The Hour of Judgment (Final)

There was no magic to settle it with a single blow. The two sides locked in fierce battle, strangling each other in the most primitive way.

Amosta's eyes had returned to their original brown. Like a sharpened sword, he radiated a chilling murderous aura as he continuously swung his wand to maintain the fire serpent's form, directing it to slaughter the resisting wizards in the hall. If this scene of carnage were seen by the outside world, Voldemort's name would likely be pinned on Amosta before he even took over from Dumbledore!

This was a holy war!

The believers devoted to their "god" were willing to give their lives for their faith, sublimating themselves amid golden flames. Likewise, those "false protectors of the Way" who used faith as an excuse to indulge their evil desires began to shrink back when their lives came under grave threat.

As the battle continued, hell descended upon the hall. White bones rose and sank amid the flowing lava!

The golden sun that had once appeared at the Quidditch World Cup emerged once more. Amosta stood within a golden fireball condensed from lava, slowly rising into the air on the support of surging magic power as he coldly watched the surviving wizards of the base below.

Fleeting streams of fire continuously surfaced across the golden blazing sun surrounding Amosta. He raised his wand, and the restless fire streams swiftly converged above it as though drawn by something, ultimately forming a dazzling golden sword of flame!

Like a god about to mete out divine punishment, Amosta spoke impassively. His vast voice resounded through hell, while his infinitely towering figure emitted a pressure as tangible as a collapsing torrent.

"I'll only say this once."

Amosta looked down at them.

"Drop your wands and surrender, or die here.