-Break-

8th of February 1943

Jacoby Dachemov POV

The sun hung low in the sky, its light casting an orange tint to the sky as it was distorted through white bare clouds, its strength waning as it moved like clockwork towards the horizon to disappear once more until it was time for dawn but tonight, its brightness would not be missed, no…

The fields were alight with spell fire, great shows of magic, terrible and deadly, were brought to the world tonight as death and destruction were the odes of this night.

Dachemov's wand whirled and twirled in a mayhem of death, a symphony of carnage and savagery as he cut through one, two, six, ten men. He smiled a grim smile as he twisted and jumped over the corpse of his most recent victim, evading a particularly nasty curse before he brought his wand to bear.

He had his own symphony, his own melody to add to the songs of destruction and violence that were being played all around him. Explosions, screams of pain and rage were the songs of choice, the choir that played to the rhythm of the Master of the choir.

It was a balm to his soul, the comfort of being in the presence where death was strong, growing stronger still, and that would etch itself forever into the lands, into the blood soaked soil.

He'd always had a strange view about death, seeing it as the benevolence that it was.

There was beauty in the face of a halved enemy, their face frozen in pained agony, in the silent screams of tortured men who're suffering greater than their bodies can handle, moments before their souls passed into the great unknown.

With but a spoken word, a wave of the wand, all of that beauty is brought forth.

For what is beauty but in the eye of the beholder, and what could be more beautiful, to him, than contributing to the cycle of life, to those who had dealt it so freely to others?

Whose bodies would nurture the fields that had been slashed and ruptured by those who had sought to soak other fields with other blood, blood that was far more untainted and more innocent?

Nothing was more beautiful.

And was it not poetic beauty?

The reapers becoming the reaped?

He doubted many would view it as such.

But, then, who said beauty had to be wonderful?

The magic in his veins hummed, thrummed in palpable excitement, contentment, as he waded in and out, one duel, one fight at a time.

He side stepped an errand curse as he trudged forward, his steps quickening until he broke into a sprint, his wand swept in a wide arc, the glowing tip of his wand left a trail of faint white light, an invisible scythe cut through anything it could, this time through a man whose shield wasn't strong enough to protect him from the curse that had cut him in two.

Blood splattered onto the half frozen, half muddy earth, the waters gaining a reddish tint. He paused, his steps faltering to a standstill and took a moment with morbid curiosity to watch the man die moments after his intestines flopped onto the earth like oversized flubberworms.

Pleas, cries of mercy and curses rolled from the tip of the man's tongue, until, not long after, the life left the man, his eyes having turned unseeing orbs. As he rushed past the dead man, his wand at the ready, part of his mind wondered.

The topic of death was a curious thing in his family, he mused.

"Smert' ne zabirayet starykh, no spelykh" He murmured beneath his breath. 'Death does not take the old but the ripe'. His mother used to say that, when his father disappeared for weeks on end.

He remembered when that old proverb took a new meaning for him, when there was a different angle to the little wisdom the proverb offered.

His father fought in the secret war during the Crimean war, the secret war between the Ottoman mages and the Magical Russian Empire for dominance around the Black Sea. Neither side had wanted the scrutiny of the ICW but the Crimean war had allowed old grudges to rise, especially between the old Romanov Dynasty, the magical ones that is.

Constantinople was a special city, not just the for the muggle Russian, but also for the magical peoples around the Black Sea. Constantinople was a city steeped in ancient magic, not unlike Rome and Alexandria. The city was convergent on several leylines at different points making it a remarkably magical place.

Only Babylon and Thebes rivalled Constantinople in terms of the strength of magic of the land in the city but only the latter remained in existence, and only the latter remained untainted, Babylon having had their leylines weakened and realigned away from the ancient city, now a mere ruin, whereas Thebes was a wound, the leylines having almost shattered from whatever rituals that had been conducted there.

The fighting had been brutal, both sides despising the other and made it fully aware in their ruthless and barbaric actions, all because one side believing that they were there to defend what was theirs whilst the other believed they were the rightful heirs of the mages of the Byzantine Empire – not that they realised that most of the families in the Byzantine Empire had long since died out or taken new names far from the former territory.

His father had gone to war when he'd been just born so he'd never met the man until he was almost of school age so he'd only known his father to be temperamental with little to redeem the damaged and angry man he was.

He'd never forget the rage and coldness that had existed in his father's' eyes the one time he'd defied father. The last time he'd defied him until he was independent and matured.

His father's eyes had been obsidian, different from the velvet black that it tended to be in his better moods, molten wrath cooled in a kind of anger that left chills running down your spine, the kind of anger that left you losing feelings in your limbs, as if you were struck by frostbite.

He'd known that those eyes had not seen a son, an heir in that moment. Simply an enemy to destroy, to savage and to eviscerate, such was the intent and rage in those eyes.

Only the voice of his mother had, barely, snapped his father out from killing him and it was the last time he'd had a proper conversation with his father, both ignoring each other as much as they could.

He'd always believed his mother had meant that the young and strong were taken whilst the old withered and died, watching their young die. It was perhaps the real meaning behind the worlds.

Though he suspected after that episode she'd meant that he was already dead, the war having taken him just as it had taken most of his friends and family.

He'd taken it to mean something similar after that incident with his father, one that has shaped the rest of his life from that moment onwards. Death was a release, a release that would come eventually but the old were the unlucky ones, the ones who would have bear what the ripe had been lucky to achieve.

His father would have been better off dying with his wand in his hand, fighting and dying alongside his comrades and his kin than to live decades as a pale shadow of what he was, haunted and guilt ridden with an estranged family who could not understand and he would not let understand.

Perhaps that was why he'd joined the ICW as soon as he could, Dachemov mused to himself. To prove that he could handle it better than his father, after having seen what his father turned into after his war.

He'd joined an elite force within the ICW, at the time, a small one, that hunted Dark Wizards that were…problematic to the Statute or the Ministries that had petitioned the ICW to take care of the problem for them.

He was…excellent at it. He relished the challenges, the justified deaths he'd caused, the near deaths he'd experienced but none had released him yet of this mortal coil.

He was not suicidal, far from it.

"Percutio, Viscera Extractum, Avello Viscus, Percutio, Coepia" Jacoby sounded off in quick fashion, his wand a blur as he moved as he cast, the slightest of wand movements flowing into one another.

He always felt that his spells were more powerful when he intoned them though he suspected a part of him simply preferred the look of his enemies' eyes when he used the Dark Arts so blatantly.

He chuckled softly to himself as he ducked and weaved, his feet taking firm ground despite the slippery nature of the ground.

He was not suicidal, there were far too many battles to be fought, to be won, enemies to deal death to.

He proved to be better than his father, at least in that regard. Though in the back of his mind he knew that where his father had been consumed by his thoughts and his guilt, he'd ensured he was alone and never idle, never at rest, always chasing death like it was an old flame.

His magic roiled ever so slightly underneath his skin, each movement, each spell fired was methodical, measured as he salivated the moment, wishing to extend his fitness.

Frost fire poured from his wand, a curse that would flash freeze enemies if it was struck on flesh. The enemy shielded against it with a bronze round shield but lost his balance under the strain of the deadly curse.

