Three-Pronged Assault

The black mist left by the Dementors' dispersal had not yet fully faded, and the grass still retained the chill of having been devoured. Golden-red radiance flowed slowly through the night like lava that had yet to cool, glimmering in the afterglow of the Patronus figures.

In that brief moment of respite, the earth suddenly trembled with a vibration unlike that of magical explosions.

They were footsteps.

Heavy and rhythmic, as if ancient war drums were pounding beneath the ground.

At the gap blasted open in the castle gate, smoke and dust were slowly pushed aside by an invisible current. Ten enormous figures stepped out of the shadows one after another.

Moonlight fell upon their outlines, fully exposing that primitive, brutal strength—bull heads, human bodies, muscles bulging like piled boulders, their skin rough with alternating patches of charred black and dark bronze. Their massive horns curved forward, sharp as battering rams. Each battleaxe was absurdly heavy, its blade engraved with dim, ancient runes that looked silent and merciless beneath the golden-red light.

The radiance of Battle Cry fell upon them, only to shift slightly as though it had struck an invisible barrier, then scatter. The silver glow of the Patronuses tried to approach, but was gently pushed away by some repulsive force field three feet away.

Immune to magic.

Those four words were like stones dropping into a deep well, stirring a silent chill in the hearts of everyone who witnessed them.

Yet what truly made hearts pound was not the ten giant beasts themselves, but the order taking shape behind them.

While the Obscurus and Dementors had completed their first and second waves of assault, Walpurgis's main force had already passed through the gates and silently flooded beyond the walls. Black robes spread like a tide, swiftly forming ranks