As they made their way up the shattered staircases and through the debris-strewn hallways of MACUSA, leaving the underground prison behind, Aurelian cleared his throat to break the tense silence.
"Did you manage to get the situation under control out there?" he asked Paul, brushing some dirt off his coat sleeve. "If Grindelwald and his men take to the streets of Manhattan, the secret of the wizarding world will be shattered in a matter of minutes."
The old butler walked beside him with a calmness that was enviable given their current situation.
"For the most part, yes, my Lord," Paul replied calmly. "The city and the Muggles who live there will no longer be able to realize what's happening at all. They'll be completely unaware of the course of this battle, no matter how many spells are cast."
Aurelian paused for a moment and raised an eyebrow, confused because he didn't understand what the butler meant. A battle on this scale, right in the heart of New York, was impossible to hide with simple Disillusionment Charms or Muggle-repelling spells.
Paul noticed the confusion on the young Lord's face and let out a slight sigh.
"It's clear that the education at Hogwarts has declined significantly lately if they didn't teach you about this in your History of Magic or Defense Against the Dark Arts classes," the butler remarked with a hint of criticism. "When a massive army of wizards clashes, or when two Archmages clash… which, in this case, unfortunately, fulfills both conditions… a powerful containment spell known as the Mirage Illusion is usually cast."
Seeing that Aurelian was still listening with a furrowed brow, Paul scratched his head, adopting a slightly more weary expression.
"To be completely honest with you, even I don't fully understand the mechanics behind the spell, since it's very ancient spatial magic. But, in simple terms, what the Mirage Illusion does is duplicate the area where the battle is taking place. For the Muggles out there, the world goes on as usual; they're walking down the same streets, drinking their coffee, and going to work as normal. But for us, the wizards inside the containment radius… anything can happen."
Aurelian nodded slowly, processing the possible tactic behind that magic.
"Basically, they create a mirror dimension superimposed on reality," he concluded, fascinated by the idea of being able to unleash his full power without worrying about cleaning up afterward.
"Exactly, my Lord," Paul replied, not understanding what a 'mirror dimension' was, but if that's how he understood it, it was enough for him.
When they finally reached the surface and stepped out through the doors of the MACUSA main lobby onto the streets of New York, Paul looked up.
"It seems it's already begun," the old man announced.
Aurelian followed his gaze toward the sky, and his eyes widened in astonishment. Reality had been transformed. The bright blue sky of a New York morning had been replaced by a deep, suffocating dark purple. The sun, which had previously shone brightly, was now a motionless, blood-red sphere bathing the city in a gloomy light.
He looked around. Wizards and witches from both sides were flying through the city like trails of light, unleashing unforgivable curses and spells without the slightest restraint. The skyscrapers, streets, and parked vehicles were identical to those in the real New York, but they looked different. They were completely opaque, gray, and featureless, as if they were merely empty shells of what had once been a vibrant metropolis.
A disturbance in the air above them caught their attention.
Gellert Grindelwald appeared, levitating a few meters above their heads, slowly descending until he was just a few steps away, his robes fluttering in the faint breezes of the alternate reality.
The Dark Lord looked Aurelian up and down.
"Seeing as it is you who stands here before me, and knowing my companion's temperament… I assume Percival is dead," said Gellert, his voice devoid of any sorrow, stating it as a simple fact.
Aurelian shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at him mischievously.
"Not a single tear, Grindelwald?" Aurelian taunted, tilting his head. "Don't you feel absolutely anything about losing a friend?"
Gellert burst out laughing.
"Why do you even assume we were friends, young Gaunt?" Gellert asked, shaking his head. "I've only had two real friends in my entire long life… and both abandoned and betrayed me in the deepest possible way when I needed them most. Percival was not my friend. He was merely a great soldier, a sharp and efficient tool. I will certainly miss him in my army, but the world keeps turning."
Dismissing Graves's death as insignificant collateral damage, Grindelwald turned his blue eye toward the old butler.
"And speaking of betrayals…" Gellert murmured, his tone turning dangerous. "You, Paul. And Victor. You were valuable allies. Why such a sudden betrayal? Why did you stop believing in the cause for which we have fought and sacrificed so much?"
Paul stood up straight, holding his ground before one of the most terrifying legends in the history of magic. He did not tremble, he did not look away, and he did not falter.
"You are mistaken, Mr. Grindelwald. Lord Van Droombeeld and I have never abandoned the cause," Paul replied in a calm yet sharp voice. "We firmly believe in the supremacy of our species and that Muggles must be brought to their knees."
The old butler took a step to the side, positioning himself slightly behind Aurelian in a clear show of respect.
"All we did was decide to follow a better leader—one who doesn't live off past glories and keeps making the same mistakes."
Grindelwald processed the words. He looked at Paul, then at Aurelian, and finally nodded very slowly, with an almost melancholic expression.
"I understand," whispered Gellert, slowly raising his wand with elegance. "It's a real shame… I deeply detest having to kill a wizard as good and loyal as you."
The first flash sliced through the air at a terrifying speed. Aurelian barely had time to dodge Grindelwald's spell, which cleanly decapitated a streetlamp behind him.
Without wasting a fraction of a second, Aurelian channeled his magic, and with a loud burst, he teleported directly behind the Dark Lord. He unleashed a blast of demonic fire that completely engulfed Gellert, setting him ablaze.