He swivelled his wand and with a jab sent a stream of concussive curses that gonged against the bronze shield, each curse denting it inward again and again before the enemy dashed the dented shield towards him that transformed into a large harpoon that ate up the distance.

Jacoby twisted and rotated his wand with an upward flick, the earth transforming into a large hand just before the harpoon passed above it. The large hand construct was destroyed but the harpoon was knocked out of the way slightly and it veered into the distance.

The enemy was joined with another of his comrades, both of them pairing up on attacking Jacoby.

They attacked uncoordinated but they were adept enough as they traded volleys of curses.

Constructs after constructs were raised and destroyed, the Dark Arts blackened the earth as spells were batted away or evaded. His blood sung in the heat of the battle, revelling at the challenge these presented. He dispatched one of them with a well-timed transfiguration, having transfigured the enemy's robes into glass, unbalancing the man before shattering the glass and ripping the man apart with thousands razor sharp glass.

He weaved out of the way from a scything curse and he raised his wand and with a smooth move brought the tip of his wand down at a slight angle, sickly green acid was brought forth and the agonised screams of his enemy as the acid music to his ears.

He moved onto the next battle and he lost all sense of time, flowing from one battle into another. He smiled to himself.

Was there any surprise that he felt most alive when he was fighting to the death?

He felt slight tremors in the soil but ignored it as he came to face his next opponent, sidestepping a curse before he conjured a fire whip and lashed out at the man in front of him.

The young man slashed at the fire whip with an elemental wind spell, cutting the fire whip apart but Jacoby raised the ante and sent a slew of curses at the young man, flowing seamlessly from one spell chain into another.

The young man did an excellent job dodging most of the curses though he fell foul to the dark variant of the blasting curse, the curse having broken through the man's shields.

The young twisted into the fall and cast a modified siege spell, several factors more powerful than the standard concussive curses but also more magically draining. 'Not bad' Dachemov mused to himself as he found himself grudgingly liking the young man, at least his intelligence.

Jacoby threw himself to the side, avoiding the curse but not the debris the curse spat out from the earth and he grunted as he was hit by some of the larger fragments but he righted himself and he landed roughly on the tortured earth, the soil having been battered by this or that spell, his knee slightly bent to set him himself right when his foot slipped on the mud before he took a few moments to re-set himself.

The young man was getting back to his feet and Jacoby took the opportunity to look across the battlefield. When they arrived, in force, they'd found the enemy waiting on them several miles from the Mannheim stronghold.

It hadn't taken a genius to discover that Grindelwald had discovered of their plans. Unfortunately, there was no recourse for retreat, this, this had been very well understood by all even if most did not like it.

They'd hoped to ambush Mannheim, to take it in a quick fashion, just as what was happening in Belgium and Switzerland.

But alas…

The choice the enemy had made had been in a clearance within a small, local forest, not an ideal location and they were discovering just that. They'd prepared the location well as he'd seen several men fall into traps that been laid into the battlefield.

There was little to do but to play into their hands and to adjust if they could. They'd come too far, too long for any ideas of retreat even if their numbers were slightly less than the enemy's.

His eyes glanced at Sinclair who was battling with a couple of men with a number of men within his division – most of them Americans.

The battle had initially been composed of two sides wary of the other but firm in their resolve until tensions broke and fights broke out. The battlefield was chaotic, streams of men fighting against one another, the sole purpose of whittling down the other's numbers.

All sense had departed, no complex strategy was played out.

It was perfect.

He'd never been one to fight in an organised, coordinated fashion so he'd set off on his own, fighting and dispatching all those who he came across, repeating it again and again.

His eyes snapped back to the young man who'd he'd noticed had shifted slightly.

He scrutinised his enemy, someone who has lasted longer than anyone else he'd yet battled with, a relatively young looking man who wore a snarl on his face. He had ringlets of blond hair and deep blue eyes that reflected his Northern origins. He would not be the first one that would snarl and rage at Jacoby tonight. Neither would he be the last to die having lost that snarl and a look of agony and fear on his face. His eyes went to the ring on the young man's finger and his eyes widened marginally.

"So the heir of Kolffsson has thrown his lot with Grindelwald?" Jacoby asked in Finnish in an amused, interested tone as he eyed the young man.

The Kolffssons were a family of Finnish descent, one of the few magical families that descended from an ancient enclave of magicals in the very Far North, one that was mostly dead these days. They were not wealthy but they were a respected family.

The young man was slightly taken aback before he scowled "Lord Grindelwald's cause is righteous." He spat out responding in his mother tongue, as if that explained everything.

'The foolishness of the youth' he supposed to himself.

Jacoby chuckled softly as he pulled at the edges of his right sleeve before he readjusted his worn robes. "Everyone's cause is righteous" Jacoby said amused. He was not that far from a hundred years old and he'd seen a great many proclaim they had a righteous cause.

Most of the time it was a mere excuse for something, often some kind of power grab. The rare few that weren't power hungry idiots, the few that weren't delusional megalomaniacs, in some way or another did have some truth to their proclamation.

And yet, it was still a matter of perspective, one that many could share and one that none could share.

In the end it mattered not because of all them believed their cause allowed them to get away with acts that were unacceptable. Or simply their cause was inconvenient to the ICW or the respective Ministries.

Heir Kolffsson scowled angrily before he schooled his face, his wand at the ready but his eyes inquisitive "You fight like us" he waved his free hand at their surroundings.

The ground trembled slightly again, Jacoby noticed absentmindedly.

"Why do you fight against us? You do know that Lord Grindelwald would welcome you with open arms" Heir Kolffsson eyes glinted "Why do you fight to protect the muggles and those who want us to supplicate to them?" his voice was frustrated and entreating.

"If you think we're fighting to protect muggles, Heir Kolffsson, then you are greatly mistaken" Dachemov looked at him with a tinge of amusement.

"You're fighting for the ICW, the organisation that protects them" Kolffsson spat out, his eyes flashing in anger "It is the same thing."

"And what makes you think I'm not fighting for Mother Russia?" Dachemov said with a curl of the lips. He shouldn't be humouring him but he was a little curious about the young man, he was, after all far from home.

Kolffsson's eyes became slightly lidded "Your profile doesn't suggest that you care about your homeland" Jacoby almost thought he said that a little disdainful.

Jacoby's eyes sharpened at that "Ah…" he breathed out a little, growing a little more serious. "So you know about me then?" If Kolffsson recognised him by sight then that meant it was very likely that Kolffsson was ranked high up, perhaps not a lieutenant but perhaps someone who was in the confidence of one.

Kolffsson's eyes narrowed slightly before he continued "Do you not believe we are superior to muggles?" Kolffsson posed to him, trying again, ignoring Jacoby's probe.

Dachemov let it go and chuckled before shook his head "Of course we are." He eyed Kolffsson who looked almost surprised at his admittance "The muggles are simple animals." Dachemov said dismissively. The muggles were only good for farming.

There were too few elves in the world to take care of farming.

Kolffsson looked triumphant. Dachemov pitied the naïve boy.

This war was not about muggles. It was, at best, a distant third or fourth.

