Locust Plague

From the clouds at an extreme height, a vast black shadow began plunging downward at a speed visible to the naked eye. It descended incredibly fast, yet unbearably slowly, as though the entire sky were pressing down upon the earth.

The sky was falling.

Not metaphorically. Not exaggeratedly.

The literal canopy of the heavens was collapsing.

A black tide poured down from far above, first as sparse specks, then joining into sheets, and finally becoming a black apocalyptic downpour falling from the sky, blotting out the entire heavens. It was neither cloud nor mist, but a dense, sky-covering swarm of—locusts.

No one could count how many there were. They could only estimate that the number exceeded a hundred million, perhaps even more. They stretched from the highest reaches of the sky to the far horizon, covering everything from above Hogwarts to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They blotted out the blood moon, the stars, and the distant firelight. In that instant, the entire battlefield plunged into absolute darkness.

The only light came from the faint, cold gleam reflected by the locusts' wings—countless icy compound eyes staring down at every living creature below.

The vibrations of innumerable wings gathered into a deep, horrifying drone.

It did not sound like something living. It was more like countless old engines starting at once, like tens of millions of demons grinding their teeth, like an entire city slowly being crushed beneath enormous gears. The overlapping wingbeats made chests tighten and eardrums ache, as if the whole world had been filled with that droning sound, leaving no room for anything else.

Then—the locusts began to fall.

The first swarm slammed into the ground.

They were no ordinary insects.

Each one was as large as an adult's palm, more than ten times the size of