Chapter 47: Part 1

"Okay, let's do this. I'm starting by beating the shit out of the idiot who created the house that made me suffer through five years of bullying!" I say, popping my knuckles. I can see Gryffindor wince at the accusation, a flicker of regret crossing his face.

"I regret hearing that the children in my house treated you poorly," he admits, his tone heavy with guilt. But then his expression hardens, pride flaring up. "But I'll still enjoy showing you that overestimating your own abilities is a grave mistake."

"How are we going to do this? I don't want to destroy your portrait," I say, eyeing him skeptically. 

Gryffindor's lips curl into a smirk. "Do you think I'm just a meathead, as the baldy loves to call me? I was the greatest enchanter of my time. I've created the means for each of us to interact with the physical world."

Suddenly, the floor in the center of the room begins to tremble. A hole opens up, and from it rises a massive, hulking figure—a mechanical giant that gleams with a metallic sheen.

"What the actual fuck?!" I exclaim, staring at the monstrosity in disbelief. "You created magical robots?!"

"What's a robot?" Gryffindor asks, genuinely confused. "What you see before you is called a Molem, my greatest invention."

"Wait, did you just mash up the words 'magical' and 'golem' for a name?" I ask, deadpan.

Slytherin chuckles from his portrait. "We all asked him the same question when he showed us his invention."

"Names aren't my forte, and they're completely irrelevant!" Gryffindor snaps, pointing proudly at his creation. "Just look at this beauty."

The Molem stands tall, its outer layer gleaming with what I can only assume is goblin silver—a rare and powerful material. The realization hits me: Gryffindor figured out how to create the stuff. This thing is more than just a metal puppet; it's a technological marvel.

"Whatever," I say, rolling my shoulders. "I'll beat up your robot and be done with this challenge."

The air in the room thickens with anticipation as Gryffindor steps forward, his metallic feet thudding heavily on the ground. The other founders in their portraits are all watching, their expressions a mix of curiosity, expectation, and maybe a little worry. The mech-Gryffindor cracks his knuckles, the sound echoing ominously in the chamber.

"Ah, how good it feels to have a body to stretch after a few centuries," he grins, his portrait showing the same cocky smile. "Alright, kid. Let's see if you've got what it takes."

'Idiot,' I think, smirking as the adrenaline pumps through my veins. This is going to be glorious—the moment to prove if all my preparation, all my roaming and training, has really paid off.

Gryffindor doesn't waste any time. He lunges forward with surprising agility for a machine that's centuries old, launching a blast of raw magical energy at me. I barely manage to conjure a shield in time, the force of his attack sending me skidding back a few feet.

'Motherfucker!' I think, annoyed. This thing is no different from the mechs I've seen in Muggle games and fiction. Gryffindor somehow built something I only managed to create after years of pillaging ruins, stealing knowledge, having a goddess as a mentor, and other strokes of luck. And he did it just by being a genius. Moments like this remind me not to get too cocky. Damn it, I'm getting that same feeling I had when MoldyFart beat me down, and I don't like it one bit.

"Not bad," Gryffindor chuckles in his portrait. "But you'll need to do better than just defending. You won't win that way."

I don't bother with a witty retort. Instead, I create a dozen or so illusions, each one launching a volley of spells in quick succession. Fire, ice, and raw kinetic force crackle through the air, but the damn Molem blocks, dodges, or simply ignores them all with ease. Gryffindor's grin never wavers.

"Come on! Is that all you've got? Illusions and basic spells that were outdated even when I was alive? I expected more from the man who found his way into our sanctuary. This is pretty underwhelming," he taunts. With a roar, he unleashes a wave of energy that slices through the air like a wind sword.

I barely have time to react. I summon all the power I can muster and push back against the wave, my feet digging into the ground as I fight to stay upright.

For a moment, it feels like we're evenly matched, but then Gryffindor's power begins to overwhelm me. He suddenly rockets forward, thrusters popping out of his back, and the next thing I know, I'm being pummeled by his iron fists.

I'm lying face down, clutching my stomach and gasping for breath. Damn, that really hurt.

"Haha, he's so damn weak," I hear Gryffindor say, his voice dripping with contempt.

I decide I've had enough. It's time to break his damn toy.

"First seal, release," I mutter, and in an instant, my power surges. The ground cracks under my grasp as energy floods my body.

"I hope you enjoyed your short moment of glory," I say before I disappear and reappear in front of his mech.

Gryffindor's eyes widen in surprise as I straighten up, unharmed and standing right in front of him.

"Well, well," he says, nodding appreciatively. "Didn't expect that one. You've got some fight in you after all."

I'm not giving him a chance to use whatever other tricks he's got hidden in that mech. My fist surges forward, channeling magic into a punch that's more power than muscle at this point. Gryffindor manages to block it, but the force of the impact sends his mech flying back, smashing into the wall. I press the advantage, Apparating in front of him and launching a flurry of attacks that keep him on the defensive.

For the first time, I see a crack in his confidence. His mech is insanely tough, but it's also limited. He's fighting like a warrior from his time—direct, aggressive, but not particularly creative.

I, on the other hand, have spent years honing my savage nature and skills, learning to adapt to any situation. I mix traditional spells with some of the more unconventional magic I've picked up during my travels, throwing the damn mech-Gryffindor off balance again and again.

But no matter how hard I hit, the damn thing just won't break. It seems like my current power is just not enough to shatter it.

Finally, I see my opening. His mech hesitates for just a fraction of a second, and I capitalize on it, using the debris around us to conjure a chain. I know that raw energy is useless against this Molem, so I go for a more physical approach, binding him in place.

He struggles, the metal groaning as he tries to break free, but the chains hold firm. With a grunt, I pull him down to his knees, then step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It's over," I say, panting slightly from the exertion.

Gryffindor glares up at me, then throws his head back and laughs, the sound deep and booming.

"Well done, kid," he says, a hint of pride in his voice. "Looks like I underestimated you. You've got the makings of a real warrior. You managed to beat up a Molem Type 0.1 piloted by me. Impressive."

"What the fuck is a Type 0.1?" I ask, annoyed.

"Well, over the years and centuries, the one thing we've had in excess is time. Since we don't need sleep or food, we get bored easily. So, we either hibernate or research," Ravenclaw says, clearly amused.

"So, you're telling me he's created more types of mechs?" I ask, looking at her in shock.

"They're called Molems! And naturally, I've created way more types. They're perfect, the design is sleek, and look at how much they can tank, and…" Gryffindor starts geeking out over his invention, going on and on about its features.

I release the chains, and the mech rises to its feet. Gryffindor walks back toward the hole he crawled out of, but before jumping in, he turns around, gives me a respectful nod, and then steps back into the abyss.

"One down," I mutter to myself, feeling a surge of satisfaction. But I know the hardest challenges are still ahead.