"So you do see." Kolffsson's eyes shone in victory "Lord Grindelwald seeks to free our people from the noose that is the Statute of Secrecy, to free us from being beholden to the muggles and to take back this world that rightly belongs to us" Kolffsson spoke with fervent belief, the kind of belief that Dachemov had witnessed again and again in the youth that were often ensnared by passionate and charming Dark Lords though he sensed that it was not as simple that.

How curious.

Kolffsson continued "Do you know what the muggles" he spat out angrily "Are doing to this world, what they're doing to the lands?" Kolffsson's rage shone through his eyes "They are poisoning her and we have to stop them before they go too far"

Dachemov's lips curled "I hadn't taken for Grindelwald's followers to care for the Earth" he leaded with his question, genuinely curious.

Kolffsson scoffed "My clan has always had a close connection to the Earth." His eyes glinted before he scowled "We can feel the decay of the Earth as the muggles multiply again and again, all whilst taking more and more, destroying more and more. It's not so bad back home but here…in Germania…Central Europe?" He shook his head "It's a wound on her and it is worsening" he snarled out, his wand hand trembling in anger.

Dachemov's eyebrows almost raised slightly. He hadn't known the Kolffssons had an affinity to the land. He supposed it made sense. In the biting cold of the near Arctic lands, survival was difficult and only the most skilled or in this case, those who could feel more of the land, would be able to endure the harshest of winters.

Magic was a curious thing like that. It was shaped and shapes in mysterious ways. It was not farfetched to believe that there was a clan that had a strong connection to the earth.

Dachemov couldn't help it, his usually composed nature weakening and barked out a laugh, a deriding laugh escaping his lips. "Child…" he sighed once he stopped his laugh.

He heard the young man snarl but ignored it "You do not see, not clearly" Dachemov drew himself up "Grindelwald does not care for the things you care for." He eyed the young man carefully "He will say what you want to hear, what you wish to change"

Their eyes, either unwilling to change their stances.

"And that doesn't matter" Kolffsson said finally after the moment past, Dachemov spotting a hint of something he couldn't quite identify. "He is the vehicle of change that will rid us of the muggles and their poison." Kolffsson raised his wand slightly, the tip glowing deep orange. "And that…that is enough for me. It is my duty as a Kolffsson."

Dachemov inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. He could respect an enemy that had a deeper reason than power or hate. In many ways, they were not dissimilar, each having taken on a cause that was personal that aligned with the armies they fought in.

Dachemov straightened himself out and with smooth movement got into a stance, the tip of the wand pointing downwards, his wand arm low at his side at a 30-degree angle, his arm slightly bent as he angled himself at the young man.

The young man continued to look at him, his eyes searching for a brief moment before he nodded. "Very well" he said in a tone that was acknowledging. His eyes glinted dangerously.

Kolffsson's wand snapped at speed at him "Minuo", a curse that caused severe uncontrolled blood loss, the young man snarled before a stream of deadly curses spewed from his wand.

They blurred into action, their wands hurling spell after spell as they sought to end the other. Jacoby was thrown aside as he blasted off his feet with a well-timed explosive curse before he leaned into the fall and acrobatically got back to his feet but Kolffsson was already taking action as a sickly purple spell raced towards him and he dodged out of the way before he brandished his wand in a single fluid motion that ended with a slash, a bisecting curse eating up ground as it streaked towards Kolffsson.

Kolffsson widened his arms, and Jacoby could see him slightly shimmering with magic before Kolffsson stomped his right foot on the ground and the earth morphed and transfigured from earth into metal and with a flick of the wand, a ten centimetre thick plate metal stood between him and the curse.

The bisecting curse tore through the metal until it halted having cut through most of it. Jacoby hadn't been idle and he hurled scything, sawing and cutting curses at Kolffsson, most of them intercepted by one form of metal or rock.

The sounds of tortured metal and clanging dominated in the air, the creaking sounds of metal reforming and deforming again and again tore through the air as they met his spells until one of his spells got through.

"ARRGGHHH" Kolffsson screamed as one of his curses having gotten through the defences, having struck on the left side of his body, just above the hip. Kolffsson's face morphed from one of pain into one of rage as he struggled to deal with Jacoby continued onslaught as Kolffsson moved the shattered and shards of metal into the paths of the spells that he sent streaming at the young man.

The air shimmered slightly as the young man's anger shone through, even as he slowed minutely due to the injury. The gash just above his hip wasn't life threatening, not quite but they both knew that Kolffsson was at a severe disadvantage now that he was constricted movement wise, even as he closed the wound.

The hairs of the back of his neck rose and with widened eyes, hurled himself to the side before twisting around to face what his magic and senses warned him about. Two thick vines with razor sharp thrones eviscerated the ground he had been on.

He lashed out with his wand, a fiery torrent erupting from his wand. From the corner of his eyes, he saw several other vines, with vicious looking thorns at the tip that almost looked like spears were racing towards him. He swivelled around and saw that there were half a dozen other vines heading his way and he swivelled around again.

He almost got distracted by the almost consistent tremors he felt through the earth but he quickly got back on track.

With a upward motion of his wand and both his arms, he conjured a ten metre tall circle of fire as he rotated around before he jabbed his wand forward, forcing the fiery curtain to rush forward leaving a smoking, burning trail with a small patch left untouched, the patch he stood.

The vines burnt, the hissing and crackling sound filled the air. The fire he conjured obscured his vision but his senses were keen though, apparently not keen enough as jagged shards of metal, in the hundreds, streaked towards him. He hastily conjured a shield but not before some nicked him in the thigh, one jagged shards having hit his thigh bone.

With tremendous effort, he ignored the pain as his shield held against the onslaught. The last of the shards hit his shield and he was surrounded with hundreds of shards that piled up in front of him and with a smooth flick, transfigured them into leopards.

He had the leopards intercept the blind curses that got through the fiery curtain, until suddenly, the spells stopped just as the curtain began to waver.

The fire curtain fizzled out and he was about to send his remaining constructs on the attack but he saw he was alone, Kolffsson having used the opportunity to escape.

"Tssk" Jacoby growled out annoyed before with an absent wave dissipated the construct into water that he flicked towards the burning earth, dousing out the fires.

He spied across the battlefield and his eyes widened. He finally discovered what the source of the tremors was.

"Blyat', velikan? Kogda, chert voz'mi, on poluchil ikh predannost'?" Dachemov cursed as he looked at the marauding giants with a scowl on his face.

The giants were at least 10 to 15 metres tall, from what Jacoby could observe and that meant these were Scandinavian Giants, the largest of the Giant Clans.

Almost thirty giants were storming across the battlefield, hurling several foot long rocks that some of them carried on their backs. He watched with fascination as one of them took one of the rocks and the giant drew back his arm and threw the rock with maddening strength as it was sent flying into the air until almost hit several fighting men. He felt the mild tremble through the earth as it hit.

He looked around and could see that the giants had some success with their wild attacks.

People believed that giants were slow, slumbering lumps of flesh, barely capable of thinking.

They were only partially right. They were creatures that had limited intelligence but the simpletons could be much faster and agile than they looked, deceptively so, as evidenced here as he watched some of the giants racing towards a group of ICW fighters.

