjusted his glasses again, his expression darkening with intrigue. "And yet… this boy," he murmured, his voice dropping, "is wielding it instinctively. No training, no preparation. It's as if the magic itself is responding to him."

Helena's jaw dropped as she turned back to the arena, watching Godric move with blinding speed, his blade clashing against Argus's shield in a furious dance of light and sparks. "But that's… that's impossible," she whispered, her voice trembling. "How could he—?"

Workner's eyes narrowed further, a hint of unease creeping into his expression.

****

Godric darted around the arena with lightning speed, his movements a blur. The force of his supersonic strides tore into the ground, leaving cracks and divots in his wake. Argus spun in frustration, firing spell after spell, but each burst of energy hit nothing but air, unable to match the boy's impossible agility.

"Argh!" Argus growled; his voice thick with frustration as he whirled to keep up. "Stand still, ye slippery bastard!"

Godric's perception of time slowed, the world around him moving in a strange, dreamlike crawl. He sidestepped a bolt of magic with ease, weaving between Argus's spells as if the attacks were predictable. His breathing steadied, a realization settling over him like the calm in the eye of a storm.

"I've always had this… power," he muttered to himself, his voice low and contemplative as he moved. "Even as a boy."

Flashes of memory flickered through his mind—moments of triumph he had never fully understood. Sparring with the village soldiers, besting them one by one despite their years of experience. His uncle's pride, the townsfolk's astonishment. They had chalked his victories up to Gareth's tutelage, to natural talent and hard work. But deep down, Godric had always known there was something more.

"I thought I was just strange," he murmured, his sword slicing through the air as he circled Argus. The crowd's roars seemed distant, muffled by his heightened senses. "But now I see…"

His glowing circuits pulsed brighter, the power coursing through him no longer something he feared or questioned. For the first time, he felt it—truly felt it—as part of him, not an anomaly to hide or ignore.

****

Salazar's smirk widened, his emerald eyes glinting with a mix of satisfaction and intrigue. "It seems I was right all along," he murmured, almost to himself. His voice carried a quiet confidence as he leaned against the railing, watching Godric dominate the arena. "I knew you were special from the moment I laid eyes on you—even that very first day at the station."

Helena shot him a glance, but Salazar didn't elaborate. His gaze remained fixed on Godric; a flicker of pride hidden behind his casual demeanor.

Meanwhile, Anton practically bounced on the announcer's podium, his voice crackling with excitement. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he bellowed, pointing dramatically toward the blur of golden light streaking across the arena. "This is unlike anything we've ever seen! Godric Gryffindor has transformed into a human blur, faster than the eye can follow!"

The crowd erupted, their cheers deafening as they leaned over the rails, craning for a better look at the unbelievable display. Spectators exchanged stunned glances, their awe growing with every second Godric remained untouchable.

****

Godric skidded to a halt, the sand spraying beneath his boots as he turned to face Argus. His blade glinted in the arena's harsh light, and the crowd fell silent in anticipation.

Argus froze, his chest heaving as he finally locked eyes with Godric. "W-what are ye?" he stammered, his earlier bravado replaced by a flicker of unease.

Godric raised his sword, his voice calm but resolute. "I'm the one who's about to win."

****

As the duel raged on, Professor Workner gaze locked on Godric with an intensity rarely seen. His eyes gleamed with the light of discovery, his voice trembling with academic fervor. "Fascinating!" he exclaimed. "Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd witness Vis Vitalis! For centuries, my peers at the Atlas Institute have long believed it to be extinct!"

"Extinct?" Helena turned to him; her brow furrowed in disbelief. "What do you mean, Professor? And if that's true, how in Hecate's name could Godric possibly be using it?"

Workner didn't tear his gaze from the arena, where Godric moved like a bolt of living lightning, streaking across the battlefield with impossible speed. His words tumbled out in excited bursts; his gestures as wild as his thoughts.

"It was a common art during The Calamity over a thousand years ago," he explained, his voice filled with reverence. "When magic alone wasn't enough for survival in combat. Mages developed a way to weave their magic internally, enhancing their physical capabilities to superhuman levels. They could run faster, hit harder, endure more—they became living weapons!"

Salazar crossed his arms as a small smirk played on his lips. "As enlightening as that is, Professor," he said smoothly, "It is as you say. I doubt our dear Godric even knows what he's doing. This isn't mastery." His emerald eyes glinted with amusement. "This is raw instinct—and dare I say, raw talent."

In the arena below, Godric's relentless onslaught continued. His movements were so swift they left streaking afterimages, ghostly echoes of his position. He darted around Argus, attacking from multiple angles in rapid succession. Argus gritted his teeth, his wand trembling as he struggled to keep his magical barrier intact under the ferocious assault.

"By the gods above!" Anton's voice rang out over the crowd, full of unrestrained awe. "Gryffindor is moving faster than a Vipertooth in flight! DunBroch can barely keep up!"

Professor Workner's voice dropped to a near whisper, tinged with wonder. "And legend has it… masters of Vis Vitalis could perform feats that defied nature. They could split mountains, part seas." He paused, his tone growing even more reverent. "And it's alleged creator? None other than the legendary Uther Pendragon himself."

"Uther Pendragon?" Helena's voice hitched; her eyes wide with disbelief. "You mean the Uther Pendragon? One of the founders of Excalibur? That Uther Pendragon?"

"The very same," Workner said, his gaze narrowing as he continued to watch Godric. "If this boy truly possesses the secret to Vis Vitalis... then he may be tapping into a power that hasn't been seen since the age of legends."

Helena's hand flew to her mouth as she whispered, "Godric… what are you?"

****

Argus let out a furious roar, his face twisted in rage as he planted his feet firmly on the ground. "That's enough!" he bellowed, thrusting his wand forward. "Repello Maxima!"

A massive wave of force erupted from Argus's shield, rippling outward like a thunderclap. The shockwave caught Godric mid-charge, hurling him backward through the air. The crowd gasped as Godric twisted into a controlled somersault, landing deftly on his feet with his sword raised and ready. His stance was unshaken, his resolve burning as brightly as ever.

Argus sneered, raising his wand high as he began a complex and deliberate series of movements. A crimson energy began to swirl around him, the air growing heavy with its volatile power. "Never thought I'd 'ave tae use me most powerful spell against the likes of an English ponce!" he snarled.

Godric dug his boots into the sand, his muscles coiled as he shifted into a low, battle-ready stance. His crimson eyes locked onto Argus, blazing with unrelenting determination. "Bring it on, DunBroch," he said, his voice steady and unwavering.

The air between them crackled with raw energy, a storm of anticipation building as both combatants prepared their ultimate attacks. The entire arena seemed to hold its breath, the crowd utterly silent, every eye fixed on the two warriors in the sand.

"This is it, folks!" Anton's voice broke the silence, trembling with excitement as he leaned precariously over the railing, his arms waving dramatically. "The final showdown! Who will emerge victorious—Gryffindor or DunBroch? Hold onto your hats, because this is going to be explosive!"