[Rohan Pov]
The deafening blast shook the entire theatre.
Stone, timber, and shattered glass rained down from above as dust engulfed the hall. Chandeliers swung violently while screams erupted from every direction.
The shockwave threw Regina, Louis, and Anton to the floor.
Only Martin remained standing, his blank expression completely unchanged despite the chaos unfolding around him.
Spells immediately began flying across the theatre.
I heard authoritative voices shouting in French from somewhere beyond the collapsing ceiling.
"The French Aurors!"
"They've surrounded the building!"
"Surrender your wands immediately!"
The response came almost instantly.
Figures dressed in black robes emerged from hidden passages throughout the theatre.
The Wardens of the Collectors' Hall.
Without hesitation, they charged the invading Aurors.
Elegant marble pillars shattered beneath explosive curses. Brilliant flashes of red, blue, and green illuminated the theatre as spells collided faster than I could follow. Guests abandoned all pretence of dignity, scrambling for cover as the luxurious auction hall transformed into a battlefield.
While everyone else focused on surviving...
I focused on the stage.
The presentation cart had been torn apart by the explosion.
The announcer had already fled.
But the artefacts...
They were still there.
Unfortunately, they weren't unclaimed for long.
Several groups had already converged on them.
A group of Middle Eastern wizards dressed in flowing white robes exchanged curses with another faction wearing dark brown robes. Nearby, several African wizards fought fiercely to push both groups back, while a sharply dressed American man and woman cast precise, calculated spells from the edge of the battle.
French Aurors poured into the theatre from every entrance, forcing everyone towards the stage.
From the fragments of conversation I managed to catch, it sounded as though the Aurors had raided the auction with the support of the Middle Eastern delegation.
The other factions argued over inheritance rights and ancient bloodlines before switching into rapid Arabic, leaving me completely lost.
Not that I particularly cared.
As far as I was concerned...
Those artefacts were mine.
I didn't have time to make sense of the different factions.
From the bits of conversation I managed to overhear, it sounded like the French Aurors had raided the auction hall with support from the Middle Easterners. The other groups kept arguing about rightful heirs, ancient bloodlines, and forgotten kingdoms before switching to Arabic, leaving me completely lost.
The American pair, on the other hand, seemed much simpler.
Treasure hunters.
That was all I needed to know.
I was about to fly towards the stage and retrieve my artefacts while everyone was distracted.
Then the doors to our viewing room burst open.
Ten wizards rushed inside.
Most looked to be in their thirties and forties, dressed in dark trench coats with Ministry badges stitched onto their sleeves. The moment they entered, every wand in the room pointed directly at Martin.
A white-haired man stepped forward.
Unlike the others, he looked to be in his sixties.
Without lowering his wand, he spoke in flawless French.
"Mr Martin Sworts... we meet again."
A cold smile spread across his face.
"When my informants insisted that Martin Sworts would be attending this auction, I couldn't believe it," he said with a mocking expression. "Did you think you could just walk freely through France while the Ministry simply looked the other way?"
I didn't need anyone to introduce him.
Head Auror.
Judging from his tone, this wasn't merely an arrest. This was personal, like a grudge that had been waiting years to surface.
I glanced around the room. Louis, Anton, and Regina had all gone pale, their confidence completely drained in an instant.
Martin simply stared back at them. His expression remained empty.
I let out a quiet sigh. 'Looks like it's finally my turn.'
I had barely a week's worth of training with the Wasp Suit, and most of it was still memory at best. Fortunately, Nightshade was still enhancing my reflexes, sharpening every instinct I had. Still, I was not very confident in hand-to-hand combat.
Still, I was confident I could take them down.
I tightened my fists and leapt from Martin's pocket, feeling the suit around me as I leapt forward.
The world already felt massive, distant, and strangely slow.
Everything around me moved with that same sluggish predictability—whether it was the suit, the Nightshade, or simply my size, human motion had become something I could read almost before it happened.
I slipped between the Head Auror's outstretched wand and before he even realised I'd moved, passed through the gap like a dart through falling rain.
Boom.
A compressed blast of air erupted from my gauntlet.
The Head Auror was launched backwards like he'd been hit by a speeding truck, crashing through a wooden cabinet before slamming into the wall.
