This "just a girl" was about to show them what that meant.
"You think you can hurt them more than you already did? You think you can touch her and leave alive?" Eira shouted, fury roaring from every word. Her wand became a blur as she unleashed a series of precise, targeted spells—Flipendo to knock attackers back, Ventus to destabilize their footing, Stupefy to stun those who dared approach too close.
Some deflected her magic, shielded by their own skill, but many were not so fortunate. One man screeched as his hand was severed mid-cast by a viciously aimed Confringo, smoke and blood erupting from the wound. Others tried to retreat, but Eira's eyes followed them, cold and merciless.
Her chest heaved, every breath burning with fire. The image of Fleur's blood-soaked robes blazed in her mind, feeding her fury until it boiled over.
"You motherfuckers!" she roared, her voice cutting through the screams and fire like a blade. "You think you can lay a hand on her and walk away? You think you can hurt her and still breathe?"
Her wand slashed through the air, power surging at her command.
"Go easy?" Her voice dripped venom. "There will be no mercy for any of you."
She thrust her wand forward, screaming, "Bombarda!"
The nearest cluster of tents exploded in a thunderous blast, wood and canvas ripping apart into a rain of fire and splinters. The ground shuddered beneath the force, flames leaping high as Death Eaters were thrown off their feet, their jeers cut short into panicked cries.
Smoke and burning fabric choked the air, sparks cascading around her like falling stars. Eira stood at the center of it all, eyes blazing, her wrath radiating like a storm given flesh.
"You hurt her," she spat, her voice trembling with rage, "and for that none of you leave here whole."
The reinforcements surged from behind the wrecked tents, cloaked figures brandishing wands, moving with the confidence of predators certain of their prey. But Eira was no ordinary target. She planted her boots into the blood-soaked mud, her white hair whipping in the firelight, eyes blazing with a fury that made the world around her tremble.
She spun in a flawless, lethal arc, wand slicing through the air with deadly precision. Torrents of Aguamenti erupted, drenching the uneven ground, sending attackers slipping and scrambling. Sparks of Expelliarmus shot outward, snatching wands from hands like striking vipers.
Then the fire came. With a deliberate flick, she cast Protego Diabolica, and a circle of blue flames erupted around her, twisting and roaring like a living beast. The heat shimmered the air, reflecting off her hair and casting long, jagged shadows across the chaos. The flames weren't just protective—they were punitive. Any Death Eater daring to step inside felt fire scorch their robes, singe their skin, and drive them back in sheer agony.
Screams split the night. One tried to leap over the fire only to be slammed back, landing in a heap amid flying sparks and splintered wood. Another staggered too close, arms catching ablaze, twisting and shrieking as the flames hungrily licked at him.
The Death Eaters froze, wide-eyed, as the fire blazed around her and the ground itself seemed to bend beneath her will. One staggered back, voice trembling with disbelief.
"How… how can a little girl—" he choked, staring at the flames that danced like a living creature. "—use that… that forbidden spell like that?"
Another muttered, shivering, "She… she's not human. No one should be able to do this. It's impossible… impossible!"
Eira's voice was cold, repeating the same words with madness. "Do you hear me? DO YOU THINK I WILL LET YOU LIVE AFTER HURTING HER?"
The masked attackers froze, their earlier arrogance shattered. Some, even broken and bloodied, tried to flee, stumbling across the mud and debris, their robes torn, limbs bent unnaturally, and bones cracked. They had never imagined facing such raw, unleashed power, such beastly ferocity—they had been completely unprepared for this.
"Run!" one of them barked, clutching a shattered arm. "The anti-apparition spell—this place is trapped! We can't get out!"
Another, staggering on one good leg, hissed, "Then we run toward the woods. There, maybe we can Apparate. Those with door keys can use them!"
A third groaned, collapsing to the ground, clutching a bleeding shoulder. "Are you mad? Half of us are broken! We've lost limbs! How do you expect us to run?"