Jacoby grimaced as he felt the stinging pain of the shard of metal that had penetrated him. He pulled out the shard of metal and hastily knitted the muscle and skin but the bone had been hit so he'd need a bone knitting potion which he didn't have access to.

He growled as he realised he'd have to be far more careful now. His eyes searched the field and saw Sinclair with a few of his men and with a slow slight limp, decided to make his way towards him.

The battle was far from over, the death toll was immense as neither side gave any quarter. Even injured he'd take a few more men with him before his luck ran out.

He chuckled slightly as he limped forward, his wand at the ready. The sun was still up and had cast an almost blood red light onto the battlefield.

Today would not be a bad day to die, he thought to himself. Though…

He would like to meet Kolffsson once more he thought with a curl of the lips.

-Break-

8th of February 1943

Belgium

De Galle POV

He whistled a jaunty tune as he performed the final checks, his excitement palpable. He walked past each creation, his pride overflowing as he patted them down for good luck, a superstitious habit that carried over from his youth.

He took several steps back, almost skipping in the process and his heels echoed in the cavernous hall, where he was only with his pride, who stood in absolute silence, in absolute obedience keeping him company.

His hands went to the rims of his glasses and he adjusted his glasses carefully, before looking around his eyes surveying all that was in front of him.

The assembly hall was empty, the absolute silence that stretched the large space was like music in ears, the sound of perfection waiting to act. He turned his inspective gaze at his precious creations, his head moving backwards, his chin up in the air as he gazed upwards, his eyes flickering to both of them as they stood at attention, waiting for his instructions.

Their breathing was a low rumble, almost growl like as they stood, the movement of their chests the only thing that signified that they were alive. Their shadows flickered under the naked flames of the torches that wavered and danced in the gusts of air that was released from the distant doors as he heard faint footsteps grow ever louder.

They were his masterpiece, the culmination of his understanding of what made humans tick and what magic could do to create.

His lips thinned into a displeased downturned turn. Not many would understand the majesty of his creation, the great struggle that went into creating a new species.

Especially a species that were true to the myths, to the stories that had been created by fearful simple muggle minds of tribes in North America who mistook feral men with lycanthropy during the days before a full moon as a new creature, one that was disproven to exist thoroughly by MACUSA.

He heard the large double doors creak open, the sound echoing in the cavernous hall and the succession of rapid footsteps filled the room.

The breathing of the creatures stilled, the aura of danger increased magnificently.

He glanced over his shoulders and saw that it was his ever astute assistants. Their footsteps slowed significantly, their faces looking at the two creatures fearfully before one of them swallowed and turned his eyes to De Galle.

"Sir" he began rapidly as he straightened out under his uncaring eyes "We have intruders in the building" he rushed through, his wary eyes flittering between him and the tall imposing creatures.

"I see" De Galle said uncaringly before he turned away from his assistants. Had he noticed, he would noticed that aura of danger increased and his assistants were but a few twitches from the creatures away from running away.

"We've sent the remaining guards to go and stop them" the other one spoke, his voice slightly more courageous "But I don't think it'll be long before they'll break through."

The other interjected "We've activated the traps but there is too many of them to be caught up in them"

The words from his assistants were only registered almost absentmindedly as De Galle looked at his creations with a gleam in his eyes, his lips curling with vicious glee.

"Wesley, Iiko" he said sharply and the creatures looked down at him, their heads swivelling with quick, sharp and precise movement. His eyes glinted "nineteen, bristles, leaving feast, forge, desire…chaos" he listed off the sequence.

The creatures growled in understanding as intelligence began to shine through their eyes. His lips twisted into a sickening smile "Attack the invaders." He paused for a moment before an unholy gleam entered his eyes "Leave one alive."

The words registered in their minds, he could tell "Go" he commanded. His robes fluttered, his hair moved back in the rush of air caused by them moving with incredible speeds, his eyes capturing their retreating forms before they melded away into the shadows.

He heard a shuddering breath being released and he remembered that his assistants were with him in the room and he turned around. They were stricken, he could easily tell with their pale faces and the signs of sweat threatening to form on their foreheads.

He raised an eyebrow when their eyes stopped looking at the direction his creations left and somehow they paled even further. One of them snapped out of it "Sir…what do you want to do with the remaining…patients" he said delicately and carefully.

De Galle chuckled "We'll leave everything as it is, simply hasten their demise if they're alive." Even if, somehow, there are survivors, what more could they do if they saw the remnants of his research? His eyes snapped back to his assistants "Yes, we'll leave everything as it is" He narrowed his eyes dangerously "But have the incomplete works been moved as I asked?" his tone was bordering malicious.

"YES!" one of them blurted out before he cleared his throat "Yes sir" he said in a more composed tone "Everything you've asked to be moved to our other site has been…including the more fragile…valuable patients"

De Galle smiled genuinely and clapped cheerfully "Excellent. Well, boys, it is time to go" he waved at them, his hands moving in a shooing motion "Take the authorised portkeys you've been given to go there." He cast tempus and looked up at them "I wouldn't recommend any other portkey by the way." He paused momentarily "Well…unless you want to see what happens when you hit the anti portkey wards" he shrugged.

"Yes sir" and they rushed past him and he sent an annoyed glare at their retreating backs.

"How rude" he muttered to himself "Not even asking me if I'm coming with them" he sighed dramatically before his lips twisting in a smile. Perhaps he could correct that negligence from them.

He did have some ideas about creating homunculus with human brains transplanted. He was sure he could correct the disconnect between the artificial nervous systems of the magical constructs and the human brain, in time. His eyes shone maliciously.

They shouldn't mind too much, after all, it was for the Greater Good.

His friend's words, words that truly gave the man a chance to recruit him. And, well, the chance of unrestricted research with unlimited funding as long as he did a few useful things was also not a bad selling point.

The Greater Good…

He put his hands behind his back as he moved towards the exits, his mind reflecting back.

An idea that resonated with him so very well, an idea that coexisted with his own, one that is centred on sacrifice.

He'd always been interested in the aspect of sacrifice, from a very early age, once he understood what it meant.

Magic and sacrifice had a deep relationship, always had and always would. Both were empowered by the other and both shared an intrinsic relationship with meaning.

From the moment humans crawled from the caves into the light and gave meaning to their existence, the notion of sacrifice had followed not after.

To placate, to ask for forgiveness, to pray, to hope to deities that took form in the minds of humanity. To sacrifice had meant to offer, to take something and offer in exchange for a boon, for relief or for vengeance.

Until that word was made a mockery by fools with their insolence, unknowing and uncomprehending of what it truly means to sacrifice.

He'd been born from an insignificant branch of the De Galle family, a family that was pre-eminently influential in the Swiss Territories, one that was expected to fall in line, to sacrifice for the family even if there was little gain out of it, at most a daughter being married into the main branch.

He had never paid attention to it, not until he'd become renowned for his research, his first work into the arithmantic relationships that existed in the creation of fire salamanders.

It was then that he was expected to make the necessary, he restrained a snarl, his eyes took on a thunderous glint that poorly hid the rage that behind them, sacrifices for the family and give up the rights of his work, his labour, to the De Galle family that he was tied to by the slightest of threads.