For a second, nobody understood what had happened.
Several Aurors looked around in confusion, convinced the Head Auror had misfired a spell.
I landed on the floor.
NIne left.
Hand-to-hand combat wasn't my strength. Speed was.
Before anyone could react, I flew towards the next target.
I became nothing more than a blur weaving through the room.
Each pass ended the same way.
A shoulder. A chest. A stomach.
Bang.
Another Auror was sent flying.
Bang.
Another crashed into a pillar.
Bang.
A third doubled over before collapsing onto the carpet.
After the first few attacks, they finally realised they were under assault.
"Detection spells!"
Several Aurors began casting revealing charms, sweeping the room with shimmering waves of magic. in hopes of findig the attacker in invisibility cloke but nothing revealed
None of them found me.
There was simply too much dust, flying debris, shattered wand fragments and panicked movement for anyone to notice a little wasp flying by.
I used every piece of cover available, striking before disappearing again. The room had turned into a collapsing maze of furniture, shattered glass, and panicked spellfire, and I used all of it.
I darted between overturned tables and drifting smoke, letting the Wasp suit's micro-thrusters carry me in sudden, unpredictable bursts that made tracking me almost impossible. Every time an Auror tried to lock onto my position with a detection charm, I was already gone, slipping through the gaps in their formation and striking from blind angles.
I didn't have the luxury of prolonged exchanges—each engagement had to be decisive. A palm strike to a wand arm to break casting rhythm, a concussive burst from my gauntlet to the chest to knock the wind out, a quick follow-up kick to send them crashing into their own allies.
They were trained, coordinated, and dangerous, but they were trained to fight against wizards, not me
The first few went down quickly, but the remaining six adapted fast. They stopped clustering, spreading out into a loose semicircle that forced me to commit to longer routes between targets.
One of them unleashed an explosive curse that detonated nearby, sending a shockwave snapping through the air like a whip. I twisted mid-flight and let the blast graze my shoulder instead of my core, the suit absorbing most of the impact while I used the momentum to spin into another attack.
I slammed into him shoulder-first, the impact sending him skidding across the floor into a collapsed wall . Another Auror tried to anticipate my movement and fired a wide-area stun charm, but I flew low, skimming the ground in a controlled glide and letting the spell pass overhead.
I detonated a micro-blast upward that caught him under the chin and dropped him instantly.
They started getting desperate after that. Spells came faster, less precise, more chaotic. The room filled with overlapping flashes of light and sound, but I stayed inside the gaps between their attacks, never staying still long enough to be targeted properly.
One by one, the remaining Aurors fell out of formation—some disarmed, some knocked unconscious by blunt force impacts, others simply overwhelmed by the speed difference they couldn't compensate for.
The last of them tried to retreat toward the doorway, but I intercepted him mid-step, redirecting his own momentum with a quick grab and throw that sent him crashing into the wall hard enough to leave him sliding down unconscious.
Less than two minutes later, every Auror was down.
Some lay unconscious. Others clutched broken ribs or gasped for breath, trying to process how quickly their coordinated assault had fallen apart.
The room fell silent except for the faint crackle of broken wood and the distant echoes of ongoing chaos in the auction hall beyond.
I took a slow breath, letting the suit's systems stabilize my heartbeat before I returned to normal size. The shift was always disorienting for a moment, like stepping back into a body that suddenly felt too heavy for the world around it.
Gasps echoed throughout the room.
Understandable. To them, the Wasp suit must have looked completely alien—
I ignored their terrified stares and walked straight towards the group.
They were still conscious, but barely. Their eyes tracked me with sluggish, unfocused panic, as if they were trying to understand what had gone wrong.
There was no defiance left in any of their expressions now—only confusion and the slow dawning realization that whatever control they thought they had was gone.
I didn't have the patience for explanations.
Instead of striking any of them individually, I reached down to my utility belt and pulled out a small cylindrical canister—no bigger than a marker. I pressed the nozzle and a fine mist hissed out.
The effect was almost immediate.
One by one, their movements faltered. Eyes widened in shock, breaths hitched, and then their bodies simply gave out, collapsing where they stood as whatever spellwork or resistance they had been relying on failed completely.
Within seconds, the entire group—Regina included—lay unconscious on the floor.
