Franz tore away half a severed intestine that had splattered onto his shoulder, his face full of panic. He wiped his face with his hand, felt the sticky mess of blood and minced organ flesh smeared over both hand and skin, and was the first to react. With no time to grieve for his father, he drew his wand and shouted, "Enemy attack!"
The other middle-aged Montes also drew their wands and went on guard, but the fact that the family's guards and servants had made no sound at all, while someone had slipped all the way into the meeting room, made everyone realize how bad things were—they only then noticed that the meeting room door had been opened at some unknown point.
The youngest Gregor Monte present felt the thick stench of blood filling his whole body, his stomach churning violently. He let out a sobbing cry, then began to retch—tears, snot, splattered bits of viscera, and blood all smeared together across his face...
Tap, tap, tap.
The heavy sound of leather boots striking the floor echoed through the corridor outside. The thick heels rapped against the floorboards, sounding especially loud now, as if each step landed on their hearts.
The heavy footsteps drew closer and closer. Terror loomed like a mountain. A tall, thin, bald wizard like a white skeleton walked in, his deathly pale face twisted grotesquely, his noseless face set with bloodshot eyes. He wore a black magic robe, and on his feet was a pair of dark, thick-soled dragonhide boots—it was those boots making the sound, crushing down on everyone's hearts until they felt ready to burst.
And as he entered, light and shadow rippled across the meeting room. More figures dressed like Death Eaters appeared behind the door. Beside the fireplace, a middle-aged wizard