Pandora's anti-materiel sniper rifle looked especially restrained beneath the dim lights of the Department of Mysteries, but its equally exaggerated barrel carried an intimidating presence.
Delores, who had once been hit by one of its rubber bullets, had the most to say about its power.
Seven broken ribs, massive internal bleeding, severe spinal misalignment... Nearly half a year had passed, and Delores still had not fully recovered.
Facing Voldemort, Vincent naturally would not use rubber bullets. The round chambered was a specially made Mithril bullet engraved with a combination of multiple Magical Runes.
The black mist beneath the barrel seemed to pause for a moment. Then a cold laugh filled with contempt suddenly rang out:
"Heh... A Muggle's worthless toy... and you dare point it at me?"
The disdain in that tone was absolute, as though what Vincent held was not a weapon capable of inflicting harm, but a feather that could not even scratch an itch, a poker defiling a sacred magical battlefield, filth from a sewer.
The violence born of failure mingled with the humiliation of being provoked by something "lowly," condensing into pure killing intent.
Run? Yes, but before leaving, Voldemort would crush this irritating insect and turn that filthy blood and ridiculous "toy" into dust in the cruelest possible way.
This slaughter would reaffirm his power above all else!
The black mist churned rapidly, vaguely revealing a twisted face. Two scarlet points fixed themselves on Vincent.
Even Arthur, guarding the Death Eaters from afar, could feel as if the air around them had been drained away, leaving only an aura of death that smelled of sulfur and rusted metal.
"Kid, get back!" Moody's false leg slammed heavily against the floor as he tried to rush forward and pull Vincent away.
But Vincent did not retreat in