All except Martin.
The moment Regina lost consciousness, the Imperius Curse broke.
Martin blinked. Life returned to his eyes.
He looked around the room in confusion before instinctively snatching the fallen Head Auror's wand.
The moment he noticed me, he immediately jumped back and pointed it in my direction.
"Easy there," I said through the suit's distorted microphone. "I'm here on behalf of your client you met this morning. Said you might be in trouble."
His eyes narrowed for only a second before recognition replaced suspicion.
"...I see."
He glanced glanced around first, then towards Regina's unconscious body. His expression darkened.
"I treated them like family."
His grip tightened around the wand.
"And they repaid me like this."
For the first time since we'd met, Martin looked genuinely furious. But i didnt say anything.
"The auction hall isn't safe anymore," he muttered. "We need to leave."
"We will," I replied. "But not before we recover the artefacts."
I pointed towards the stage.
Martin followed my finger.
The battle had only grown worse. Dozens of spells crisscrossed the theatre while every faction fought over the collection.
He exhaled slowly before nodding.
"That is troublesome, even if we get the artifacts, we would have a tough time escaping with them."
Martin glanced at me, still watching the chaos unfolding in the theatre below.
"I don't know who you are, but I can only ask you this—can you cause a distraction down below?" he asked quickly. "While I take care of the artefacts."
I didn't hesitate.
I nodded.
I decided to trust Martin. Flying straight through that battlefield would be suicide. One stray curse was all it would take.
I told Martin to wait for my signal. He gave a sharp nod
I quickly activated the suit again. My body shrank in an instant, the world expanding around me like I had fallen into an endless canyon. The sounds of battle below grew louder, sharper, more chaotic.
Without wasting another second, I shot out of the viewing room and dove straight toward the battle below.
Once I reached the floor, I grew back to full size and quickly reached for the small canisters on my utility belt.
During my week of training, I had thought a lot about fighting wizards without knowing any real combat magic. It felt impossible at first.
Then I came up with an idea. Wizards need focus to cast spells. If I could interrupt that focus, I could stop them from casting entirely.
I pulled the pins and threw the canisters across the room, scattering them into the chaos. Then I shrank again immediately.
The fight was still going on, and a few people noticed me, but most ignored me in the heat of battle. I quickly disappeared into the chaos.
A moment later, brilliant bursts of white light detonated across the room in rapid succession—each one like a miniature sun igniting at ground level. The flashes were so bright they burned into vision even through closed eyes.
Sharp cracks followed, like physical blows, shaking the theater hall and knocking several wizards off their feet. Bones seemed to rattle as pressure waves rolled through the air.
There was little smoke, only a faint metallic haze and the sting of ozone.
Those closest were thrown back, clutching their faces as their vision and hearing failed. Even shielded wizards staggered as their barriers flickered under the overload.
After about six detonations, it stopped just as suddenly.
Silence rushed in, broken only by ringing ears. Wizards be it French Aurors or other members of the various factions, lay scattered or knelt unsteadily, disoriented and half-blind, clutching their heads as the fighting ground to a halt—for the moment.
A voice rang out from the stage, cutting through the ringing silence.
"Enough!"
Everyone in the hall turned instinctively toward the source.
Standing atop the auction platform was Martin.
Completely unharmed.
As if the chaos below had never concerned him in the first place.
He looked down at the scattered wizards with mild irritation.
"I don't appreciate being interrupted during an auction," he said flatly. "So I'll be taking my things now."
From the side of the hall, several of the Middle Eastern wizards snapped out of their daze and shouted back in outrage.
"Those artefacts are rightfully ours! We are the descendants ! the original custodians! you have no right to sell them! "
Martin didn't even glance at them.
"I don't care," he replied simply.
Martin shrugged.
"Anyways, I'll be handling the deal myself from now on," he said. "If anyone wishes to bid, contact me directly. "
A beat of silence followed.
Then chaos threatened to resume—
But Martin was already moving.
He stepped to the edge of the stage and grabbed a broken section of the cart rail lying nearby.
The metal twisted and fractured—
Then visibly repaired itself under his grip, seams knitting back together as if time had reversed along its surface.
Without hesitation, Martin stepped onto it.
And jumped.
Straight down into the rail below.