Thunderbird's eyes darkened beneath his mask. Fine. If Alex wanted a real battle, he'd give him one. He forcefully swept his wand, launching two final Fiendfire Ardor toward Alex, their golden embers spiraling through the air like flaming petals. Then, before waiting to see if they landed, Thunderbird turned sharply and bolted toward the forest near the cliff's edge. "Brat!" he called over his shoulder. "You've got talent, but this battlefield is a joke. If you want to prove yourself, follow me. I'll show you what a real fight looks like. Otherwise, I'll just turn my attention to these pathetic Aurors instead."
The unspoken challenge was clear. If Alex didn't follow, Thunderbird would cut through the Aurors like a blade through parchment. Alex exhaled sharply through his nose, flicking his wand to dispel the lingering flames still crackling in the air. Then, with a sneer tugging at the corner of his lips, he shot forward in pursuit. "As you wish." Lightning flashed above as the storm raged on, and the two disappeared into the darkened woods.
With Alex and Thunderbird gone, vanishing into the dense forest beyond the battlefield, Occamy finally felt a moment of relief. "Finally, those lunatics are out of the way," he muttered to himself, straightening his posture. His mask glinted in the flickering firelight as he raised his wand. "Now, it's time to show them the true power of the ghoul frenzy!" He was just about to surge his magic into the summoning bag when,
"Are you blind, or are you just ignoring me entirely?" The voice was gruff, sharp, and full of irritation. Occamy barely had time to react before a Fiendfyre came hurtling toward him. He twisted on instinct, barely raising a shield in time to deflect it. His head snapped toward the source of the attack.
Standing a short distance away, leaning on his ever-present wooden cane, was Alastor Moody. His scarred face twisted into something resembling a grin, though with his heavily lined features and mismatched eyes, it looked more like the snarl of a wolf ready to pounce.
For a moment, Occamy cursed himself for getting distracted. He had been so focused on Alex and Thunderbird's insane duel that he hadn't realized Moody was still lurking nearby. The truth was, Moody had been waiting for his chance.
From the moment the battle began, he had wanted to take out Occamy, but with Alex and Thunderbird unleashing elemental devastation, there had been no clear opportunity. If he had attacked earlier, there was too much risk of interference, either to himself or the Aurors.
So he had bided his time, cutting through smugglers, waiting for his opening. Now, with the two gone, Occamy was all his. Moody didn't waste another second. Like a human siege weapon, he launched spell after spell at Occamy, Blasting Curses, Stunning Spells. Occamy barely kept up. He was fast, but Moody was faster. Every deflected curse was followed by another, then another, leaving him no room to counter. 'What the hell is wrong with this man?'
Moody fought like an executioner, his movements unrelenting, his expression unreadable behind the battle scars and gritted teeth. Occamy could only desperately block, every fiber of his being focused on survival. "Avada Kedavra!" The words hit Occamy like a sledgehammer to the gut. His reflexes screamed at him, DODGE!
At the last possible second, he threw himself sideways, feeling the rush of green light streak past his face. It slammed into the dirt behind him, sending dust and debris into the air. His heart pounded. 'Did… did he just…?' Occamy scrambled to his feet, eyes wide beneath his mask. He stared at Moody in disbelief. 'Did this crazy old bastard really just use the Killing Curse?' He had seen a lot in his time with the club. He had worked alongside Dark wizards who threw around Unforgivable Curses like candy.
But an Auror? A Ministry Auror using Avada Kedavra like it was nothing?
His breath came in short, sharp gasps. Moody simply spat to the side, as if missing his shot had annoyed him, and immediately started attacking again.
Occamy barely had time to react. 'This lunatic! This isn't an Auror, this is a damned war criminal!' Everything about the situation felt wrong. In his years working in the underworld, he had always assumed British Aurors were soft, bound by rules, laws, moral restrictions.
Moody? Moody fought like a rabid beast.
As Occamy frantically fended off Moody's relentless onslaught, he failed to notice another growing disaster. His ghoul army, the summoned creatures meant to tip the battle in their favor, had lost control.
The leather summoning bag shuddered violently, its dark energy surging outward in erratic pulses. Without Occamy's direct control, the magic inside had destabilized. One by one, the ghouls stopped following orders. Then, they turned feral. A sudden, bone-chilling howl echoed across the battlefield.
Occamy barely had time to turn his head before he saw one of his own ghouls lunge at a nearby smuggler. The man didn't even have time to scream. Teeth sank into his neck. Flesh tore. Blood gushed. The smuggler's wand clattered to the ground as he collapsed, his throat ripped out in an instant. And that was just the beginning.
As the battle raged on, the remaining smugglers, seeing the tides turn against them, began throwing down their wands in desperation.
"Help! I surrender!" one of them cried, hands raised high in the air. "Please, I don't want to die!"
"I surrender too!" another followed, the sheer terror of the ghouls overriding any loyalty to their cause.
Survival instinct trumped everything else. They knew that if they were captured by the Ministry, they'd at worst be sentenced to Azkaban, but if they hesitated even a moment longer, they would be ripped apart.
Medea, standing near the center of the battlefield, narrowed her eyes as she watched them scramble toward the Aurors, stepping over the mangled remains of their own allies. "Alright," she called, raising her voice above the chaos. "Come here, but if I see a single wand lifted against us, don't expect mercy!"
The Aurors around her tightened formation, keeping their wands raised as the smugglers cautiously approached. Meanwhile, Medea and her team worked quickly, using controlled flames to carve out a safe path while maintaining defensive barriers against the ever-advancing ghouls. Though they were holding the line for now, the sheer number of undead was concerning.
They had received a summons earlier, reinforcements were on their way, but they had to last long enough for them to arrive. And that meant staying together. "Regroup!" Medea commanded. "We need to stabilize our front before the ghouls overwhelm us!"
Just as she was preparing to shift their defenses, a soft, almost musical voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts. "Um… excuse me, sister?" The voice was delicate, almost too sweet for the brutal battlefield around them.