Erwin felt a flicker of nostalgia. He watched as Voldemort's face smoothed back into its normal configuration, the chaotic magical fluctuations stabilizing around him. A smile touched Erwin's lips. The fully restored Lord Voldemort was officially back.
As the transformation completed, Voldemort's true appearance was fully revealed. He looked down at his arm, conjuring a small mirror to examine his reflection.
"I never thought I'd see what I look like again," he murmured.
Erwin watched the dark wizard. "Welcome back, dear teacher," he said.
Voldemort let out a cold laugh. "I must thank you for the assistance, my dear student! Now, our duel shall truly begin!"
"Agreed," Erwin nodded. "We must settle this. But this is the contestants' territory; let's find a proper arena."
Voldemort inclined his head. In perfect unison, the two vanished with a crack of Apparition.
They reappeared in the Forbidden Forest. The devastation was stark; the area had been ravaged by earlier magical conflicts, the trees reduced to charred stumps. The forest here had shrunk considerably.
Voldemort laughed, a sound devoid of warmth. "As expected, Erwin. The one who understands my preferences best is you."
"After all, you are my dearest teacher," Erwin replied evenly.
Voldemort flicked his wrist, his wand appearing in his hand. "Well then, let me see how much you've improved."
The amethyst wand was already in Erwin's hand. Two streams of energy flowed within it, making the wood seem almost alive.
"I don't think I'll disappoint you."
Voldemort glanced at the wand. "I've seen it before, but I remain curious. Who provided the core? Or is it truly unique?"
Erwin smiled. "Unfortunately, this wand has only one owner. Just me."
He had barely finished speaking when a bolt of green light—Avada Kedavra—shot directly at him.
Erwin remained calm, expecting nothing less. With a slight flick of his wrist, he summoned a jagged piece of rock from the forest floor. The debris reacted instantly, magnetizing to float directly into the path of the curse.
The Killing Curse struck the rock. It shattered instantly into gravel.
"My Lord, you're eager," Erwin remarked.
Voldemort watched the defense with mild amusement. "Indeed, your progress is astonishing. Try this!"
He drew a semicircle with his wand. A fire serpent—magnificent and terrifying, fangs composed of pure flame—erupted from the tip. It charged.
Before the serpent could reach him, streams of water erupted from the damp earth. They coalesced rapidly, forming a sphere that trapped the cursed fire within.
The serpent thrashed, ramming against the water's containment, but the sphere held strong. It was a masterful use of conjuration and elemental control.
"What a familiar technique," Voldemort noted, watching his creation be extinguished. "It seems your strength is indeed comparable to Dumbledore's."
Erwin flicked his wand, dissipating the water. "Perhaps. But if this is all you have, I fear you will lose today."
Voldemort's smile widened. "Not yet, Erwin. Don't forget who taught you. If I fell this easily, I'd be quite ashamed."
He swung his wand. No incantation was spoken—silent casting at its peak. A barrage of spells erupted from his wand like rapid fire.
Erwin moved with supernatural speed, deflecting the incoming projectiles with precise wand movements. Simultaneously, he began his own counter-attack. Spells flew from his wand, weaving through the chaotic air to strike at Voldemort.
Voldemort mirrored the movement, flicking his wand to deflect Erwin's attacks with practiced ease. The two exchanged blows rapidly, a blur of motion and light. Spells of every variety were unleashed—Incendio, Glacius, Confringo, Stupefy—creating a kaleidoscope of destruction in the ruined forest.
Voldemort was no longer a diminished shell relying on a single curse. In his true form, he unleashed his genius. He combined spells effortlessly, layering defensive wards while launching offensive barrages. His combat experience was vast, a lifetime of dueling expertise.
Even Erwin, relying purely on raw power and reaction time, felt the pressure. He was momentarily challenged by the sheer complexity of Voldemort's spellwork.
But Erwin had a different advantage. He had overwhelming resources.
Using his enhanced equipment and raw reserves of magic, he acted as a relentless force, absorbing spells that would have overwhelmed a lesser wizard. He wore Voldemort down, enduring the assault to deliver decisive blows.
The battle raged for two hours. The forest floor was torn asunder, trees reduced to dust. They vanished and reappeared—Apparition used as a tactical maneuver—flickering in and out of existence as they dueled.
Finally, Erwin deflected a Killing Curse with a shimmering, translucent shield that buckled but held.
The chaotic barrage stopped.
Voldemort stood panting slightly, his face pale but his eyes gleaming with a strange mix of satisfaction and exhaustion. He lowered his wand.
"Young Erwin, your strength truly astounds me," Voldemort said, his voice smooth. "More importantly, where does your magic come from? This inexhaustible power... even Dumbledore lacked such stamina."
Voldemort vanished his wand into his sleeve. The gesture was clear. He conceded.
Erwin knew he had won this round. The act of sheathing the wand signaled the end of the fight, at least for now. They could have continued, but the point had been made.