The source of the attack was now clear. Twenty-two masked figures, Death Eaters cloaked in shadow and firelight, moved like predators encircling their prey. A Muggle family of two parents and their terrified children had been dragged into the open clearing, corralled like cattle for slaughter.
The father was flung into the air with a flick of a wand, spinning helplessly before crashing back to the ground with a sickening crack. His groan was met with cruel laughter, echoing through the chaos like a chorus of jackals. One Death Eater leaned lazily on his wand, sneering, "He squeals like a pig. Shall we see how many bones we can break before he faints?"
The mother's screams tore through the night as she was jerked by invisible strings, forced to dance grotesquely for the amusement of her captors. Each movement twisted her body unnaturally, her arms snapping back and forth as though she were a marionette with a sadistic puppeteer. Her children clung to each other, sobbing hysterically, their voices lost in the rising madness.
A tall Death Eater grabbed one of the children by invisible force, levitating the boy high above the crowd before dangling him upside down. The child's shrieks pierced the night, his small hands clawing at the air, while the masked figure below jeered, "Look! Look how he kicks! Like a frightened rat in a trap." Another laughed, replying, "Careful dude drop him too soon and the fun's over!"
The girl was next. She was dragged across the ground, her dress tearing on the dirt and stones. One Death Eater flicked his wand, and her cries were silenced—not by mercy, but by magical gagging, her mouth forced shut as tears streamed down her cheeks. They passed her from wand to wand, flinging her about as if she were nothing more than a toy. Each cruel toss drew howls of laughter, as though her terror were the punchline to some private joke.
They weren't fighting. They weren't hunting. They were playing. Playing with lives.
Eira's heart pounded, each beat hammering with rage until her vision blurred. She could hear their laughter, their mocking voices, their delight in torment and it burned her like fire. Every scream of those children, every broken sob of the mother, carved into her as though it were her own.
The Death Eaters were drunk on their own cruelty, reveling in it, savoring the power and helplessness before them. To them, the Muggle family wasn't human. They were props—objects to twist, break, and discard.
She raised her wand, her lips tight and her jaw set. "Gravitas Auctus!" she shouted.
The air shifted. At first, it was subtle—like a faint pressure humming beneath the chaos—but within moments it grew into something monstrous.
A crushing weight descended over the clearing, unseen yet undeniable. The Death Eaters, laughing just seconds ago, staggered as though invisible hands pressed them down. The air thickened, suffocating, every breath like inhaling molten lead.
The first to collapse fell with a startled cry, his knees shattering as the force drove him into the ground. Another clawed at his mask, wheezing, his ribs snapping audibly one by one under the mounting pressure. Their jeers and mockery dissolved into screams.
Then the true breaking began.
Bodies buckled grotesquely, spines arching until bones cracked like dry branches. One tall figure, who had been dangling the Muggle child moments before, shrieked as his arms were wrenched downward. His shoulders tore from their sockets with a wet pop, bones splintering through his robes as blood gushed in thick streams. The wand slipped uselessly from his broken fingers, clattering to the dirt.
Another tried to fight, jabbing his wand desperately, only for the force to drag him flat. His jaw shattered on impact, teeth scattering across the blood-soaked ground. The scream he tried to make came out as a bubbling gargle, crimson foaming at his lips.
The central cluster of Death Eaters bore the brunt of it. Pressure like a mountain pressed into their bodies, crushing flesh and bone alike. Their chests caved inward, ribs snapping and puncturing lungs with sickening cracks. Blood sprayed from their mouths as they convulsed, eyes bulging in horror behind their masks.
One particularly defiant figure clawed at the earth as though he could crawl away, only to feel his spine grind and collapse under the weight. His last sound was a wet, animal howl before silence claimed him.
The ground grew slick beneath them. Blood spilled freely, soaking into the soil, pooling in dark rivers that gleamed under the firelight. The scent of iron filled the air, mingling with smoke and the acrid tang of fear.
The Death Eaters no longer looked like predators. They were prey caught in a merciless vice, writhing and breaking one by one. Their laughter had turned to shrieks, their arrogance to terror. Some begged, others choked on their own blood, but none escaped the relentless pull crushing them down.
Masks cracked and split, revealing twisted faces contorted with agony. One man's eye burst under the pressure, spraying his cheek with a streak of scarlet as he wailed. Another's arm bent backward until the bone tore free of the skin, dangling grotesquely beside him.
They had toyed with lives moments ago, but now the game was theirs to suffer. And the ground beneath them drank deeply of their punishment.
Eira darted forward, her boots splashing through the blood-soaked soil as she reached the two children. Their small bodies trembled violently, their cries ragged and broken. She dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around them, pulling them against her as though her own warmth could shield them from the horrors surrounding them. Behind them, their mother lay crumpled in the dirt, unconscious from exhaustion and terror, her chest rising and falling shallowly.
"Stay with me," Eira whispered fiercely, her voice breaking as she held the children tighter. Their little fingers dug into her robes, clinging as though letting go meant certain death.
With a sweep of her wand, she pulled the mother's limp body close, then with another firm gesture she placed all three just beyond the invisible boundary of the field. They landed together in a heap on the grass, safe for now. The children did not move. They only stared, wide-eyed, frozen in shock, their sobs caught in their throats. Their terror was so complete they could barely breathe, let alone scream.
One of the Death Eaters—his mask cracked, his arm bent unnaturally but still clutching a wand—staggered to his feet. Spitting blood, he sneered, his voice sharp and venomous.
"Try something, you useless fuckers!" he roared at the others, eyes blazing behind his mask. "She's just a fucking girl!"
A streak of red light erupted from his wand, hurtling toward her.
Eira didn't flinch. Her eyes narrowed, her fury sharpening to a razor's edge. With a fluid motion, her wand flicked, and the curse dissolved against her shield as though it were smoke. She didn't even pause. With a single, sharp gesture she cast Depulso, sending the Muggle family sliding further out of the battleground, well beyond reach of stray spells or falling bodies.
The children screamed as they were propelled backward, but when they came to a stop, they were unharmed. Their mother stirred faintly in the grass, but none of them dared move closer. They could only sit in paralyzed silence, watching the nightmare unfold from the edge.
Eira turned back to her attacker. Her grip on her wand tightened. The mocking laughter still echoed in her ears, and her rage blazed like wildfire.