Voldemort was standing at the apex of the triangle, directly facing Antonio. Behind him, two people stood in each row, the distance between them increasing as the two sides of the triangle widened. There were six rows in total for twelve Death Eaters, but since one of them had been killed, the third row contained only a single person.
Antonio narrowed his eyes as he watched the movements of Voldemort and his followers. As the Dark Lord had correctly guessed, Antonio was spent and exhausted.
His magical reserves were empty, and he needed time to recover. The sudden drain of his magic had also left him physically weak and he was gasping for his breaths.
It was true that even in this condition, he had enough confidence in his skills to hold his own against Voldemort, but only if what the Dark Lord had shown thus far was the peak of his abilities.
Antonio wondered what he could truly achieve by stalling. In his current state, he could neither kill Voldemort nor stall him indefinitely. He had probably hoped that as he fought, he might be able to conceive a plan.
It was not as if he was expecting reinforcements of any kind. He was already standing in the supposedly most secure place in Wizarding Britain.
All the people at the top of the food chain, the Minister of Magic, heads of various departments of the Ministry, the powerful Lords of the Wizengamot, and the Aurors were already present in the Wizengamot hall.
And they were cowering in fear. It was the most respectful phrase Antonio could think of to describe them.
A dozen Death Eaters and Voldemort were holding the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic for ransom, and no one had the guts to oppose them. They were terrified and horrified of the man and did not have the courage to even consider putting an opposition to him.
The only glimmer of hope or expectation he had left was that perhaps the Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries might show up. True to the name of their department, they were a mysterious lot. Like most people in Wizarding Britain, even Antonio had no idea what their actual goal or purpose was. And they, who were also tasked with the responsibility of protecting the ministry world, were the only people Antonio was expecting very little to appear.
However, the new formation that Voldemort had suddenly created changed everything.
The realization sank in that while Voldemort had been operating at full power, he still possessed a trump card. An ace which could change things in a moment.
Although Antonio was unsure of the specifics, he understood that Voldemort was deploying an ancient runic formation to boost his power, using the Death Eaters as his tethers. The triangle was a very significant representation in the language of runes. Though simple in form, its usage was incredibly complex. And it was used for powerful formation with powerful results.
And as Antonio was expecting, dark coloured but hazy strips began emerging from beneath the feet of the Death Eaters. From each man, these strips extended in two directions. One connected to the person in front of them, while the other linked to the person at their side. One of the points remained empty, where the dead Death Eater should have been, creating a hollow space within the triangle.
Voldemort raised his wand and began weaving it in a complex pattern. The rest of the Death Eaters, as if connected by an invisible thread, imitated his wand movements in complete synchronization. As Voldemort continued his weaving, thin dark lines with a metallic glint began emerging from the strips and from beneath their feet. These lines extended and interacted, crisscrossing and merging and splitting as complex patterns began to emerge within the triangle.
With the appearance of each pattern, the presence of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord grew heavy. The atmosphere surrounding them turned oppressive, suffocating, and evil. The feeling of darkness surrounding them had intensified.
A few moments later, a smoky haze began to erupt from the surface inside the triangle, enveloping the Death Eaters. The haze thickened around them until it became difficult for those in the Wizengamot to make out their features. They were nothing more than blurry figures to the eye.
The haze had spared Voldemort. It did not surround Voldemort as it had done for the Death Eaters. His appearance remained as clear as it had been, if not brighter. Every person in the room, even those with a weak sensitivity to magic, could feel the sudden spike in the power radiating from him.
They could not be certain if he had become twice as strong as he was previously, but he had surely grown significantly more powerful.
Minerva and Edmund leaped through the air, landing just beside Antonio. Worry and anxiety were etched into their expressions and their eyes. Their adversary had suddenly become stronger, while the only man with the ability to counter him had been weakened.
"Lord Olario," Edmund and Minerva mumbled almost simultaneously, their hands tightening around their wands.
Antonio did not react. His eyes remained focused on the transformed Voldemort, his face impassive. Physical and magical exhaustion were striking him hard, but he forcefully kept his spine straight and his shoulders high.
"Antonio Olario," Voldemort chuckled, his voice echoing through the hall. A shiver passed through the spines of the spectators. It was as if the Dark Lord's mere voice was powerful enough to force them to their knees.
"Are you ready?" the Dark Lord asked. "Ready to live the last few moments of your life?"
"Even so," he continued, "consider yourself powerful and lucky that I had to use my ace card to vanquish you. But it does not matter. I will use you to set an example, showing the world what happens when one messes with me and mocks my ideology."
The words had barely left his mouth before he jabbed his wand. It was a simple movement, performed with an almost lazy demeanor. The jab was effortless, but the blue coloured spell that erupted from it was anything but simple.
Antonio did not even flinch as the spell passed dangerously close to his face, striking the stone wall behind him. A loud boom followed as a large section of the wall was reduced to rubble, sending up a cloud of dust and debris. A collective gasp echoed through the hall as the spectators tried to process the sheer extent of Voldemort's power. The gaping hole in the wall staring back at them as if reminding them that what they had witnessed was not a dream or their imagination but a reality.
Voldemort stood there with a smirk on his face, taunting Antonio. He had not missed; it had been deliberate. It had been a show of absolute power before the actual hunt began.
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