Having uncovered the backgrounds of these wizards, Erwin showed no mercy. He granted them swift ends. Far from harboring grudges, they seemed almost grateful—better a quick death than prolonged torment at his hands.
Cassandra glanced at him. "Patriarch, what's our next move?"
Erwin smirked. "They reached out, so we'll make sure they regret it. Why turn down a gift like that?"
"Should we call in reinforcements?" she suggested. "The Worre family may have pulled out of America, but they've left some assets behind—a handful of second-rate families that could back us up."
Erwin raised an eyebrow. "The Worre family still has pull over there? Second-rate ones, no less? If we drag them in, it could expose everything. You'd lose whatever leverage the Worres have left in America. Those families are likely holding out for your return."
Cassandra shook her head. "It's an honor to serve you, Patriarch. A few second-rate houses are nothing. Worst case, we cut ties and leave for good."
"Easy," Erwin replied. "No need to burn those bridges yet. And forget the Worres' resources—we won't need them."
"But using the Cavendish name would tip off the Demos family," she pointed out. "That could spark a full feud between them and your house, derailing your plans."
Erwin waved it off. "These are just second-tier outfits. The Cavendishes aren't getting involved."
Cassandra eyed him doubtfully, but said nothing.
"Lead on," Erwin continued. "You know where these families hole up. Which one first?"
He pondered briefly. "The Prescott family—their name's a mouthful. They'll go down first."
Cassandra blinked in surprise. That was his logic?
Before she could question it, Erwin strode ahead. "Cassandra, keep up! Show the way."
She hurried after him. "But the Prescotts are miles away—their estate's in San Francisco!"
"Far, but we've got transport," Erwin said. "Norbert!"
A thunderous roar split the sky. Norbert descended, wings blotting out the sun, and landed before them. Ebony perched atop his scaly head, spotting Erwin and leaping into his arms with a joyful trill.
Erwin scratched the snake's scales. "Been behaving, have you? I offered you a ride on the plane, but no—you'd rather stick with Norbert."
Ebony coiled contentedly around his neck. Erwin chuckled. "Fine, as long as you're content."
He turned to the dragon, motioning gently. Norbert dipped his massive head low. Erwin glanced at Cassandra. "Hop on. Point him the right way."
Erwin vaulted onto Norbert's broad skull, standing steady as if on solid ground. Cassandra hesitated, then clambered up beside him, tense as if expecting a snap of jaws. But Norbert remained docile.
Erwin patted the dragon's snout. "Up we go."
With a mighty beat of wings, Norbert launched skyward. Cassandra gripped her robes, bracing for a tumble, but the ride was surprisingly smooth—rock-steady, like a polished broomstick.
They soared through the clouds, Norbert's speed blistering. Erwin murmured an incantation, weaving a veil over them akin to the Weasleys' car charm: a milder Disillusionment Charm to slip past Muggle eyes.
Soon, they pierced the haze over San Francisco. Cassandra indicated a spot below. Norbert banked sharply and dove toward a sprawling farmstead.
To Muggle sight, it was just fields. But through wizarding eyes, a modest manor nestled at the center, concealed amid the acres.
"This is it, Patriarch," Cassandra whispered. "Second-rate families love disguising estates as Muggle farms."
Erwin nodded. "Clever cover. But with non-magicals about, we wait."
"They're wrapping up soon," she assured him. "They'll clear out any minute."
True enough, the Muggles trickled away, leaving the fields empty. Below, the Prescott manor stirred to life—wizards darting about in evident panic.
"Looks like word of their dead reached them," Erwin observed. "Time to descend before they bolt."
He nudged Norbert's scales with his boot. The dragon plummeted like a stone.
"Give them a proper welcome, Norbert!" Erwin called.
A deafening bellow erupted from Norbert's maw, shaking the air. Heads snapped up from the manor grounds.
"A dragon! Here?!"
"People on its head—Cavendish! And the Worres!"
"Scatter—run!"
Erwin's grin widened. "After them, Norbert."
Flames erupted from the dragon's jaws in a searing cascade, engulfing the manor. Timber crackled and collapsed under the inferno; gardens withered to cinders. Screams cut short as figures vanished in the blaze.
As the fire raged, Erwin flicked his wrist, siphoning the blaze into a roiling orb in his palm. He hurled it at the fleeing Prescotts, who had barely cleared the gates.
"You dare assault an old American wizarding line?" one bellowed from below, voice raw with outrage. "This could spark war between our worlds!"
Erwin laughed coldly. "War? That's on you if it happens. If your deaths stir the pot for the right people, you've served a purpose."
He guided the flames in pursuit, tendrils lashing out like whips. One by one, the wizards fell—bodies crumpling, lives snuffed in bursts of ash.
With each kill, Erwin felt his magic surge, reserves swelling with stolen vitality. Slaughter, it seemed, was the swiftest road to power.
...
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