Voldemort's furious voice rang out. "You damned fools!"
He gripped his wand tightly and raised it high, a savage bloody gash appearing across his palm.
The gash emerged from his palm and extended all the way down his arm. The flesh around the wound curled outward, as though invisible hands had pierced his skin and brutally torn it apart.
A blazing white orb streaked with sinister green surged from the tip of his wand, thick and glaring as it poured down like molten lava.
The orb emitted a humming buzz, like an electrical net constantly splitting apart. At the end of every bolt of lightning, new arcs burst forth.
The arcs spread faster than anyone could react, transforming in an instant into a vast net covering the entire battlefield.
The air itself seemed scorched by the arcs, giving off a nauseating burnt smell.
Faced with the arcs so close at hand, most of those present instinctively felt despair before they had even truly come into contact with them.
Almost at the same moment, they came to the same conclusion: they could never withstand this spell.
Even the few who had enough confidence to protect themselves were surrounded by comrades who had fought beside them, and they wanted to try to protect those at their side.
Like the professors, who almost instinctively stepped forward, wanting to shield the students behind them.
They knew perfectly well that doing so would be futile, yet they still wanted to do it.
Dumbledore understood that as well. If he had been at the start of the battle, he certainly could have blocked this spell.
However, at this stage of the fight, even with the aid of Phoenix Tears, his surface wounds had merely healed; he had not truly recovered his full strength.
Even so, he