Paul, demonstrating the reflexes that had kept him alive, seized the opening. The butler launched a powerful attack that struck the Archmage in the chest, sending him flying through the air.
But Gellert Grindelwald wasn't a legend for nothing. As he flew backward, his magic extinguished the flames on his clothes almost instantly. Before hitting the ground, he stabilized himself in midair, appeared in front of Paul, and with brutal force, grabbed the old man by the head, hurling Paul through the air like a ragdoll and sending him crashing to the other side of the city.
And so, the game of cat and mouse began.
Aurelian began to teleport at a frantic pace. He appeared and disappeared inside all kinds of structures—houses, buildings, empty shops, and restaurants. Behind him, the Archmage's devastating attacks pursued him relentlessly, reducing the places to dust mere moments after Aurelian left.
It was during that chase that Aurelian was able to confirm the nature of the Mirage Illusion. That entire "parallel reality" was, quite literally, a shell. As he teleported inside the buildings, he noticed they were completely empty. There was nothing there. The spell merely replicated the city's exterior to maintain consistency, but on the inside, they were nothing more than hollow boxes.
Finally, after a forced teleportation, Aurelian tumbled to the floor of a two-story house. He was breathing heavily and very raggedly. Jumping so many times in such a short time was draining too much of his physical and magical stamina.
Planting his foot on the floor, he leaned back against one of the walls. He knew he couldn't outlast Grindelwald in a war of attrition; the old man had decades of experience and absurd reserves of power. He needed to end this with a single blow.
Aurelian channeled all his magic into his right hand. He narrowed his eyes and began to amplify the flow using Parseltongue.
He brought his hand close to his face, watching as a powerful green beam began to form between his fingers, growing stronger and stronger. He took a deep breath, trying to shake off his fatigue.
"Please, let this work," he whispered to himself.
He focused on the core of his magic. On the skin of his hand, a completely new arcane pattern began to take shape. It wasn't a stable design; it was just a hypothesis, an untested calculation. But given his current situation facing an Archmage, it was all or nothing.
The infinity symbol began to take shape on the back of his right hand.
In theory, the equation behind this arcane pattern should act as a singularity: it would constantly absorb ambient magic, infinitely amplifying whatever spell he was channeling.
When the final line of the infinity symbol connected and the drawing was complete, Aurelian felt the impact.
A grotesque, overwhelming, and incomprehensible amount of magic began to accumulate in his spell. The beam spiraled out of control. Its green color became so intense that it lit up the interior of the house as if a star had been born in his palm.
Aurelian smiled and burst out laughing. It had worked!
But his joy was short-lived. The flow of magic pouring in through the arcane pattern was like a current completely out of control. Aurelian bit his lip so hard he drew blood. His fingers were starting to burn. The energy was charring his skin, and the horrific burn was rapidly spreading up his entire hand.
"Not yet," he thought desperately. "It's not time yet."
If he wanted the spell to break through an Archmage's defenses and truly harm him, he had to channel even more magic.
"Stop playing hide-and-seek and come out already, you coward!" roared Gellert Grindelwald's voice from the streets.
Aurelian looked at his hand. His fingers were already black.
"Hestia and Flora definitely won't like this…" he thought with a painful sense of amusement. "I just have to wait twenty more seconds… twenty more."
But he didn't have twenty seconds.
With a blast that deafened Aurelian, Gellert Grindelwald appeared right in front of him.
Out of pure instinct, Aurelian released his grip on the spell. He lunged forward and thrust out his right hand, trying to strike the Dark Lord squarely in the stomach with the bolt.
But Gellert, displaying lightning-fast reflexes, twisted his torso at the last second. Unfortunately for Aurelian, the attack missed and only managed to hit his left arm.
The result was catastrophic.
The entire house they were in simply vanished, wiped from existence in a gigantic pillar of green light that soared up to the clouds—a flash so massive that all the wizards fighting in the city saw it and paused their battle for a moment, terrified.
When the roar died down and the dust began to settle, Aurelian slowly opened his eyes. His head was spinning. He coughed violently and looked around.
He was lying in the center of a massive crater that spanned what had once been an entire city block. He looked down, coughed again, and vomited a little blood onto the ground.
He looked at his arm. His right hand was mangled, the skin completely burned away, and the Infinity Mark had been etched into it as a hideous scar. He could barely feel a faint tingling in his fingers. It was serious—very serious—but the sensation hadn't completely vanished. He would recover in time.
When he looked up ahead, about ten meters away, the figure of Gellert Grindelwald was on his knees.
With his right hand, Gellert was desperately clutching what remained of his left arm to stop the bleeding. The concentrated magic of the bolt had disintegrated everything below his shoulder. Now, in place of his arm, all that remained was a stump with charred flesh.
Grindelwald raised his head. He looked at the boy who had maimed him with a single blow.
"Damn… child," Grindelwald hissed.
Before Aurelian could even try to move, the Dark Lord channeled his magic and vanished, fleeing the battlefield.
Aurelian let out a long sigh that turned into a groan of pain. He collapsed onto his back against the hot earth of the crater, clutching his shattered right arm to his chest.
He stared at the purple sky of the illusion that was beginning to crack, blinking wearily, and whispered into the void.
"I'll never… use that stupid half-baked spell again."
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