He did not agree to be offered as a sacrifice for their advancement, for their gain.

They'd taken offense to that and had set to ruin him in all the ways that mattered, not going as far as killing him but had done worse and effectively killed any acclaim he could gain, any funding he could find by using their wealth and influence to blacklist him anywhere in Europe.

His eyes darkened spitefully as his face settled into a neutral expression, his lips thinning out into a line.

Well…

They paid for that arrogance in the end. It had left him to be…creative with his research, years of secret experimentation on a bountiful source, muggles, had made him the greatest flesh crafter and, in time, one of the most knowledgeable individuals of the Dark Arts that lived today.

One that he made sure his dearly departed kin had understood before their…untimely demise.

He chuckled softly to himself, his chuckles echoing in the cavernous assembly hall as he crossed the distance towards the double doors.

In many ways, he was thankful to his kin, for truly giving him the opportunity to become free…free from the constraints of morality that he would be blindly adhering to if he hadn't been blacklisted which had given him the opportunity to loosen the chains that held man out of necessity and out of scorn and stubbornness.

He was the freest of them all, free to pursue every single avenue of research, no matter how macabre or violent without that little voice in his head screaming – a voice he silenced so long ago now. And in that purpose, he was making the greatest sacrifice of them all.

For what could be the greatest sacrifice of oneself, to the duty of uplifting their people?

He sighed disappointedly, a sheen of sadness covered his eyes, the same sheen of sadness that hid the madness that existed there.

He shook his head as he passed the threshold of the doors and walked the eerily silent passageways, the sounds of his steps echoing softly in the distance.

They would not consider his offering, his sacrifice for what it is, merely consider it to be another facet of his instability, his insanity.

His lips twisted into a cruel smile. They'd see the labours of his genius soon enough and they'd see what could be created through magic and sacrifice and they'd understand then.

He began to whistle his jaunty tune again, snapping his fingers along the way, ignorant of the creepy quality that it took as the tune filled the silent passageways in front of him.

-Break-

8th of February 1943

Belgium

Amelie Cantona POV

She stunned her opponent before quickly conjuring ropes to bind him. The rest of his comrades were dispatched much harsher.

She clenched her jaw as she watched them pile up the body and threw them to the side, for later identification, mostly for administrational purposes. She knew some of them had surrendered but she had no doubt that it was conveniently not heard.

"Lass" An American voice called out and she turned around and a brown haired man, Rogers, she thought his name was looking at her with an unreadable expression.

"What?" she snapped out, a little more warily than she intended.

His eyes flickered to her stunned prisoner and she moved a little defensively causing him to look at her again "You can't be stunning these men" he said in a harsh tone.

She frowned at him "And why not? We're not here to kill everyone, we're here to stop the war and to bring them to justice". This caused his eyebrows to twitch and she held onto her wand a little tighter.

She was no fool, she knew that many held the same kind of opinion as Rogers did, especially those who had fought in one more than one battle. Rogers was an American Auror, one meant to stand for justice and the rule of law but like so many, war had hardened them and they've lost what was right or not. War brought the worst in people, she saw that clearly.

She despised Grindelwald and his followers for the wanton death they caused, the lies they were espousing when they were killing so many of their kind so ruthlessly. She'd lost her family during the Occupation, she had more right than most to want them dead but she was better, she believed that these people deserved to live with the consequences of their actions.

Before he could response "Rogers!" a voice called out from further ahead in the passageways of the complex and both of them turned around.

Rogers spied her one more look before he left but not before leaving a final word.

"Make sure he won't be free to roam again. He won't get a second chance should he escape" Rogers said without much feeling in his words, the threat of execution apparent in his words.

He walked off in a quick, measured pace.

"Commander" she heard Rogers say in the distance before she turned to her prisoner.

"It seems like we were left a prese…" she managed to overhear before it became to faint. She eyed her prisoner and sighed.

She went into her robes and produced a set of manacles that would bind his magic and would not be able to release him without tapping her wand and incanting a specific charm.

She clicked the manacles around his wrists and the runes glowed for a second before they faded.

They were unable to portkey out, not until they took down the final wards in this place that stopped portkeys working so she'd have to hide him lest he be freed by one of the enemy that they might have missed…though she doubted it.

They'd entered in several locations and circled to the centre of the building, the plan being to root out all resistance. They were close now to the centre of the building though it was odd that they hadn't yet heard back from the other teams as she and her comrades had taken the longer route. Most of the rooms they passed were burnt out purposefully, most of the research and potion labs having been destroyed, unfortunately.

That was an another reason why she wanted a few prisoners and why she was flabbergasted at Martinez's willingness to let his men kill without even trying to extract information, even if he wanted them all dead.

"There is an abandoned room out back where a few other survivors are" one of her French comrades said and she nodded gratefully. The ICW and American task force also consisted with some divisions of French Aurors though it was not the bulk of their people, most remaining in France to bring order back to the country – a decision that likely also played in the scornful way some of the foreigners looked at them, as if they had anything to do with that, she sighed exasperated.

She levitated her prisoner and moved into that direction. She stuffed him in the makeshift prison with the rest of his comrades, all of whom were manacled though she could see most of them were in pretty bad shape.

She left the room and proceeded back where she came from. The faces of the men she came across, all of whom were walking in the opposite direction she was going to, were pale and more than a few shook and she frowned. "What's going on?" she inquired with a pressing tone.

One of them turned to her, his sickly expression changing into an angry one "Go see for yourself" he said in a biting tone and he jerked his head in the direction where she walking to. He walked off without another word and the rest of the men simply followed.

She narrowed her eyes as she stared at their backs. What did they see?

She did as he suggested and made her way towards where she'd been pointed towards. Again and again she was met with disturbed faces on people she knew were battle hardened and were no strangers to the darker side of war and yet they were all disgusted and sickened.

The putrid smell suddenly assaulted her nose and her eyes threatened to water as she gagged. She hastily cast a charm that would dispel foul odours around her and she breathed easily once more. 'That wasn't a good sign' she thought privately. That kind of smell, that strength of smell was far from normal, even in war conditions.

She got to the bend that lead to the room where several men stood by the door, their body postures tense and angry and she steeled herself as she walked past them.

As her eyes turned to one of the beds, it took several moments to realise what she was seeing. For her brain to process the horrific visage that was before her.

She stumbled backward before she gagged and bent over, her hands on her knees as she struggled to keep the contents of her stomach down.

"Horrific isn't it?" a familiar and unwanted voice drew her out of sickened state she was in. She turned with baleful eyes at the offender. Rogers smirked but it was grimmer than it being self-satisfied.

Her eyes flickered towards the beds that laid arraigned and firmed herself to look. They deserved that at least.

The room looked a like a typical muggle hospital room but that was where the similarities ended.

She saw corpses of women and children who died with agonised, anguished expressions on their still, grey, faces that she wondered only captured a mere fraction of the horrors they'd suffered through.

Their bodies were defiled, horrific wounds that spoke volumes of the things they went through, some of them having their internal organs exposed and she had an ill feeling that they'd been alive during the torment.

She straightened herself out, her stomach still feeling delicate and she was more than glad she had the charm still around her.

