Voldemort's furious voice rang out. "You damned fools!"
He gripped his Wand tightly and raised it high, a savage bloody gash appearing across his palm.
The gash spread from his palm and extended down his arm, the flesh around its edges peeling outward as though a pair of invisible hands had pierced his skin and brutally torn it apart.
A blazing white orb streaked with eerie green poured from the tip of his Wand, thick and dazzling, cascading downward like molten lava.
The orb emitted a buzzing hum, like an ever-splitting electrical grid. At the end of every bolt of lightning, new arcs burst forth.
The arcs spread faster than anyone could react, transforming in an instant into a vast net that covered the entire battlefield.
The air itself seemed scorched by the arcs, giving off a sickening smell of burning.
Faced with the arcs so close at hand, most of those present felt despair instinctively before they had even truly come into contact with them.
Almost at the same moment, they all came to the same conclusion: they absolutely could not withstand this spell.
Even the few who had enough confidence to protect themselves were surrounded by comrades who had fought alongside them, and they wanted to try to protect those by their side.
Like the professors, who almost unconsciously stepped to the side, wanting to stand in front of the students and shield them.
They knew perfectly well that it would be futile, yet they still wanted to do it.
Dumbledore understood that as well. If he had been the man he was at the beginning of the battle, he would certainly have been able to block this spell.
But the battle had reached this stage. Even with the aid of Phoenix Tears, only the wounds on the