Panic spread like wildfire. Others began muttering about the consequences. "If the Ministry finds our identities here, we're finished! We'll all be hunted down!"
One, voice ragged and shaking, finally shouted over the chaos, "Let the rest go! The ones about to die—let them go! The rest—run while you still can!"
Eira's gaze swept over them like a predator's. Her lips curled into a cold, lethal smile. "Too late," she hissed, voice cutting through the night. She raised her wand and began casting Stupefy repeatedly, each bolt of light striking with unerring precision. Wizards toppled, stunned, hitting the ground with sickening thuds. A few managed to stagger away, though blood ran freely from gashes, broken limbs, and scorched robes. They stumbled, terrified and trembling, but the ones who had survived were few.
Seven of the attackers already lay dead or fatally wounded, their bodies grotesquely twisted, limbs bent at impossible angles, blood soaking into the trampled grass. Others hobbled, screaming, some missing arms or legs, faces contorted with agony. Eira's fury was a storm, unrelenting and precise, and she allowed no pause.
At the edge of the jungle, the few surviving attackers staggered forward, blood gushing from broken limbs and twisted joints, robes shredded and smeared with mud and crimson. Each step was agony, every breath ragged, yet they forced themselves onward, driven by sheer terror. Some fumbled with door keys, others risked Apparition despite the searing pain in their bodies, desperate to vanish before Eira could strike again.
Eira did not relent. Her wand moved in lethal, precise arcs. Tonitrus Percutiens crackled with furious lightning, arcing perilously close to their limbs, forcing them to dive and spin to avoid being struck outright. Every step they took, she anticipated, cutting off paths, predicting movement, her magic a cage they could not escape. The jungle itself seemed to bend around her fury, shadows flickering with sparks of fire and lightning.
Some tried the door keys, others Apparated away, but all of them did so in pain and terror, bodies mangled, robes torn, and blood streaming like rivers. They escaped, yes—but not whole. Limbs ached, bones threatened to snap further, and the memory of her magic burned in every nerve. Even in fleeing, every moment would be a reminder of the force they had challenged.
Finally, the last of the retreating attackers vanished into the undergrowth, dodging with desperate, erratic magic. Eira's breath came hard, ragged, and her wand lowered for only a moment. Her fury still roared beneath the surface, adrenaline and wrath coursing through her veins.
She had not killed them all, but she had left them worse than death. Broken, bleeding, haunted, every one of them would carry the scars of this night forever. And for that, they would spend the rest of their lives regretting the day they dared touch her, dared harm Fleur.
Eira's eyes swept the battlefield once more, the trampled grass, the scattered and broken bodies, the lingering smoke and sparks.
And among these chaos her eyes fell on a lone figure crouched behind the wreckage, trembling violently. His face was pale, eyes wide with raw fear, yet his voice, ragged and strained, tried to carry the last vestiges of arrogance.
"You… you can't kill me!" he rasped, blood dripping from cuts and bruises, chest heaving. "If you kill me, my family… they'll come after you. My brother… they'll kill you! My family… we're Notts… you can't—"
Eira stepped closer, her boots pressing into the wet, trampled earth. The man's words faltered as he saw the cold fire in her eyes.
"Save your breath," she said, voice low and sharp as steel. She planted her foot on his face, pressing him down into the mud. The taste of earth and blood coated his lips as she pushed harder, grinding him further into the filth. "I don't give a fuck about you. I don't give a fuck about your so-called Nott family, or your brother, or your name. They are nothing. If I wanted, I could erase them. Do you think I care?"
The man's face contorted in terror, tears streaking the grime. "Please… please! I didn't! Others… they made me do it! Please! Don't—"
"Who?" Eira's tone cut through his begging like a whip. "Name them. Now. Every last one of those who ran."
His voice trembled, barely a whisper, as he gasped, "I… I can't… they'll—"
As she was questioning the man about the remaining Death Eaters when an abrupt, commanding voice rang out, making her stop.
"Stop right there!"