"That is what the man and those comrades of his are protecting." Rogers said with quiet rage in his voice that did not match up with his stony face.

Her eyes snapped at him "Why do you care? Why do you care if I'm ensuring that we're keeping prisoners?"

His face turned ugly as he stepped into her space and looked down at her, literally and figuratively she suspected "Because you're not doing it because you want to keep prisoners, you're doing it because you're holding yourself a standard that doesn't exist in war" he swivelled his arm around, waving it towards the corpses that were on the bed "doesn't exist in places like this. Mercy to those who silently stand by and even actively aid those bastards is undeserved and you refuse to see that" he almost shouted in her face.

Her wand arm twitched as she stared back with furious eyes. Who was he to say how and what she should think…how she conducted herself?! As if she wanted to grant mercy to these monsters?!

"You might have forgotten" she began slowly with fury laced in her voice "But even in war, I have not forgotten my oaths as an Auror" she paused deliberately as their eyes met with equal fury "And you have. We do not descend to their levels otherwise what are we fighting for" she broke the gaze and turned her eyes to the disturbing bodies "We are here to stop their monstrosity, to provide justice for these poor people, may they be muggle or magical" her eyes snapped back to his and she could see the turmoil in his eyes and for the first time, she could see the tiredness in his eyes. "Vengeance won't end this war, Rogers" she said a little softer but just as stern as before.

It was something she was holding onto. Justice would prevail. She would see the killers of her brother and her parents languishing in prison until the day they died which hopefully would be at least a damn century.

"No..." He trailed off as he veered away from her "It won't. But it will be what they deserve." He said finally before he walked off.

She couldn't deny that, it was something she had to fight herself over again and again. She shook off her thoughts and walked away, her thoughts conflicted.

They made it through deeper into the complex and other than a few skirmishes, it seemed that the complex was deserted. Most of the traps were defused and circumvented as they'd learnt of the traps that the Russians had encountered in their efforts to root out Grindelwald and his followers.

The unease grew more and more as they passed through similar facilities as the one she'd seen though this time she decided not to look, her heart unwilling to be broken for these people any further.

"Where is Millieanou?" she overheard one of her French compatriots say.

"Isn't he at the rear with those two Americans?"

"He isn't, I've just checked."

She turned around with a frown on her face but they walked away towards Martinez and she could tell there was something wrong, not just from the concerned look that Martinez was sporting.

She'd been on edge from the moment they'd entered the complex but she'd considered it natural considering the situation they were in but now…her anxiety levels were reaching heights that reminded her of when Grindelwald attacked the French Ministry.

"Rogers" Martinez called out and Rogers went to him. After a few minutes, Rogers left with half a dozen men back in the direction they came in whilst they continued on.

She walked up to Martinez "Was that a good idea, sir?" she asked boldly. She'd never been one to shy away to ask especially when her instincts were proven her right, most of the time.

He glanced at her with a displeased frown on his face "Whether or not if it's a good idea is not your concern, Junior Auror" he said curtly.

"That is what Anouilh said when I told him that something felt off at the French Ministry before Grindelwald himself attacked" she muttered.

"What?" Martinez halted and swivelled towards her, his eyes now focused.

She looked a little warily "Well, I have an overactive sense of danger. It's screaming right now, just as it was screaming when Grindelwald surprised us at the French Ministry" He stared at her and she shifted uncomfortably "It's a bit of a family trait" she added but she could see that she probably shouldn't have.

Martinez gritted his teeth "Why haven't you said anything? This could have helped" he ground out.

She shrugged uncomfortably "I usually get dismissed before I can so I just…stopped" she finished a little lamely.

"May magic have mercy on us" he grabbed the bridge of his nose before he eyed her after a shake of the head "Girl, that was foolish but no matter" he turned serious "You're certain?" she nodded firmly and he pursed his lips as if it was a validation he needed "I've been feeling uneasy as well…something isn't right."

"Pino, go an-"

An unholy roar tore through the air and it was almost comical how everyone stilled at the sound.

'Merde how I hate when I'm right' she thought grimly as she lifted her wand up high, an act that everyone else did as well.

"Everyone, form up! Partner up" The sound of shattered walls reverberated in the base.

"Now, now, NOW!" Martinez bellowed and just like that she found herself side by side with Martinez.

The sound of the crashes was nearing at a frightening pace and the building shook more and more with each one.

"Do not go for any stunners Ms Cantona" Martinez said a low, stern tone as he looked at her from the corner of his eyes.

She gulped as she glanced at him "I won't."

He nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the direction where'd they'd come from, the same direction that Rogers and his team had gone to investigate. The fact that she could not hear any spell fire was a grim thought. He was a good fighter too. Her hand tightened around her wand and set her face in a hardened expression.

She would survive, she owed it to her family.

-Break-

Aurilius Dumbledore/Credence Barebones POV

His wand was pointed downwards as he strode forward towards his fallen foe.

"When I heard your story, I had felt great sympathy for you" Ramirez said in a scratchy ragged tone as he lay in the dirt on his left side, his arm holding him aloft whilst he looked up at Aurilius, the look of rage, of anger long since departed and he could see a glint of tiredness and defeat in the man's eyes.

"But now…now…Credence" Ramirez said his name with such disdain and fire in his eyes…a mocking wry smile plastered on his face.

His eye twitched slightly at the use of his name so casually. Ramirez laughed harshly before he started to cough up blood and his face contorted in a pained expression before he winced as he settled himself in a more comfortable position.

"Now…I can see that the real tragedy is that you didn't die in New York that day" Ramirez's lips curled cruelly and Aurilius tightened his hold over his wand. "It would have saved so much more suffering if you'd just died" Ramirez's words were cutting and much to his displeasure, they had a ring of truth to it.

"Perhaps" Aurilius said after a moment "Perhaps you are right but things didn't play out that way, did it?" Aurilius said quietly.

He'd chosen his path as much as he despised it.

"No…" Ramirez sighed "It didn't." Ramirez looked to his right side before he looked back at Aurilius "You didn't kill my men, I noticed that you were holding back…" Ramirez' gaze bored into him "Why? You killed the others in your Obscurial form easily enough"

Why did he not kill them? It was a question he was asking himself, has been asking himself. He knew the answer and it unsettled him.

When he was in his Obscurial form, instinct and rage drove him forward and even if he had control, his emotions were deadened all but one aspect; wrath. It was made his form so dangerous, at least when he was in battle. He could cut through armies and feel nothing but rage filled excitement in causing destruction.

His death count when he wasn't transformed paled in comparison to the death he'd dealt in his Obscurus form – one of the reasons that he believed Grindelwald would continue to promise despite knowing that he did not believe in his lies.

Killing in cold blood as he was however…

That was a different matter, one that he never was comfortable with. And now…now he was conflicted more than ever.

In the silence that was wrung, Ramirez had looked at him strangely before his eyes widened, clarity shining through his brown eyes.

"It's not too late you know" Ramirez's tone was soft and he was taken aback by his words.

Aurilius stared at Ramirez with disbelieving eyes and Ramirez chuckled before he winced and coughed painfully. Aurilius cast a numbing charm over Ramirez and he sighed with relief.

