A hailstorm of Avada Kedavra curses rained down like a merciless torrent the moment the defensive shield shattered. The lethal green light streaked through the battlefield with blistering speed, aimed directly at the wizards and goblins on the opposing side.
Caught in the sudden onslaught, those who had been jubilant over breaching the defensive barrier barely had time to react. Their victory cries froze in their throats as the wizards and goblins at the front collapsed lifelessly, their bodies hitting the ground with dull, sickening thuds.
The presence of Albus Dumbledore and the Goblin King had made the collapse of the shield inevitable. Their combined might was a force no ordinary magical defense could withstand for long.
But Allend, anticipating this very moment, had already prepared for it. Well aware of the impending breach, he had discreetly instructed the Saints to ready their killing curses, waiting only for his signal. The moment the shield crumbled, and the enemy was caught off guard, they would strike.
And strike they did.
Just as planned, the ambush unfolded in a devastating wave of Avada Kedavra spells, cutting down countless wizards and goblins before they could mount a proper defense. Cries of shock and agony echoed across the battlefield as bodies fell in rapid succession, their lifeless eyes staring into nothingness.
A faint smirk curled on Allend's lips.
Yet, the moment was fleeting. His expression quickly turned serious as he brandished his wand once more. With a swift motion, he barked out another command, his voice carrying over the chaos of battle.
"All Saints, disperse! Use the building as the center and spread your attack outward!"
Without hesitation, his forces obeyed. From their wands, an endless volley of dark spells shot forward, striking down enemies with ruthless efficiency. The air crackled with the sheer intensity of magical energy, the battlefield drowning in chaotic duels.
But despite the havoc unfolding before him, Allend's true focus remained locked on two individuals hovering above—Dumbledore and the Goblin King.
They were the real threats.
No matter how many foes fell below, no matter how many wizards and goblins perished in the fray, the battle's outcome hinged on whether these two titans chose to intervene.
If they remained mere spectators, then the war would rage on, a brutal clash of forces where strategy and numbers determined victory.
But the moment either of them joined the fray, it would cease to be a battle.
It would become a massacre.
Explosions rocked the battlefield as spells clashed midair, their force sending shockwaves through the ruins of what once stood as sturdy fortifications.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Expelliarmus!"
"Confringo!"
"Protego!"
A deafening symphony of spells filled the air, mingling with the mechanical roar of goblin-forged magic guns. The scent of charred flesh and iron filled every breath as the ground was littered with the fallen. Severed limbs, broken wands, and spilled blood painted a grim picture of the battlefield.
Some wizards, upon seeing the sheer magnitude of carnage, hesitated. Fear flickered in their eyes as they took in the sight of comrades being cut down in droves. Their hands trembled, their resolve wavering under the weight of the unrelenting slaughter.
But Allend stood firm.
His steel-gray eyes held no emotion as he surveyed the battlefield, his grip on his wand unwavering. He knew hesitation was a luxury they could not afford. His gaze returned to the figures in the sky—Dumbledore and the Goblin King.
The old wizard, dressed in his signature deep blue robes, observed the battlefield with an unreadable expression. A soft, knowing smile played on his lips, as if he had seen this all before.
And in truth, he had.
They were not strangers. Decades ago, their paths had crossed more than once. And even now, in the midst of bloodshed, that familiarity remained.
The Goblin King, however, was not as composed. His golden eyes burned with barely restrained fury as he took in the sight of his fallen kin. Unlike Dumbledore, he held no detachment from the wizards dying below—these were not members of the British Ministry, nor students of Hogwarts. These were goblins—his goblins, his elite warriors.
Every fallen soldier was a devastating blow to his people.
And he would not let their sacrifice be in vain.
A decision was made in an instant.
Clutching his enchanted staff, the Goblin King stepped forward, his expression darkening with a silent promise of retribution.
Allend stiffened immediately, every muscle in his body going taut. He knew this moment would come.
Though he had never fought the Goblin King personally, he was well aware of the raw power the goblin ruler possessed. Underestimating him would be a fatal mistake.
There was no time for hesitation.
Without a second thought, Allend raised his wand, aiming directly at the Goblin King.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The sickly green light of the Killing Curse streaked across the battlefield, aimed straight for the goblin ruler's heart.
But just before impact—
Whoosh!
A translucent space barrier materialized in front of the Goblin King, advancing toward Allend as if it had a will of its own.
The instant the Killing Curse made contact, it was absorbed, vanishing into the void-like surface of the barrier.
Allend's eyes narrowed. Not good.
Then—
SNAP!
A chill shot down his spine as a terrifying realization hit him. A split-second reflex saved his life—he leapt to the side, rolling across the bloodstained ground just in time to dodge.
His own Killing Curse had been redirected.
Had he hesitated for even a moment, the spell meant for his enemy would have struck him down instead.
A sharp breath left his lips as he steadied himself, his grip on his wand tightening.
His gaze snapped toward the Goblin King, who stood unwavering, his eyes gleaming with deadly intent.
Allend knew now—this battle had only just begun.
"Erode the bones and seize the heart!"
"Confundo!"
"Invert the blood flow!"
