Behold.
Dumbledore still hovered in midair, the Elder Wand held across his chest, but a massive, horrifying wound had appeared there! It stretched from his right shoulder to his left ribs, deep enough to expose bone, its edges still wreathed in unextinguished black Fiendfyre. The sinister flames continuously gnawed at his flesh and life force, making the wound impossible to heal. Blood poured from it like a waterfall, streaming down his body and staining his entire dark purple robe red!
The White Dark Lord's once-silver hair had also been stained with blood, leaving it mottled and disheveled. His face was paper-white, utterly bloodless; his lips were dry, cracked, and purple. The golden holy light around him had long since vanished, leaving only faint magical fluctuations barely keeping him aloft.
Grindelwald's condition, however, was several times more grievous than Dumbledore's.
The Dark Lord's entire right arm had vanished from the shoulder down, utterly torn apart by the golden judgment array. Only his bare left shoulder remained. Blood gushed wildly from the severed limb, leaving a long, horrifying trail through the air before falling onto the sea and spreading into patches of dark red. His robes had been reduced to scraps, and his entire body was covered in burns from the holy light. His skin was charred and split. The light in his once-sharp mismatched eyes was rapidly fading, leaving his gaze hollow. His body swayed unsteadily, ready to fall from the sky at any moment.
"Albus."
Grindelwald spoke with difficulty, his voice as hoarse as a broken gong. Every word pulled at his wounds, and the agony made his whole body tremble. Yet he continued to stare fixedly at Dumbledore, with a trace of stubborn triumph.
"You lost."
Dumbledore said nothing. He merely looked quietly at Grindelwald, his azure eyes gleaming