"Too late for what?" Aurilius asked tersely finally succumbed to his curiosity, the seeds of newborn hope having been firmly planted, seeds that despite everything he firmly wanted to take root.

Ramirez gaze returned to Aurilius. He waved tiredly around "This…"

"You don't want this do you?" Ramirez's eyes were far too understanding for Aurilius' liking.

Ramirez continued amidst his silence, before the silence could turn suffocating "You asked us to leave and when I refused" Ramirez's eyes seemed to gaze into his soul, a stare that tore through the façade. "You had a look of defeat, of a man who was resigned to his fate, a fate that he had no choice in." Ramirez's words caused him to tightened his grip on his wand and he looked away from those eyes that saw too much of him, that could decode him so easily and he resisted to look at his feet, to bow his head just as he did when he was uncomfortable, when he was retreating into himself.

"I suppose you hardly ever did" Ramirez continued, his voice took on an unreadable quality and Aurilius looked up at him with a snap, anger bubbling in his chest and he was met with a piercing gaze.

"I do have a choice" Aurilius finally found his voice and it was hard, his wand slightly rising, yet it felt like it was as heavy as a ton of weight. "And I have made them plenty. I'm not that child anymore"

"You're not." Ramirez acknowledged "You've not been that child for a long time…but then again who are you?" Ramirez asked of him.

"Are you Credence, the boy who grew up in horrible circumstances but survived or are you Aurilius, Grindelwald's tool for death, terror and cruelty?" Ramirez's words felt like a hammer blow to the chest.

His wand wavered. "Are you the one that shows that there is more, could be more than a tragic but painful end to being an Obscurial or are you the one that proves that there is nothing but pain and death for one such as yourself?" Ramirez pressed on relentlessly, asking question he'd asked so many times of himself.

"You don't know what I've done" Credence said quietly, his wand slightly lowering.

"I don't" Ramirez acknowledged again. He exerted himself to sit up slightly and met Credence's eyes.

"There is no redemption for what I've done" Credence laughed haltingly, the guilt he'd been carrying showing through his voice, the flashes of those people he'd killed, the flashes of those poor people restrained and experimented upon being brought to the forefront of his mind.

'It's for HER' he thought again and again and again, trying to dispel the unwanted images that threatened to drown him in guilt.

'But it's never what she wanted, was it?'

"Perhaps" Ramirez acknowledged, a little bit more softly now "But that doesn't mean you can't try."

Credence stared at Ramirez for a moment before he turned away "I don't know how you can say that. I killed your comrades, you would not forgive me for that, no one would." Aurilius returned his gaze at Ramirez, eyes slightly hardened "Not so long ago, you looked at me with hatred in your eyes." Aurilius scoffed as he clenched his fist.

"Aye, I did" Ramirez nodded "And you're right. I do not forgive you, not right now, not when its fresh, maybe I never will." Aurilius' face didn't' change but he felt vindicated, even if it was regretful. "But…" Ramirez gazed away from Aurilius

"I can see myself forgiving you. You were not given many chances, if any, to be better, to be more than the butcher of Grindelwald, the dagger in the dark." Aurilius silently drew in his breath. The Dagger of the Dark was a phrases he'd heard described about him, whispered about him.

He hated that phrase more than anything.

"You don't understand…" Credence trailed off, his voice wavering.

"Then make me." Ramirez urged.

Aurilius snarled, his magic riled, surged and he snapped off a Reducto that he cast over Ramirez's shoulder. Ramirez flinched slightly but had his eyes fixed on him, his expression neutral despite the threat, despite the danger he was in.

"I'm willing to listen…Credence" Ramirez pressed, unfaltering and confident and Credence felt himself crumble little by little by the guilt, by the seemingly sincerity of Ramirez.

"I've wanted to leave for years" Credence began slowly, his voice softer, more fragile than it had been for years.

"Why didn't you?" Ramirez asked carefully, his face measured and focused.

"He has something I need…research…knowledge"

"Nothing that the ICW wouldn't be able to help with" Ramirez said confidently.

Aurilius scoffed, fury shining through his eyes "THE ICW?!" He snarled out, his wand rising higher until the tip was pointed directly at Ramirez. "The ICW hunted me" His eyes bored into Ramirez, his magic rising, wisps of his Obscurus seeping through his skin.

"They hunted me relentlessly, even as I tried to keep a low profile, to explore this new world I found myself, my world that I should have been part of from the first place!" he raged, the tip of his wand crackling with dark blue magic "I was trying to find out who I was! NOTHING MORE but no…" Aurilius calmed down, his breathing levelled "They could not leave me alone and when I was offered the chance to learn, to be free…"

"But you never were free though were you" Ramirez's voice was unaccusing...pitying.

The fight left Credence. "No…" he sighed, his wand lowered slightly "Even when I became skilled enough, even when I was strong enough, when I realised his li-..., he still had something I needed." He glanced at Ramirez "Even if the ICW had the resources and knowledge I need, they'd never stop trying to imprison me"

Silence stretched moments longer than he wished for, silence that confirmed…

"Not unless you prove to be more valuable as a free man than a prisoner. The ICW would unlikely let you go, not completely even if you gave valuable information to them" Ramirez finally added as he stared at Credence.

"Once more I would be used, to be beholden" Credence shook his head.

"There aren't many other options you have" Ramirez stared at him with hard eyes "You are a murderer, have likely assassinated several Ministry officials in at least two countries" Ramirez breathed in deeply before he continued tiredly "The only other options are that you run for as long as you live or you continue on this path, working for monsters until you truly become one." Ramirez eyes grew dark.

Credence looked away for a moment. Was this his chance...his chance to finally leave, no longer bound to a cause that he despised? People he despised?

"How do I know you're not lying just to get me to leave you and your comrades alive" Credence asked, his voice low. His magic burbled below his skin, danger tinging his tone.

"You don't" Ramirez said bluntly before his expression changed, one of sincerity "But I'd do all I could to ensure it. That is all I could promise."

It was insane…

To trust this man who was at his mercy and now…and now, he was effectively contemplating surrendering to him, merely for a promise.

Could he exchange one promise for another? One promise that would have him commit more crimes that would eat at him, that would have him see the depravity his followers would commit with glee on a continuous basis, helpless to stop it?

The other promise only offered the mere chance…the mere chance that the ICW would not imprison him and actually give him the aid he'd need for Nagini.

He could see the crossroads he was at…one that led to almost certain doom and death unless he committed his soul and magic to the cause, to become as much a monster as De Galle to help Grindelwald win this damned war because he knew Grindelwald would not give him the cure to the curse until they'd won…the other was far more uncertain but there was hope.

"They would have to commit to helping me cure a curse" He finally said, quieter, almost in a whispering tone.

Ramirez eyes' narrowed but he nodded slowly "I don't know what curse you're referring to, and I can't promise that a cure would be found but it would be something that can be agreed to."

"Decide quickly though" Ramirez's voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"If you refuse, I only ask that you kill us all than have us taken prisoner by De Galle" He said with grimness in his voice.

Credence flinched when Ramirez invoked De Galle's name, something that he knew didn't escape Ramirez's notice.

Before he could answer, twin roars pierced the air and he swivelled his head around at the source of the sound. It was animalistic but there was something wrong with the roars.

