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(General P.O.V)
The chamber of the Wizengamot was unrecognizable. Charred stone and twisted metal hung in the air, frozen by residual magic from the several hundred spells cast by panicked Wizards.
At the center of the room, loghtning streaks surged from Loth, scarring the shattered tiles of the execution platform.
Remnants of the Fiendfyre lingered around him, the radiant blue flames licking the ruined seats where once wizards passed judgment.
Most of whom became kindling for the uncontrollable flames.
Uncontrollable for anyone else but Loth. A very pissed off Loth.
Chains gone. Restraint gone.
Eyes glowing, his aura burned with divine lightning and Mist-laced Anodite magic. A quiet storm of Purple colored energy that made even silence crackle.
Around him, the Order of the Phoenix and what remained of the Aurors gathered. Wands raised. Faces drawn. Loyalty weaponized.
The Metamorphic Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley the head auror flanked the sides of the execution platform, putting Loth in the middle. Hestia Jones, a middle aged witch hovered overhead on a levitation spell.
Moody stood behind them, charging his staff for a powerful spell.
Snape, clutching the Necronomicon tightly, had retreated to the shadows, whispering to himself like a mad man while staring at Loth with burning eyes. Only he saw what the others couldn't.
Even McGonagall — her jaw tight with conflict — stood near the collapsed council benches, wand raised.
As for Remus, Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid, Loth couldn't care less. In fact, not even sensing Percy and Annabeth's presences in the ruined chamber could distract him from the main target of his wrath.
Dumbledore remained on the dais above, unmoving. Watching. He'd ceased the killing curse barrage after the spell failed to blow past the air barrier around Loth- what made it shocking was the fact the barrier was a mere effect of his aura- not an active application.
Shacklebolt was the first to speak.
"Loth," he called. "You can still appeal this. Don't do this."
Loth didn't answer with words. The hum of energy answered for him.
"No."
The Mist in the room thickened, swirled, reshaped itself with the heat of his will.
Magic flexed outward in a silent quake. A wave of illusion burst free—ten, twenty, a hundred copies of Loth emerging across the courtroom.
Kingsley fired off a series of reductos, bombardas and Sectumsempras. Tonks followed with her own attack spells.
The clones scattered into mist as they were destroyed.
One didn't.
The real Loth apparrated behind Kingsley and smashed him through a pillar with a punch of raw kinetic magic.
"Stupefy!" Tonks fired—but her spell hit a disc of Anodite energy and rebounded, knocking her unconscious.
"Deflect this boy!" Moody called out shooting out a beam of light energy from his staff.
Loth parted the beam with a long pink blade constructed around his arm.
With his other hand, he unleashed his own pink beam, blasting a hole through a shocked Moody's torso.
McGonagall hesitated—then transfigured the stone and metal around him into an binding net. Loth broke the animated snare with a foot stomp, his body glowing brighter as he drained McGonagall of her magical energy.
"Thank Luna for my mercy." he said as she crumpled, unconscious, wand splintered.
Remus fell next.
Hestia Jones lasted longer, showing unexpected experience. Her spells twisted the air itself—but Loth adapted too quickly.
A dozen mirror-shield spells later, she collapsed under the weight of her own ricochets.
Only Dumbledore remained.
Loth turned toward him.
"You watched them fall. You didn't lift a finger."
Dumbledore's eyes were sorrowful. Or maybe calculating. "Because I knew what was coming. I prepared for it."
Loth's aura sense alerted him.
The old wizard's power started growing, quickly eclipsing his immense grand wizard magical reserves by more than a few times.
Loth could tell it wasn't his own power. Dumbledore's body was actively absorbing streams of multicolored magic from his fallen Order.
One by one, Kingsley, Tonks, Hestia and the rest were drained of everything. The bodies shrunk into dried out skeletal corpses in just a few seconds.
'It's not a spell' Loth noted as he watched on in disgust and a little surprise at how far Dumbledore had fallen.
"Sacrificial seal," Dumbledore confirmed. "It activates upon the death of those who swore to it. I carry their magic now."
The Elder Wand in his hand shone white-hot. His robes fluttered without wind.
For the first time, Loth felt his pulse tighten. The power surging out of Dumbledore was more than his own.
"…So you used them."
"I did what I must. Just as you did."
Loth's jaw clenched. Zeus' lightning licked the air around his fists. More mist swirled up from the floor and climbed his arms.
"I've never sacrificed anyone, let alone allies for Power. Who's the Devil now Albus?"
Dumbledore said nothing, merely raised the wand.
The second round began.
(Loth's P.O.V.)
We held eye contact as he descended from the dais.
Each step echoed with magic. Not the elegant, aged spellwork I'd once admired—no. This was raw. Augmented. Strained.
I could feel it—his body barely containing the magic of the Order. Their sacrifices had become fuel. The very people I had tried not to kill despite deserving it, were now empowering the one man still intent on my death.
I steadied myself, fully tapping into the molten heat on my chest.
This version of Dumbledore wasn't wise.
He was dangerous.
