Whether or not that irresponsible bastard William will mourn, Grindelwald knows—
If no resistance is put up, Dumbledore will be mourning for him soon.
Damn it, why do villains always say such things... With no time to rest against the barrier, before the purple-red spell hit his face, Grindelwald instinctively pushed Dumbledore aside, using their mutual force to knock himself to the side as well.
The silent purple-red Diffindo slipped into the railings behind them, leaving a black smoking gap.
"Crucio! Avada Kedavra! Diffi..."
Isadora gave no breathing room to the two old men, wildly waving her magic wand, targeting Grindelwald—clearly, though previously unexpressed, she indeed harbored resentment against that foul-mouthed old man, using Unforgivable Curses as basic attacks, cast recklessly.
Even if one wanted to dodge, it would be impossible to completely avoid.
Hence, Grindelwald ceased his evasive steps, drawing a circle with his wand in front of himself, a silver-white blurred shield appeared, deflecting the angle of the purple-red Diffindo. Grindelwald swung his wand without hesitation, "Avada Kedavra!"
The green lightning representing death pierced through the air, colliding with the purple-red spell Isadora cast again midway—
Thus began one of the most indigestible moments in Hogwarts, the spell clash.
However, perhaps because Grindelwald stood to the left of the entrance, the ancient rule of "in clashes, the left side loses" in the adjacent studio took effect, almost without a stalemate—
At the moment the spells met, Grindelwald's face changed drastically; he sensed the magic energy he had gathered within was, before the purple-black beam, like encountering a bone-devouring maggot, his Killing Curse instantly suppressed, forcing him to turn and try to unload the force.
Yet even so, Grindelwald still grunted, losing control and sliding backward, the rubber sole of his shoes screeching against the stone bricks.
Mockery flashed in Isadora's eyes; she didn't continue her attack, merely watching Grindelwald stabilize his figure awkwardly, as her cold voice pierced through the aftermath of the curse explosion—
"Ridiculous."
She tilted her head slightly, appearing somewhat innocent, "You actually intend to defeat me with the power I created, understand, and now even control? Grindelwald, ha, your arrogance is more impressive than your prowess."
"You created it?"
Grindelwald raised his hand, wiping away the trace of blood from his mouth corner due to the magic recoil, his wrinkle-filled eyes still sharp as knives, "Then you really are a damn beast, that cursed thing at least absorbed the souls of hundreds, back in the day I merely killed some people, never mad enough to suck my old man into a zombie—"
"Just a few obstacles before what must be done, if you think such words can shake my heart..."
"No, I simply want to curse you."
"...Avada Kedavra!"
In anger, Isadora cast a spell, the ghastly green lightning halted midway by the ascending corridor bridge, shattering the stone bridge into fragments, causing Isadora to turn her head, "Ah, now, should you show me what 'the greatest White Wizard of the century' can surprise me with?"
Her gaze shifted to Dumbledore, who had just blocked the Killing Curse, retracting his wand.
Dumbledore said nothing, slightly raised his head, his pale blue eyes calm without waves, seemed like not an enemy of life and death ahead but merely a misguided student needing guidance, the Elder Wand held firmly in his hand, wand tip subtly lowered towards the ground, a seemingly loose yet flawless stance.
Isadora wasted no more words, her wand pointed repeatedly.
Dark Arts interlaced, the Blasting Curse enhanced by Ancient Magic was like a dense rain of lasers.
She didn't use any fancy techniques, purely relying on enhanced magic power for the most brutal and straightforward attack, the entire corridor area near the entrance instantly engulfed in brightly-colored, deadly beams and explosions, raging magic turbulence tearing the air, solid stone walls and the ground began to crack.
However, within this barrage, the old man's silhouette was like a stormy sea swallow.
He didn't attempt to build a strong shield to withstand—
That's not his forte, particularly when the opponent's energy level was clearly overpowering his.
Dumbledore's movements were minimal, often merely subtly side-stepping, tilting his head, occasionally supplemented by short sliding steps, those deadly spells always narrowly brushing against his coat, crashing into the wall or ground behind him, leaving crater after crater.
Meanwhile, his counter was quietly forthcoming.
The Elder Wand gently tapped, the rubble blasted into the air momentarily paused, then began sprouting wings, turned into dozens of wing-flapping owls, flying in mid-air to intercept curses, and from various tricky angles approached Isadora, once at a suitable distance, they opened their mouths, exploding directly.
Simultaneously, Dumbledore's other hand softly pressed, the metal railings for decoration at the corridor's edge began growing like vines, winding like sturdy ropes towards the woman's ankles, water droplets began to fall from the cracked ceiling, freezing in descent into sharp ice cones, smashing towards Isadora—
Transfiguration was used brilliantly by the old man, everything around became weapons or shields, attacks endless, impossible to defend against.
"Annoying flies!"
Impatiently, Isadora waved her wand, a mighty surge of magic scattering, shattering the owls, breaking the vines, vaporizing the ice cones, but Dumbledore's attack was never intended to harm the enemy, merely to interfere, delay, force her to divert attention.
Thus, just as she cleared a wave of transformational creations, a scorching flame flared at the woman's side.
Fawkes appeared there at some unknown time, his golden-red feathers dazzling brilliantly.
Yet the Phoenix didn't attack, merely issuing a clear cry, the next moment, Dumbledore's silhouette faded from the original position, simultaneously appearing beside Fawkes, Elder Wand thrusting at the slight gap revealed by Isadora clearing attacks, "Stupefy!"
This intensely condensed red curse almost exploded attached to the target's body, with no room for evasion or defense.
"Boom!"
The Stunning Spell directly hit the target, Isadora's pupils contracted instantly, her figure swayed faintly, yet steadied in a moment.
Perceiving something amiss, Dumbledore decisively grabbed Fawkes' tail feathers, disappearing briefly before reappearing beside Grindelwald.
"That's why you should not be soft-hearted—"
Grindelwald rubbed his wrist, commenting spicily on old Dumbledore's performance.
"You think she will certainly fear other spells?"
Dumbledore's expression remained tranquil, yet his fluctuating chest revealed the elder was not as relaxed as appearances suggested—age is a major hurdle in Wizard battles.
"You only know such sneaky tactics?!"
Isadora's voice carried evident anger, for she had never experienced such combat.
And the reason was simple, because she almost never experienced any serious combat in her life, raised by Professor Lachham from an early age, appointed professor right after graduation, spending her entire life in an ivory tower like Hogwarts, before death the clash with several Guardians was probably the most decent battle of her life—
Thus, a fighting style like Dumbledore's, mastering Transfiguration, Summoning, tactics, and timing to an artistic level, made her feel extremely unadapted and aggrieved, despite having a vast sea-like enhanced magic inside, it was like using a high cannon to hit mosquitoes, capable of ten force with nine wasted, and without hitting at all.
This feeling of unused force, coupled with repeated frustrations in prior plans, and the old man's almost "disdainful" calm gaze, started unraveling her emotions.