After successfully dodging the counterattack, Allend wasted no time. He flicked his wand sharply, unleashing a flurry of sinister black magic spells at the Goblin King, Turan. Each incantation targeted different vulnerabilities—some aimed at the mind, others at the body, each carefully selected to probe for weaknesses.
Despite the sheer power behind these spells, Turan remained unbothered. His slow, deliberate steps did not waver in the slightest as he advanced.
The Goblin King was an enigma.
Even within the Saint system, there was virtually no intelligence on his true abilities. His combat style, his magical prowess, his preferred tactics—all of it was shrouded in mystery.
Allend gritted his teeth. I have no choice but to test him firsthand.
Even if he couldn't defeat Turan, he had to extract as much information as possible for the Leader.
A low buzzing hum filled the battlefield as Turan's magic stirred.
Six massive golden shields materialized around him, floating and shifting in a mesmerizing dance. Each shield moved independently, as if guided by an unseen force, constantly rotating and realigning to cover different angles.
Allend's curses struck rapidly, but the golden barriers deflected them with ease. Every spell, no matter how potent, either dissipated on contact or rebounded in another direction. Even the attacks of the other Saints were effortlessly repelled.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Spell after spell collided with the shields, each impact sending magical ripples through the air. The powerful enchantments held firm.
Yet Turan remained unfazed. His pace never changed—slow, steady, relentless.
His goal was clear.
He wanted to end the battle quickly.
The longer the conflict dragged on, the greater the losses for his goblin forces. And for a race already facing oppression and prejudice, the death of so many elite warriors would be a disaster.
To minimize casualties, the fastest solution was to eliminate the enemy's leader in full view of their forces.
Crush their morale.
Force them to surrender.
Allend's sharp eyes analyzed every movement. No matter how many times he attacked, the golden shield surrounding Turan remained unbreakable.
He couldn't help but feel frustrated.
Goblins were infamous for their obsession with treasure and wealth.
And as the King of Goblins, Turan was bound to be exceptionally well-equipped.
His golden armor, combined with those impenetrable shields, made him an absolute fortress.
How do I break through this defense?
Allend felt a headache forming. This damn goblin is built like a walking bank vault.
But then...
A smirk tugged at his lips.
Hmph. Did they think I survived from World War I to the present without learning a few tricks?
His loyalty to Lord Grindelwald had not been in vain. He had trained. He had evolved.
And now, he would show them why he had earned the title "Shadow One."
The next moment—
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
A series of grotesque, sickening noises filled the battlefield.
Turan narrowed his eyes as he watched Allend's body contort unnaturally. His limbs twisted, his bones seemed to shrink and shift, and his entire form morphed as if molded from wax.
The transformation was swift—within mere seconds, Allend was gone.
In his place stood a sleek, black panther.
Turan's mind immediately recognized the technique.
Animagus!
Yes, Allend had long since mastered the advanced art of transformation magic. But this was no ordinary Animagus.
For decades, he had refined his craft, pushing the boundaries of the magic beyond what was thought possible. Through rigorous meditation and under the personal guidance of Lord Grindelwald, he had enhanced his transformation.
His form was no longer limited to mundane animals.
Now, he could take on the shape of a magical creature.
A deep, guttural roar echoed from the panther's throat, sending out waves of pure dark magic. The sheer force of his presence warped the air around him, exuding an eerie, oppressive aura.
This was his perfected form.
His secret weapon.
Turan's golden eyes gleamed with intrigue. So, this is the so-called "Shadow One's" true power?
Buzz!
Without hesitation, the black panther lunged.
Its razor-sharp claws extended, glowing with a dark sheen as it aimed straight for Turan's shields.
BOOM!
A resounding impact echoed through the battlefield as the panther's claws slammed into one of the golden barriers. The shield trembled from the force of the blow—but held firm.
Allend, in his panther form, showed no sign of frustration. Instead, he began circling Turan, his movements smooth and fluid, his emerald eyes glinting with predatory cunning.
He was patient. Calculating.
His sleek black body moved like a shadow, darting in and out of Turan's defenses, constantly testing for an opening.
Boom! Bang! Bang!
Again and again, he struck. Quick, unpredictable attacks—but each time, he withdrew before Turan could retaliate.
It was like watching a relentless predator toying with its prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Turan remained composed, but inwardly, he was growing irritated.
This cat wasn't fighting to kill him.
No—this was a stalling tactic.
Allend knew he couldn't break through the shield immediately, so he was trying to buy time.
A low growl rumbled from the Goblin King's throat.
Enough of this nonsense.
With a thunderous stomp, he slammed his black-gold scepter into the ground.
BOOM!
A powerful golden shockwave erupted in all directions, expanding outward like a tidal wave of raw magic.
The moment it touched the panther—
Allend's entire body went rigid.
His limbs locked in place, his muscles frozen, his instincts screaming in warning.
He was completely paralyzed.
A slow, cruel smile spread across Turan's face.
"Got you."
Raising his scepter high, he prepared to bring it down with devastating force.
If this blow landed, Allend would be reduced to nothing but a bloodstain on the battlefield.
The nearby Saints gasped in horror.
Some even cried out in panic—
But then—
BZZZZZT!
A dark blue fire shield flared to life, crackling ominously in front of the frozen panther.
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