He moved first—faster than before. A slash of his wand bent gravity. I apparrated left, Mist-warping my body just as the floor behind me disintegrated in a white-hot explosion.
I countered with a pillar of Anodite charged divine lightning, but he blocked it with a single flick. No words. No chants. Just action.
We weren't exchanging spells anymore.
We were clashing philosophies, thrown as weapons.
"Why fight this?" Dumbledore asked, his voice still maddeningly calm as he parried a volley of pink spears I conjured. "You could've saved everyone. You could've accepted my help."
"You didn't offer help," I said. "You offered Death dressed as the greater good."
He raised a hand. Runes in the air ignited. Chains of transmuted magic surged toward me. I disassembled them mid-flight, but one clipped my shoulder, tearing open flesh.
First blood.
My body was slower now. Real. Mortal. Not Anodite.
And the pain burned.
He threw a second assault— a mutated Bombarda with elemental energies. I caught it midair and twisted it back with a Mist-loop that flung it over his shoulder. The ceiling came down in chunks of stone.
We both stepped through the raining debris like gods, covered in resilient shields.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Percy and Annabeth engaging the last of the Aurors—Percy's celestial blade deflecting killing curses while Annabeth used her invisibility to disable opponents.
As the building was coming down, Annabeth shouted, "Loth! We need to leave—now!"
"Go!" I called out. "I'll catch up!"
"I refuse."
Dumbledore's wand twisted. The Elder Wand flared, summoning an arc of burning wind. I blocked with a wall of layered Anodite protegos, but they only held for seconds before shattering.
Another curse struck me full in the chest and knocked me back.
He was too fast to cast. Too precise. A magic machine powered by martyrdom.
He raised the Elder Wand once more—an incantation I couldn't place—
Percy suddenly jumped in from the side, hurling a ball of condensed water, forcing Dumbledore to step back and cancel the cast.
That was my window.
I roared and summoned everything.
All the Mist, all the divine Lightning infused in my aura, most of my Anodite energy...
I layered the attack spell with all of it charged with the same raw fury I'd tried to bury since this whole shit started.
"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"
Space twisted and ruptured in the path of the chaotic Purple beam I unleashed.
The blast hit Dumbledore's shield head-on—cracking the Protego Maxima he'd encased himself in like glass under pressure.
The Elder Wand shrieked in his hand.
Then it snapped.
Magic—wild, stolen, unstable—erupted outward.
His power, once contained, had nowhere to go.
And the price of unnatural strength became clear.
His body began to change.
Flesh warped. Bones screamed. Veins glowed. Arcana twisted.
Dumbledore began to scream—but the sound was distorted. Not human.
Not anymore.
The Elder Wand fell, shattered into white dust.
And what stood in its place was no longer Albus Dumbledore.
It was something else.
Something wrong.
Something born of magic with no soul to anchor it.
I backed up. My lightning aura crackling to nothing. Even the Mist hesitated.
"Annabeth," I breathed. "Percy. We need to run. Now!"
Without hesitation, we turned tail and run, stumbling through the wreckage with Percy and Annabeth.
Stone cracked underfoot. The air itself felt wrong—charged, warped, as if the laws of reality were fraying with each passing second.
Behind us, the thing that used to be Dumbledore roared.
"What in Poseidon is that?!" Percy asked, prompting me to look back just as we reached the blocked exit of the collapsing building.
Its body was a shifting mass of rainbow radiant muscle and corrupted magic—tendrils of arcane light writhing from its form like a spell gone rabid.
Where his eyes had been, twin vortexes of magic absorbing holes now churned.
Every spell fired at it by panicked Aurors was devoured, feeding the monster further.
"Don't cast anything!" I shouted. "It feeds off magic!"
Too late. One of Aurors hurled a Stupefy, and I watched the thing drink the red beam into its chest like water into dry soil. In return, it screamed—and the walls shattered as if struck by a hammer.
"This was supposed to be a rescue mission! A rescue mission!" Annabeth cried, helping Percy up after a shockwave threw him into a broken railing.
I didn't answer, too busy looking for a different way out. Then a corpse caught my eye from the side.
I reached down and yanked it out of the rubble.
Snape.
Or what was left of him.
His corpse was shrunken, like the life had been sucked out of him by the magical backlash. His hand still clutched the Necronomicon.
My skin prickled the moment I touched it—alive with dark whispers—but I didn't let go.
The magic leaking from that creature… it was wrong. Familiar in a way I wished it wasn't.
Ragnarok, I realized. This wasn't just magic going wild.
It was guided corruption. A shadow of the same force that had infected the Horsemen, now had Dumbledore.
I tried to Apparate us out.
The spell fizzled before it even left my lips.
"Apparition's useless!" I growled. "Magic's bending around it. Space is too unstable!"
Annabeth swore. Percy looked back. "It's coming—fast."
I glanced at the book. Then at them.
"Follow me," I said using the mist to cloak ourselves from the Monster before turning toward the only place we might have a shot of surviving.
Down.
Into the heart of the Ministry.
Toward the Veil.