Chapter 206 — Reinforcements
The metal storm tore through the factory like a living beast.
Under its force, the newly arrived Acolytes' Shield Charms shattered like brittle glass. One tall wizard lost his entire arm at the shoulder—the wound didn't bleed, but instead spewed thick, tar-like black mist.
The four behind him fared slightly better. Their robes were shredded, exposing what lay beneath—each of them bearing the unmistakable emblem of the Deathly Hallows over their chests.
The leader had taken the brunt of the attack.
Even so, one of the wizards on the far left collapsed to one knee, half his face drenched in blood, one eye forced shut. His companion hastily cast a healing spell—without it, he would have bled out before the fight even continued.
The leader, however, showed no such weakness.
He looked at Russell without expression—only naked, unrestrained killing intent in his eyes.
Then he murmured something under his breath.
The severed arm lying on the ground trembled… rose… and drifted back through the air.
It reattached itself seamlessly to his shoulder.
He flexed it. Closed his fist.
Perfect. As if nothing had ever happened.
That wasn't normal magic.
Either dark magic—or something far worse.
Whatever he was now… he could no longer be considered a pure wizard.
The storm, strangely, curved around Wednesday's position. Seizing the opportunity, she tore free from the crimson chain binding her ankle.
With a sharp motion, she hurled the fire axe into the ink pool.
The blade split the suspended liquid spikes—
—and the resulting magical backlash exploded outward, blasting two of the reinforcements ten meters across the room.
Russell had barely regained his footing when the last two uninjured Acolytes moved.
Steel frames from the production line twisted together, forming a massive mechanical hand that slammed down toward them.
At the final instant, Russell forced what remained of his magic into a rusted forklift.
The dead machine roared to life.
With a deafening crash, it surged forward—smashing through the wall and bursting into the adjacent factory building, carrying both of them with it.
Where is Dumbledore?!
Russell's thoughts raced.
By all logic, the former followers of Gellert Grindelwald should have long since withered with age.
So why were they still this strong?
Only a handful of wizards grew more powerful with time. Most declined—magic fading, spells weakening.
And yet—
Russell had caught a glimpse.
Wrinkles.
Faint, but there—hidden beneath the leader's unnaturally preserved appearance.
So that was it.
Some kind of dark magic… preserving him in his prime.
Russell swung his wand without hesitation.
Steam pipes ruptured.
Scalding white vapor burst outward, flooding the factory and slicing it into a shifting labyrinth of heat and fog.
It was the only chance they had.
If it were a one-on-one duel, Russell knew he wouldn't win—but he could escape.
But now?
There were five of them.
Even if the other four were weaker than the leader—
numbers alone were enough to turn this into a death trap.
Five Acolytes advanced step by step, boots crushing through burning scraps of newspaper. The green glow at their wand tips drifted through the fog like will-o'-the-wisps.
Wednesday hurled a bottle of nitroglycerin she'd found straight at the ground. The explosion blasted two pursuers off their feet—but the third wizard's Cruciatus Curse still grazed her left shoulder, scorching her black robe into charred, curling edges.
"Up."
Russell transfigured a wall of bricks in front of them—but it was instantly melted through by a surge of violet flame. He grabbed Wednesday and dragged her under the rusted chassis of a forklift as spells hammered the metal above, denting it inward with violent impacts.
Through the gaps, they saw the Acolytes levitating the entire production line.
A thirty-meter steel frame rose like a colossal serpent—bolts and gears transforming into fangs—before crashing down toward their hiding place.
Wednesday's blasting curse shattered the first segment, but molten fragments, glowing red-hot in cursed fire, rained down around them.
Russell flicked his wand, scattering loose lead type into the air. Then both of them cast Shield Charms at once. The storm of burning metal struck their defenses in a shower of blinding sparks, forcing them backward until their backs slammed into a silent, rusted printing press.
The leader raised his wand.
A crimson chain shot forward.
Wednesday flipped onto the press roller, the chain chasing her and tearing through three layers of steel behind her like paper.
Russell unleashed his reinforced levitation spell again—turning shattered metal into a storm of blades—
—but the Acolytes suddenly formed a formation.
Five Shield Charms overlapped into a prism-like barrier.
The spell bent—deflected upward—
—and detonated against the ceiling beams.
A thunderous crash followed as decades of dust collapsed downward in a suffocating avalanche.
Russell was hurled back, the back of his head slamming into the wall. Through the haze, he saw Wednesday's wand fly from her grasp.
She didn't hesitate—snatching up a chunk of hardened ink and hurling it at the enemy—
—but in the next second, chains snapped around her, pinning her to the wall.
The leader stepped forward.
His wand pressed against her throat.
His voice rasped, trembling with a strange, electric intensity.
"Even in our time… wizards of your caliber at this age were exceedingly rare."
He paused.
"I'll give you one last chance. Join the Alliance. Serve Gellert Grindelwald… and I will spare your lives."
Wednesday said nothing.
She simply stared at him—expressionless.
"…I see."
A flicker of regret crossed his face.
Then his wand began to move.
Suddenly—
The printing press roared to life.
The previously inert rollers spun wildly.
With a deafening screech, the massive steel cylinder tore free from its axle—dragging tens of thousands of metal letters with it—and crashed toward the Acolytes.
Chaos erupted.
The letter "A" punched through the leader's shoulder.
An "X" sheared off another wizard's ankle.
A storm of flying type turned the entire factory floor into a blood-soaked grid.
At the last second—
Russell threw himself in front of Wednesday.
The metal storm shattered his Shield Charm and slammed into his body. He grunted under the impact—but didn't fall.
Instead, he raised his wand—
—and severed the chains binding her.
He swallowed a potion in one motion.
For a brief moment—
he became something else.
A vampire.
His speed surged unnaturally fast—only possible because night had already fallen. Under sunlight, this transformation would have burned him alive.
"Move."
He grabbed Wednesday and dashed for the exit.
Then—
he stopped.
Three sharp cracks split the air.
Three more wizards Apparated directly in front of them, the shockwaves shattering nearby glass.
The Acolytes stepped out of nothingness.
Together with the surviving three from before, they formed a perfect circle—wands raised, enclosing the two completely.
Russell and Wednesday backed up instinctively—until cold brick pressed against their backs.
No escape.
Eight wands lifted at once.
Green light gathered at their tips.
The Killing Curse resonated in unison, distorting the air itself. Even the cockroaches hiding in the cracks fled in panic.
In the distance, the final firework from the riverside celebration burst into the sky.
For a split second—
brilliant light flooded the ruined factory.
And in that instant—
every one of them faltered.
"…Something's wrong," one of the Acolytes muttered.
"It's already past the time—why hasn't the explosion happened?"
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