After scolding them, Allen let go of his staff and left it hovering beside him, then swiftly swept both hands through the air. The hem of his robe traced a smooth arc with his movements.
Blue flames rose wherever his fingers pointed, like enormous leaping musical notes, instantly devouring the three wizards who had rushed to the front of the attack against him. The wizards screamed as they watched their own bodies turn, in the blink of an eye, into ash glowing blue.
The screams rang out sharply, then cut off just as abruptly.
The flames did not go out of control because there were still other innocent contestants in the Dueling Arena. For that reason, Allen did not let this Protego Diabolica turn into a gigantic monster and destroy everything wantonly like Fiendfyre. Instead, he controlled their range and intensity with exact precision by hand. Yet these precise executions revealed an even more terrifying level of magical control—and the power of the spell itself.
His staff had not been idle either. A cluster of tiny blue lightning burst from its tip, crackling as they rapidly gathered into powerful bolts of electricity. They stretched out like a long whip of lightning and lashed toward the group of wizards attacking him—just like the move his father Owen had cast moments ago—only this was clearly a stronger, thicker version.
Electric light flashed, rampaging wildly through the Dueling Arena. Like a sentient lightning python, it accurately hunted through the crowd for the wizards who had attacked Allen earlier, coiling around them tightly. Unable to resist, the exposed skin of those contestants instantly began spreading with spiderweb-like marks, charring everything around them black until each person looked like burnt charcoal. In truth, before they were completely burned into blackened carbon and collapsed into powder,