This room was much like the previous stone chamber, except for a hole in the ceiling-the hole Tris had just fallen through.
So was this a gauntlet for the Ministry of Magic's allied forces?
That didn't make sense.
The Ministry's allied forces had nearly a hundred people, while Voldemort's Death Eaters, including the vampires, werewolves, and other scum, seemed to number only a hundred or so too. How was this supposed to work?
Besides, everyone on the Ministry's side was skilled. Ordinary werewolves and vampires wouldn't stand a chance against them. They even had top fighters like Scrimgeour, Bones, and Moody.
Surely Voldemort wasn't personally dealing with them one by one?
That would be far too tacky. The Dark Lord's dignity would be left in tatters.
Fenrir Greyback felt as though every bone in his body had shattered. The pain cut deep, and his head in particular was swimming.
Even without transforming, werewolves were physically far stronger than ordinary humans. After transforming, that strength increased enormously. Apart from their claws, the hardest part of a werewolf's body was its head.
Wolves were said to have copper heads and iron tails, and that toughness was further enhanced in werewolves. Even if a werewolf's skull wasn't quite as hard as steel, it wasn't far off.
Yet Tris's kick had made him feel as though his head had come within a hair's breadth of bursting.
As the most notorious of all werewolves, Fenrir possessed strength to match his brutality. His repeated escapes from Auror encirclements were proof enough of that. But at this moment, he was genuinely a little scared.
"You... how could you... are you not human?" Greyback finally struggled free of the wall, his eyes full of fear as he looked at Tris.
"Huh?" Tris studied the werewolf before him with