The Witcher: Ascending Beyond Marvel

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Wes stood still, his wand aimed unshakably at the man in front of him. The cold steel of a shotgun had been pointed at his head just moments ago, but instinct had taken over. Without thinking, he had cast the Blasting Curse—a conditioned reflex from years of magical training.

A violent force burst from his wand. The impact was immediate. The man gripping the shotgun was hurled backward, slamming into the unforgiving wall with a sickening thud. A grunt of pain escaped his lips before he crumpled to the floor, dazed and humiliated. The shotgun clattered noisily to the ground, landing right at Wes's feet.

Without hesitation, Wes kicked the weapon out the door, ensuring it was out of reach.

"Don't move!" he commanded, his voice sharp and unwavering. His wand was now trained toward the corner of the dimly lit room, where he sensed another presence.

A raspy voice drifted from the shadows, laced with both suspicion and wariness.

"That wooden stick in your hand… is it a wand?"

The speaker stepped forward, revealing himself. He was an old cowboy, his weathered face lined with years of hardship. He moved slowly, brushing the dust from his coat as if maintaining dignity was more important than his own injuries. His piercing, melancholic eyes locked onto Wes, scrutinizing him with a mixture of curiosity and hostility.

"You're a magician, ain't ya?" the cowboy asked, his voice deep and graveled with age.

His stubble, thick and unkempt, gave him a rugged charm—one that had probably won over many women in his younger days. Even now, there was something noble about him, something unyielding.

But Wes had no interest in small talk. His expression hardened as he spoke.

"Where is the Contract of San Vanganza?"

The moment the words left his lips, the cowboy's demeanor shifted. His fingers tensed, his jaw clenched.

"How do you know about the San Vanganza Contract?" the old man demanded, his voice sharp with suspicion.

"That's none of your business, old man," Wes shot back coldly. "Just hand it over."

The cowboy didn't respond immediately. His eyes flickered toward his waist—just a small movement, but enough for Wes to notice. The old man was reaching for something.

"Petrificus Totalus."

Before the cowboy could react, Wes struck first. A streak of magic erupted from his wand, and in an instant, the old man was frozen in place—his body locked, rigid like a statue. Only his eyes moved, wide and filled with disbelief.

"The San Vanganza Contract… Accio!"

At Wes's command, an iron tin, seemingly ordinary, lifted into the air and flew straight into his outstretched hand. The cowboy's eyes widened further. It was hidden well, but not well enough.

Wes turned the tin over in his hands, examining it closely. Then, carefully, he dismantled the handle, revealing a tightly rolled piece of aged parchment. The paper was old, yellowed with time, its surface sealed with an ancient, near-indecipherable sigil.

"So this is where you hid it," Wes muttered, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

To confirm its authenticity, he took out a quill and brought it close to the parchment. A faint, golden glow radiated from the seal in response.

A slow, satisfied grin spread across Wes's face. It's real.

He tucked the contract away, securing it beneath his coat. Before leaving, he turned back to the cowboy, who remained motionless, his gaze burning with rage and helplessness.

"The curse will wear off in half an hour, old man. Maybe next time, don't be so stubborn."

Without another word, Wes stepped outside, climbed into his car, and started the engine. The tires kicked up dust as he drove off, disappearing into the night.

---

Thirty minutes later, the curse lifted.

With a loud thud, the old cowboy collapsed onto the floor, groaning in pain. Every muscle ached as he struggled to stand.

"Damn kid..." he muttered under his breath.

He pushed himself up, wincing, and adjusted his hat. His pride stung more than his body.

Bending down, he retrieved his shotgun from where it had fallen. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he stared at the open doorway. The night was still, but his heart was raging.

A sharp whistle cut through the silence.

"Hoooweee!"

In the distance, the sound of galloping hooves thundered closer. A magnificent black stallion emerged from the darkness, its muscles rippling under the dim moonlight.

The cowboy—Carter—ran a gloved hand over the horse's muzzle, whispering something only the animal could understand. The stallion let out a soft, knowing huff.

"That kid thinks he can just take what he wants?" Carter muttered. His grip on the reins tightened, his determination burning like wildfire. "Not on my watch."

With a swift, practiced motion, he swung himself onto the horse's back.

"Hyah!"

The steed reared up, its hooves slicing through the air before charging forward, tearing across the barren Texas land in pursuit of Wes.

-----

Miles away, Wes had stopped his car in an open field. He stepped out, stretching his limbs, inhaling the crisp night air.

The vast Texas landscape stretched endlessly before him—an expanse of wilderness bathed in silver moonlight. The stars glittered like scattered diamonds, and in the distance, the shadowy silhouettes of mountains loomed against the horizon. The wind whispered through the dry grass, carrying with it the distant cries of night creatures.

"Damn," Wes murmured, staring at the beauty surrounding him. "What a view."

The contract was finally in his hands.

For now, he allowed himself a moment of peace. He built a small fire, warming himself against the chill of the desert night. His assistant had prepared food—a simple meal, but enough to satisfy his hunger.

Just as he took his first bite—

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

A rhythmic sound echoed in the distance.

At first, it was barely noticeable. But then—

CLIP-CLOP. CLIP-CLOP.

The sound grew louder. The ground trembled beneath him.

Wes's body tensed. He set his food aside, standing up, wand in hand.

And then, he saw it.

A skeletal horse, engulfed in flames, charged straight toward him. Its hooves left behind scorched earth, embers trailing in its wake.

Seated upon its back was Carter. But he was different now. His body burned with an eerie, unnatural fire, and where his face had once been, there was now only a skull. Empty eye sockets glowed with hellish intensity.

A Ghost Rider.

Carter pulled his shotgun, aiming directly at Wes. His voice rang out, echoing with supernatural fury.

"I caught up with you, wizard boy!"

Wes smirked, his grip on his wand tightening.

"Didn't hit you hard enough the first time, huh, old man?"

But this wasn't just an ordinary cowboy anymore.

This time, the fight would be different.