When the blazing eyes of the fire dragon locked onto the soldiers—
A wave of primal fear washed over them. Within seconds, countless troops began screaming and firing wildly.
The commander didn't try to stop them. Instead, he carefully observed the effects of their attacks on the target.
But the results… left him shaking his head in disappointnt.
Every single attack was completely ineffective.
The fire dragon didn't even bother dodging. It took all the firepower head-on—without flinching.
The commander turned to Grindelwald, face grim.
"Let's hope your preparations were worth it. Otherwise, we're all dying here."
Grindelwald, watching the dragon attempting a dive from the sky, replied calmly,
"They'll work."
But his words lacked conviction. He hadn't said exactly how well they'd work.
Because the energy radiating from that Fiendfyre dragon… was far beyond normal paraters.
As for "we'll all die here," Grindelwald found it laughable. After all, wizards like them could use Apparition to escape easily.
Of course, that wasn't sothing he intended to say out loud.
A little illusion of camaraderie—even just for appearances—could go a long way toward keeping morale intact.
So, instead of arguing, he simply addressed the gathered wizards:
"Prepare your spells!. We'll launch them together when I give the signal."
He began calculating the distance between the fire dragon and their position.
As it closed in and the searing heat from its body beca almost physically unbearable, Grindelwald gave the order:
"Fire!"
Over a thousand counter-spells burst forth in dazzling streams of light, firing in unison from the wands of every wizard present—racing toward their target.
The fire dragon sensed danger instantly.
Unlike its disregard for conventional weapons earlier, this ti it reacted.
Its five massive heads opened, each maw glowing with infernal flas.
Then—
five colossal, crimson-red fire pillars, each over twenty ters wide, erupted simultaneously, colliding head-on with the incoming spell barrage.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion tore through the skies.
The Fiendfyre dispersed into flickering embers, slowly fading away.
The dragon's breath and the counter-spells had canceled each other out.
Its flas dimd slightly, and the wizards' mana was visibly depleted. Neither side had the upper hand.
The dragon, seemingly sentient, paused briefly—then opened its five mouths again.
This ti, it launched its fire pillars into the sky.
As they soared several thousand ters upward, they split apart mid-air, turning into countless teor-like fla projectiles that scattered in all directions.
They ford a massive canopy of fire, painting the sky a bloody red—like an apocalyptic umbrella of doom.
From the ground, the falling fire teors were both stunningly beautiful—and terrifying.
A direct hit would be no less destructive than a tactical nuke.
Grindelwald imdiately activated their contingency.
Countless faint lights shimred across the armor of the soldiers—activated enchantnts powered by the earlier potions.
As the Fiendfyre teors descended, their flas clashed against these shimring barriers, canceling each other out.
So stronger projectiles did break through, striking the army below—but thanks to the magical reinforcent, no widespread catastrophe occurred.
Losses were contained—barely.
anwhile, the fire dragon, having unleashed such a massive attack, visibly shrank.
Still nacing, but clearly weakened.
Grindelwald issued another command:
"Prepare counter-spells again. Wear it down!"
---
An hour later—
After losing nearly ten percent of their forces, the army finally brought down the Fiendfyre dragon.
They began pushing forward along their pre-planned route.
But things hadn't gone as well at sea.
The navy had beco a fleet of flaming coffins.
Fiendfyre surged dozens of ters high, engulfing entire aircraft carriers.
Panic-stricken sailors leapt into the ocean with their bodies still ablaze—only to be consud mid-splash.
The air force fared the worst.
Despite having a speed advantage, they were utterly outmatched.
It was like eagles picking off chicks.
In less than fifteen minutes, they were wiped out.
---
This ti, because Orsaga hadn't summoned another global thunderstorm, satellites from around the world were able to observe the full battle in real-ti.
Governnts were both shocked by the devastating power of the fire creatures and puzzled as to why Orsaga hadn't done more.
Why hadn't he redirected the other two fire dragon squads to assist?
Why had he let that one dragon be taken out?
---
Dozens of minutes later—
The ground forces finally reached Orsaga's location.
Looking up at the fire dragons circling above and the wizards still working on their towering structure, Grindelwald frowned.
Sothing felt off.
The military commander felt the sa way.
Their enemy didn't seem to acknowledge their presence as a threat at all.
Even the wizards—who should've reacted to incoming enemy forces—didn't so much as glance their way.
After hesitating briefly, the commander decided to test the waters.
"Fire!" he ordered.
