Chapter 13: Battle against a False Deity

*Two Days Later*

Ray's heart quickened as he stood before the illusionary rocks, his Witcher medallion shaking in response to the hidden magic. With a mixture of excitement and caution, he reached out and placed his hand on the rocks, feeling the pull at the back of his mind as the ancient gate absorbed the illusion. The veil of deception fell away, revealing a concealed staircase that descended into the depths of the earth.

The cellar that greeted him was dimly lit by flickering torches, their feeble light revealing shelves lined with ancient artifacts. The air was heavy with the scent of time, and Ray's heightened senses absorbed every detail. Torches cast elongated shadows that danced across the stone walls, lending an almost mystical air to the environment.

Yet, the tranquility of the moment was shattered as a guttural growl echoed through the chamber. From the shadows emerged a towering figure—a sylvan, its form both fearsome and majestic. Towering antlers crowned its head, and its eyes glowed with an unsettling intelligence. Ray's Witcher senses confirmed his initial suspicion—this was the Allgod, the sylvan who had taken advantage of the villagers' beliefs to feast and grow fat.

The creature's antlers towered above, its eyes gleaming with an unsettling intelligence. The cellar's air was charged with anticipation, setting the stage for an intense battle.

As the sylvan lunged, Ray's instincts kicked in. He activated his Witcher medallion, his heightened senses allowing him to perceive the world in a slowed state. Time seemed to stretch as he evaded the creature's attack with graceful precision, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Pichu, perched on his shoulder, emitted electric sparks, a reflection of his own heightened readiness.

The Allgod's attack passed by in a blur as Ray sidestepped it effortlessly. With a calculated movement, he unleashed a burst of Igni, flames engulfing the sylvan's form. The creature roared in pain, its momentum disrupted by the searing heat. But it was far from defeated.

Ray's meditative focus allowed him to tap into a power reminiscent of legends from another world: Force Lightning. Arcs of electric energy crackled from his fingertips, intertwining with Pichu's sparks in a dazzling display. With a concentrated effort, he directed the Force Lightning towards the sylvan, the crackling energy searing its flesh.

Yet, the Allgod's resilience was undeniable. It gathered its strength and charged once more, its antlers aimed at Ray with unyielding determination. Reacting with his improved reflexes, Ray's heartbeat quickened as he sidestepped the creature's assault, moving with a grace that defied the laws of nature. Time seemed to bend to his will as he evaded each blow with uncanny precision.

As the sylvan's attack missed its mark, Ray seized the opportunity. He conjured the protective sign of Quen, an ethereal shield forming around him. The Allgod's attack struck the shield, its impact absorbed and leaving Ray unscathed. With the shield still active, he retaliated with another burst of Igni, flames engulfing the creature once more.

But the battle was far from over. The sylvan refused to yield, its eyes blazing with defiance. It lunged once again, its charge infused with the determination of a creature fighting for survival. Ray's mastery of time-altering abilities and the newfound Force Lightning allowed him to strike with precision, each move calculated and strategic.

Finally, the sylvan's movements began to slow, its breaths ragged as its energy waned. Ray's heart pounded with exertion, his own breaths heavy but controlled. With a final surge of determination, he activated the hidden blade strapped to his forearm—a weapon of stealth and precision.

As the sylvan lunged one last time, Ray met the creature head-on. He sidestepped the attack with his improved reflexes, his movements fluid and practiced. With a calculated strike, he drove the hidden blade deep into the sylvan's side. The Allgod's bellow of agony reverberated through the chamber as it crashed to the ground, its form shuddering from the impact.

As the sylvan's life force began to fade, the cellar was filled with the remnants of the intense battle. Ray's chest heaved as he stood over the fallen creature, his medallion glowing softly with a sense of accomplishment. Pichu's excitement manifested in sparks and crackles, a testament to their shared victory.

Ray's enhanced reflexes, bullet time, Force Lightning, and mastery of Witcher signs had prevailed against the formidable sylvan.

Approaching the fallen sylvan's body, Ray focused on his connection to the ancient gate. The power within him surged, a familiar sensation that resonated with the core of his being. As he channeled his magic, the creature's life force began to shimmer with an ethereal light. It was as if the essence of the sylvan was being absorbed, transformed into a currency of possibilities.

In a brilliant flash of light, the sylvan's body vanished, leaving behind only the echo of its presence. Ray turned his attention to the gate, its symbols aglow with vibrant energy. The exchange was complete, and the gate's power seemed to hum in approval.

And then, as if responding to his unspoken desire, an image flashed before Ray's mind—a sword of glistening silver, a majestic blade known as the Sword of Gryffindor. The ancient relic was said to have the power to appear in times of need, and now, it had become a part of his reality.

With a sense of awe and reverence, Ray extended his hand toward the gate, his fingers brushing against the engravings that danced with magical energy. The Sword of Gryffindor materialized before him, its hilt adorned with intricate designs that spoke of a legacy steeped in bravery and honor.

As Ray's fingers closed around the hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor, a tingling sensation coursed through his veins. The subtle vibration seemed to resonate with his very essence, as if the sword itself recognized him as its new wielder. The hilt, adorned with intricate designs that seemed to shimmer in the dim light, felt alive in his grasp.

A sense of connection surged between Ray and the sword. It was as if the weapon itself held a history of courage and valor, of battles fought and victories won. As his grip tightened, he could almost hear the echoes of its past, whispered in the recesses of his mind.

But there was more to this sword than met the eye. The goblin silver from which it was forged possessed a unique quality—a capability to absorb the properties of the magical creatures it slew. Ray's mind flashed back to tales of Harry Potter and the basilisk, and how the Sword of Gryffindor had absorbed the serpent's venom, making it a potent weapon against Horcruxes.

With a focused thought, Ray channeled his connection to the sword and the ancient gate. The sword seemed to respond, a shimmering aura enveloping its blade. The energy of the sylvan he had just defeated flowed into the blade, infusing it with the creature's essence.

The Sword of Gryffindor pulsed with newfound power, a manifestation of the sylvan's abilities within its silver form. Ray marveled at the sight before him, a blend of ancient craftsmanship and magical potential. He could sense the strength of the blade, the potential it held to aid him in battles to come.