The goblin line bristled with steel and iron. Furniture, doors, and carts had been reforged into a spiked wall, braced with runed anchors. Behind it crouched warriors, axes and spears flashing under the dim glow of torchlight.
"Hold!" barked their captain, his scarred face lit by the glow of his weapon. "Let them break themselves on us!"
The first of the winged horrors slammed down, wings scattering sparks as they struck the barricade. Spears shot upward, skewering flesh and bone. A demon leapt over the wall, claws flashing—only to be tackled midair by three goblins dragging him down in a whirlwind of steel.
A goblin stumbled, his shield splintered, as another demon bore down on him. The beast's jaws opened wide, but before it could strike, a centaur's spear lanced through its ribs.
The goblin scrambled to his feet, chest heaving. For a moment, he locked eyes with the centaur. Enemy of old. Ally of now.
The centaur nodded once, wrenched his spear free, and turned back to the fray. The goblin did the same.
In the narrow streets, the fighting was madness. The close walls made spellfire deafening. A trio of Aurors moved in formation, shields overlapping, every step methodical. Behind them, a masked Death Eater hurled curses with savage precision, cutting down anything that broke through.
"On your left!" an Auror shouted.
A demon dropped from above. Its claws raked against the Auror's shield, shattering it like glass. He staggered backward, the beast's fangs flashing for his throat—
"Confringo!"
The Death Eater's curse exploded the demon's head in a spray of ash. He hauled the Auror up by the collar and shoved him forward.
"Don't stop moving!" he snarled.
The Auror, still breathless, gave a short nod and fell back into step. There was no time for questions. No time for grudges. Only survival.
A winged angel swept down the alley, blade raised. Four wands lifted at once—Auror spells of fire and the Death Eater's curse of shadow striking as one. The angel crumpled, its light snuffed out.
For a fleeting instant, the group looked at each other—old enemies bound by necessity. Then they moved again.
At the forest's edge, where the wards had pulled trees into barriers of living wood, the centaurs fought like warriors of old. Their bows sang, each arrow tipped with alchemy that burst into fire or binding vines.
"Loose!" roared a chieftain, his mane tangled with blood.
Arrows rained down, tangling demons in nets of thorns, driving angels into the dirt. Spears braced in the earth caught the charging ones that broke through.
A young centaur stumbled, an angel's spear slicing across his flank. He screamed—then a goblin darted from the barricade line, shield raised, axe cleaving the angel's leg out from under it. Together, they finished it.
The centaur looked down at the goblin, breathless. The goblin spat into the dirt. "Don't fall, horse-boy. I've got enough to kill without dragging your carcass around."
But his grin was sharp as steel, and the centaur gave a breathless laugh before charging back into the melee.
On the battered northern wall, a lone witch braced herself. Her robes were burned, her wand cracked, and every muscle in her body screamed for rest. Below her, the enemy surged like an ocean without end.
She raised her wand with shaking hands, whispering words through cracked lips. "Bombarda… Maxima…"
The spell roared from her wand, slamming into the advancing line. Bodies flew, wings snapped, the ground itself shook.
Her knees buckled. She nearly fell. But behind her, Hogwarts loomed, its ancient towers blazing with wards. She thought of the students hidden within, of children watching this fight play out.
"Not one step further," she hissed.
Another angel rose on broken wings, climbing toward the wall. With a scream that tore her throat, she raised her wand again. The blast hurled it back into the void.
Her vision swam. Her body trembled. And still, she lifted her wand once more.
****
The meeting hall was a storm of noise voices overlapping, chairs scraping, parchment being flung down as generals, envoys, and clan leaders shouted over one another. Maps floated midair, ink bleeding into frantic new lines as wards flickered, showing where the enemies pressed hardest. The entire fortress-city trembled faintly with the pounding of bombardments outside.
The heavy doors slammed open with such force they cracked against the stone walls. A massive, scaled form streaked through, shrinking, twisting, folding in on itself until the shadow of a serpent gave way to the lean figure of Herpo, his robes clinging wet with blood and ash. His eyes glowed with venomous fire as he clutched a sealed, rune-marked object in his hands.
"It's time!" he barked, voice cracking like a whip over the chaos. The room froze for half a heartbeat. Herpo's gaze swept the assembly before locking onto a familiar figure. "Arcturus!"
The Black lord pushed himself to his feet at once, sweat streaking down his brow, his pale hands gripping the table's edge. His usually sharp expression was frayed with exhaustion, dark circles carved under his eyes.
Herpo surged across the chamber, his presence so commanding that even goblins and centaurs stepped aside in his wake. He slammed the object down onto the central map-table. The wood shuddered under its weight, runes pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. "We must conjoin them now! Morpheus's words were clear. You have to be the puppeteer. I need to rejoin the battle before the walls fall."
Arcturus swallowed hard, the tips of his fingers trembling as he reached for the object but did not touch it. His voice broke despite his best attempt at composure. "I—I don't know if I can. This magic… it isn't mine. It feels like a thousand threads tangled, each one waiting to choke me if I pull wrong."
Herpo grabbed him by the shoulder in full view of the gathered council. The room hissed with indrawn breaths at the audacity, but Herpo's grip was iron. His yellowed eyes bore into Arcturus's weary ones. "You will. Because Morpheus said you can."
The words hung like a blade over the room. Even the loudest dissenters fell silent, watching as the old alchemist feared and revered in equal measure shoved the weight of destiny onto Arcturus Black's shoulders.
The rune-object between them pulsed once more, its glow spreading across the table, washing over maps and miniature fortresses, as though waiting—hungering for someone to bind the threads together.
Arcturus's jaw clenched. His hand hovered above it, trembling. Around him, leaders from every faction—light and dark—watched, breaths held. Outside, another explosion rumbled, shaking dust from the ceiling beams.
Finally, he exhaled and nodded once, curt, resolute. "Then I will. Magic help us all."
Herpo released him with a sharp, satisfied hiss, already turning toward the door. His robes snapped behind him as he called over his shoulder, "Hold them together, Black. If you falter, we all fall. I will return to the battlefield."