Calchas was caught completely off guard. Before he could even cry out, he toppled headfirst to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
He was no longer merely trembling as before. His entire body twisted and convulsed violently, his limbs bending at grotesque angles. It seemed as though even the bones inside him were grinding against one another, producing a teeth-grating crackle.
Herpo instinctively held his breath and even took half a step back.
He truly had not expected Voldemort to fly into such a rage so suddenly and cast the Cruciatus Curse with such utter abandon.
At least, in his memory, not even he had ever cast such a terrifying Cruciatus Curse.
A Cruciatus Curse of this level could no longer be fully explained by mere skill or experience.
It could only be said that Voldemort possessed a talent for the Cruciatus Curse that ordinary people could scarcely hope to attain, allowing him to cast such a curse.
Calchas's eyes rolled back, and he could not even scream. All that came from his throat were ragged, heaving gasps, like a broken bellows wheezing away.
Herpo said nothing and merely watched it all coldly. He was afraid that any attempt to dissuade Voldemort would implicate him as well and earn him a Cruciatus Curse of his own.
The best choice now was to wait for Voldemort to finish venting. After all, it was not him being tortured by the Cruciatus Curse.
Besides, Calchas had been cursing him earlier, even prompting Voldemort and Barty Crouch Jr. to laugh at him together. He, too, had entertained the thought of torturing Calchas viciously.
Now Voldemort was doing it for him. Once Calchas had been tortured until he wished he were dead, he could go and have a proper talk with him