The mist was, without a doubt, Maurise's curse magic.
He had intricately woven together the Fainting Curse, the Wailing Curse, and the Torment Curse, sending the dark amalgamation sinking directly into Sclep's body.
It worked! The previous bone spike attack had merely been a feint. The true killing blow was the insidious curses that had silently crept over. This was his signature magic, after all.
Strangely, however, Sclep's expression remained entirely neutral. The curses that should have left him in agonizing pain did not cause the slightest reaction, vanishing like stones dropped into a vast ocean.
Had they not taken effect? A sudden thought popped into Maurise's mind, and he blurted out, "Are you dead?"
Thinking back carefully, Sclep had said from the very beginning that he was not among the living. Perhaps the man truly hadn't been lying to him.
Sclep neither denied nor answered Maurise's question. He simply watched him in silence.
Maurise rubbed his still throbbing chest and sighed. What else was there to say? You win this round.
Sclep raised his wand once more. "It is time to end this," he said.
At the same time, a terrifying aura surged toward Maurise, making it incredibly difficult for him to even draw a breath. His opponent was serious now. Or rather, he had finally decided to finish the battle. Maurise could anticipate that whatever magic the man cast next would be horrific, far beyond what he could currently withstand.
That left only one option. Run!
For him, leaving this world was incredibly easy. With just a single thought, the teleportation circle would pull him back home.
But Maurise did not leave immediately. He stood his ground, allowing that terrifying aura to wash over him, truly experiencing the oppressive sensation of impending death.
"I will be back, Mr. Death." He raised his hand, gave Sclep a small wave, and bowed slightly. "Goodbye."
Before his voice even faded, Sclep's wand slashed down. Something flew at him with blinding speed. It was a grey sphere of light, about the size of a fist, pulsing with an unimaginably violent magical energy.
But this no longer concerned Maurise. His figure, along with all his undead summons, vanished from the spot.
Boom!
After a deafening explosion, a five meter wide crater appeared right where Maurise had just been standing. Its edges were perfectly smooth, as if the earth had been instantaneously vaporized. If Maurise had not escaped in time, he would likely have suffered the same fate as the ground, erased without a trace.
Sclep lowered his wand and quietly stared at the crater. "I will find you," he muttered to himself.
---
Inside the Ship in a Bottle, Maurise's figure appeared out of thin air. He stumbled two steps before managing to steady himself.
He leaned against the wall, dragged himself into bed, and lay down, gasping for air. His earlier composure had been entirely forced. The injury from Sclep's earlier strike was far more severe than he had imagined, and every breath brought a sharp, stabbing pain.
A dozen seconds later, Cinder trotted over carrying a small suitcase in its mouth. The pet dropped the case beside Maurise and nudged it open, revealing an array of colorful potions inside.
Maurise turned his head, grabbed a few vials, and downed them in quick succession. These were healing potions he had prepared in advance, specifically meant for emergencies: Healing Potions, Pepperup Potions, and Pain-Relief Draughts.
The effects were instantaneous. The dull ache in his chest was gradually replaced by a soothing warmth, and his breathing became much easier.
Having done all this, Maurise lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling with a heavy sigh. When it came down to it, his magic was simply not strong enough. He had looked far too pathetic.
Sclep. What exactly was the deal with that man? Why did he call himself Death, and why did he immediately resort to violence the moment Maurise revealed his mental magic? The situation was brimming with suspicious contradictions.
But no matter what, a blood feud had been forged.
A sudden smile crept onto Maurise's lips. The man was powerful, leaving him completely unable to fight back. But so what? Improve his strength and get his revenge. That was what he needed to do next.
Of course, his ultimate goal remained uncovering the secrets of the Gap World. And that man was undoubtedly the key to solving the puzzle. Compared to coming back empty handed, this outcome was actually much easier for him to accept.
With these thoughts, Maurise sat up in bed. His injuries had healed significantly, but to be safe, a trip to St. Mungo's might still be wise. He changed into a set of clean clothes and stood before the mirror to tidy himself up.
"Not bad," he nodded.
Wait a minute!
Maurise suddenly noticed a black spot on his face in the mirror reflection. He reached up and touched it.
The moment his fingertip made contact, an icy sting shot through him. He leaned closer to the mirror and discovered that the entire left side of his face was now covered in bizarre black veins, radiating outward from the corner of his eye.
At the same time, a mild wave of dizziness hit him. It was a curse! And it was a curse capable of draining his life force!
When had he been hit? Maurise's expression grew solemn. He thought back carefully but was completely clueless.
Never mind that, breaking the curse was the top priority. He might not be a professional Curse Breaker, but he had done his fair share of research on dark magic. Maurise walked over to his workbench, immediately set up a cauldron, deftly lit the fire, and began brewing the appropriate antidotes.
As it turned out, the curse was far trickier than Maurise had anticipated. The antidotes had zero effect. He later consulted Tom, but Tom's answer was that he was powerless to help.
The only piece of good news was his own assessment. The curse was draining his life force at a very slow rate. At the current pace, he would survive for at least several more years. It wasn't an incredibly long time, but it wasn't exceedingly short either.
But no matter how he looked at it, resolving this problem was mandatory, and the sooner the better. He felt there was one person who might be able to offer some advice. The very person who had first told him about the existence of Death.
---
Two days later, Maurise appeared at the front gates of Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall was there to receive him.
"Maurise," Professor McGonagall said, standing at the school gates and giving him a peculiar look. "You mentioned in your letter that you had urgent business at the school. What exactly happened?"
"A personal matter, Professor," Maurise replied. "I need to find Professor Binns."
Yes, Professor Binns. He still remembered their very first meeting, when the ghost had asked if he was Death. This Professor of History of Magic at Hogwarts might actually know something useful.
Hearing this, Professor McGonagall looked Maurise up and down. She had considered many possibilities, but Professor Binns was absolutely not one of them. What business could he possibly have with a ghost?
"Very well, Maurise," she nodded. "I understand. But why are you wearing a mask?"
Maurise simply said, "I like the style."
In truth, it was obviously to cover the creeping marks of the dark curse.
Professor McGonagall was momentarily at a loss for words. The two of them began walking toward the castle.
On the way, Professor McGonagall naturally brought up the topic of flying broomsticks. "I heard from a friend," she said, looking quite intrigued, "that you are the designer of the Phantom broomstick?"
"Could that friend be Madam Lawson, by any chance?" Maurise asked. He had completely forgotten that Professor McGonagall was a fanatic Quidditch enthusiast.
"Indeed it is," Professor McGonagall replied.
Just as he suspected. Maurise nodded. "That is correct."
Professor McGonagall offered a rare smile and praised him. "That is truly remarkable. I had no idea you possessed such a talent, Maurise."