At once, guns, cannons, and all sorts of weaponry roared to life.
The wizards didn't flinch. They kept working, completely unfazed.
High above, the fire dragons roared, then dissolved into countless crimson lights that intercepted the incoming attacks.
Then, a massive, semi-transparent whirlpool of fla ford in the air, enveloping the entire area.
At that mont, under everyone's watchful gaze—
A man in a white suit walked slowly out of a nearby building.
Though physically no different from the wizards, the mont he stepped into view, every eye turned to him.
It wasn't due to a spell.
Just pure, natural presence.
All focus was pulled away from the wizards—onto him.
With a casual motion, he tossed an empty soda can into a nearby trash bin before finally turning to look at the army.
Then, he tilted his head back and glanced at the sky. He could feel the satellites watching him.
Orsaga smiled.
"Perfect timing. Let's make this a livestream, shall we?"
In an instant, by his will, the broadcasting equipnt activated again.
All of Earth's communication systems were hijacked once more, forcing the global population to watch a new live broadcast.
The scene?
This exact battlefield.
Orsaga's voice echoed from countless screens:
"Today, we welco a fresh batch of brave warriors. Let's see what they're made of."
All over the world, people tuned in—seeing Orsaga facing off against a fully equipped modern army.
Those who had long despised his cruelty and arrogance lit up with excitent.
"Go get him! You're Earth's last hope!"
"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"
From the cheers, one thing beca clear—
As the villain, Orsaga had sky-high popularity.
Because his hate ter?
Maxed out.
---
Casually flexing his wrist, Orsaga raised his right hand.
The fiery whirlpool around him shattered into sparks, which gathered by his side and ford into two slender fire serpents.
One began spinning clockwise, the other counterclockwise.
Their forms shrank as they spun faster and faster.
Then, guided by the golden glow of his AT Field, they embedded themselves into Orsaga's forehead, forming a radiant, demonic Deathblossom Mark.
In truth, the vast Fiendfyre hadn't disappeared.
It had rely been drawn into Orsaga's body—still spinning in opposite directions, constantly annihilating and regenerating itself—forming a stable internal circuit.
As this process completed—
A faint, circular halo took shape behind Orsaga.
Even ordinary people could now vaguely see Fiendfyre blazing within it.
Orsaga opened his palm, a Deathblossom ford from pure Fiendfyre appeared in his hand.
Raising it with a grin, he said to Grindelwald:
"Compared to waving a wand, I think I prefer casting with bare hands."
Though it all sounded long-winded, the entire transformation took only a few seconds.
Grindelwald, having witnessed everything, was visibly shaken.
"You fused Fiendfyre into your body? How?!"
Orsaga answered casually:
"Spells are just a form of manipulating magical energy. I've always loved playing with fire—so I took what I know of magic and fla, combined it with Eastern theories of Qi, and shifted the spellcasting process inward. Once a stable circuit forms inside the body, the magic no longer dissipates—it grows. I call this technique Spell Circuit Rotation."
"One stable loop is 'First Rotation.' Two loops? 'Second Rotation.' And so on. With each rotation, it becos exponentially harder. But in return, the power also increases exponentially."
As he spoke, one circular halo after another ford behind him.
Until there were nine in total.
Each ring now glowed with radiant gold, their once faint outlines now sharp and blazing.
The commander, completely bewildered, turned to Grindelwald:
"What the hell are you two even talking about?"
He gestured subtly to his troops—ordering them to prepare to strike.
Sothing about Orsaga's transformation felt ominous.
He couldn't understand the details, but the overwhelming light and sound effects made it obvious:
This guy's power had just skyrocketed.
Grindelwald, pale and shaking, muttered:
"We're dead…"
As a powerful wizard, he could sense it clearly—
The magical pressure emanating from Orsaga was now thousands of tis stronger than before.
Orsaga smiled and said:
"Spell Circuit Rotation — Ninth Rotation — Incineration."
With his words, the nine fiery halos exploded behind him.
Endless light and heat surged forward—completely swallowing the army.
Seconds later, the blinding brightness faded.
Silence returned.
But where the army once stood, now lay a crater, dozens of ters deep and thousands of ters wide.
Nothing—no soldier, no weapon, no trace—remained.
Orsaga's voice echoed from the screen:
"Unfortunately, our brave warriors have all perished. Dear viewers, we'll see you again in a few hours~"
And with that, the livestream abruptly cut out.
_____
T/N:
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