Then Allen charged at the Dark Lord, and like an ancient Muggle brandishing a stick, he gripped his staff in both hands and swung it down at the Dark Lord in a brutally powerful physical attack. Fury blazed across the white-haired wizard's face, which no longer showed the slightest trace of injury.
Voldemort had no time to speak. He could only raise the silver shield he had originally been using to ward off Charms, trying to use it like a Muggle to withstand the boy's staff strike—yet the power of shadow made the staff project its own shade, allowing Allen to swing it from thirty feet away and still inflict this kind of basic physical damage.
A thunderous crash echoed through the empty Muggle park, followed by another, both coming from Allen's heavy blows. Under the weakness brought on by the previous spells and this assault, the Dark Lord staggered, fragments crumbling from the silver shield as cracks spread and pieces flew off. The edges of the already small shield kept being smashed into jagged chips.
Those scattering shards also splashed outward and pierced the Dark Lord's pure-black robes, leaving several wounds on his body. None were fatal, only scratches, but the Dark Lord wanted to cast a spell and bark curses, and Allen's relentless attacks gave him no chance.
Then Allen had already rushed to Voldemort's side. On the third strike, when the tip of his staff came into direct contact with the silver shield, the skull of the Pit Fiend at its head, now burning with black flames, let out the Devil's shrill laughter. Amid the searing pain in the Dark Lord's left hand, the silver shield he had painstakingly crafted himself was instantly reduced back into a heap of metallic powder. In this duel, without having blocked