The sun had disappeared into the horizon, the last rays of the day barely illuminated the battlefield but it was enough, enough to see two formless creatures in the distance.

"What…" Ramirez said slowly "are they? They are larger than werewolves and it's not a full moon…"

"I don't know" Credence said distractedly.

The formless creatures dashed forward, at speeds that he did not think possible, their hulking forms smashing and eating up the distance in no time.

"The men" Ramirez said suddenly, his voice panicking. "You've left them defenceless, you need to help them, they're in no condition to defend themselves."

Credence snapped his eyes at him and was met with grave eyes. He clenched his teeth as he stared the downed man.

He returned his eyes to the creatures and saw them almost upon the conscious bodies.

He hurled streams of curses at them, most of them explosive and blasting curses as he pushed them away from the unconscious men that they attempted to feed on. They managed to evade most of them but an Expulso had hit one of them, the smaller one, on the shoulder but it barely even did anything, merely shifted their complete attention to him and he almost recoiled when the sight of them became clearer.

The creatures were grotesque, their growls

"De Galle" Credence whispered, his voice full of dismay. Was this…was this what he was doing with them…?

The hunchbacked creatures stood, nearly ten feet tall on their strange hooved legs. Their arms were rippled with strands of muscles, their strength was easy to see. Their hands were claw-like, the massive nails were as sharp as steel knives and they gleamed when light hit them.

Blood dripped from their lipless mouths, their gnarly teeth shone in the last lights of the sun.

Their eyes shone malevolently at him, their glowing red eyes shone like twin fires dancing in the dark of the night, the rage and madness clear to see.

His heart was beating faster and faster as they darted towards him, impossibly fast. They ran at him on all fours, their hands ripped earth with each gallop, the muscle tendrils seemed to bulge and release with each action and that didn't fill him with confidence.

He needed to transform, there was little chance he could destroy them as he was now. Strands of blackness, strands of the Obscurus parasite swirled around him and the creatures took that as their cue to attack.

He turned into a ball of swirling mass of black ash and strands and met their challenge, met their roar with a shriek of his own, the Obscurus in him demanded no less.

He propelled himself forward, adding momentum as he ate through the ground and tendrils of Obscurus exuded from and he used them like wisps that tore into the earth that left a trail of destruction in his wake before he lashed out with his tendrils

They ducked and weaved out of the way of the tendrils, their agility despite their bulking forms showing through.

They dodged out of the way faster than he could turn and their targeted attacks were wearing him down even if he was almost completely unaffected by the strange claws that seemed to be able to cut his Obscurus tendrils.

He jabbed his tendrils like lances and he tore through one of their calves and a pained roar of fury

He dashed backwards as he evaded the barrelling creature that shot through the air and struck into the earth where he'd been, and it crashed with a huge thud with their claws dug deep into the earth.

They attempted to rip him apart with their claws and their jagged teeth and he was shocked that they had managed to find purchase and they tore bits of his Obscurus and ate some of it. The Obscurus in him raged at their insolence, at their audacity and, the wisps of perverted magic and ash that made up his tendrils changed.

His tendrils changed into spikes and he lashed out at them, his spikes had run through them. They roared in pain and in triumph as their wounds healed almost within moments, seemingly delighted in their ability to actually harm him.

The Obscurus parasite within him was raging, fuelling his instincts of wrath and destruction and he dashed forward, his Obscurus form darker and larger than before. Dozens of tendrils shot forward from his body and ripped the arm off of one of them, causing it to howl in pain. He saw that the arm was already a stump, slowly regrowing but he focused on the other, the other who darted forward, a roar of rage and challenge ringing out in the air.

A whistle cut through the night and the two abominations stood still before, without a single growl, they darted away, disappearing into the rubble of the former complex.

He changed back into his human form, his breathing slightly ragged. Pain radiated throughout his body. He would never be able to die in his Obscurial form as far as he knew but they had been eating him…that…that made things far too uncertain.

He hadn't even thought that was possible.

He glanced at the origin of the whistle and saw, with dread, that the form resembled De Galle. He could feel his eyes on him even if he could not see it. With a swirl, the form disappeared, the telltale signs of a portkey activating.

"Thank you" he heard and he snapped around and saw Ramirez with his hands raised though his face was hard.

Credence nodded jerkily "I…I have to go." He needed to get Nagini out. Grindelwald would not forgive or forget this betrayal.

"I understand." Ramirez halted for a moment "I will inform the ICW of your actions today."

"Even my murder of your men?" Credence asked with a bitter mocking smile.

Ramirez' eyes grew stormy "Even that. But…" Ramirez' teeth clenched for a moment "I will ask for your actions against those abominations to be weighted."

Credence scoffed but he couldn't care, not now. He knew that it would weigh somewhat but how much he did not know.

No…

He had to go and get Nagini and run.

Ramirez stuck out his hand and broke Credence out of his thoughts "This is an address where you can meet us safely" Credence took the piece of paper and put in his pocket in a rush.

He nodded to Ramirez and took out his portkey "Little Island in the Sea" he said in Tagalog and with a swirl, he was gone.

-Break-

8th of February 1943

Mannheim

Grindelwald POV

He stood on the raised platform above the tree line, disillusioned, that he created in the small forest that encircled the clearing that they'd chosen for the battle. The trees ruffled and swayed in the evening winds, his robes billowing just the same.

He watched with lidded eyes as the last of the Giants were brought down, their legs having been bound by ropes before a hail of spears, harpoons and more befell them.

The Giants were un-important, their ultimate purpose had been served wonderfully. The distraction they provided allowed most of his units to quietly withdraw from the battlefield.

Some would remain for what was to come, that was regrettable but it was necessary. Their sacrifice, though they do not know they are to be sacrifices, would not be in vain. This was an opportunity to deal a blow that he would not shy away from. Not for the lives of a few inconsequential men.

Had he joined the battle from the beginning, it would have caused them to retreat, at great cost, but nonetheless they would have retreated. That…could not be allowed, not when there were several key men that he could either capture or kill which would deal significant damage to their cause.

Battles are won or lost before they are started. No battle can go as they plan them but planning was everything.

It was how he rose from a middling family to a conqueror to be, one who was so close to achieving his goals, after decades of careful planning, careful manipulation and outright elimination before it was time to truly begin.

After his flight from Godric's Hollow, he'd re-evaluated his plans, his goals and saw that his initial haze of grandiose dreams were riffled with problems that he did not consider, the resistance he'd face towards a world he'd carve out, one where his Kind stood above all other species, as masters of the world and he as the master of them all.

Even within families, resistance can be borne, Albus' own brother being a key example…no…he had to sway, charm and seduce the powerful, the rich first before he enacted his Great Plan.

And it worked, the Danish, Austrian and German Ministries had fallen to him with, mostly, sweet words of promises and displays of power that had them enraptured before they realised what they signed up for…but by then, it was too late. The candles had already been lit and no magic would have been able to stop the movement he created out of nothing, the movement that he championed.

One that would morph into a throne that he would fashion out of nothing and the world would prosper from his guiding hand, and if need be, by the tip of his wand.

Many would abhor his ultimate goal and what he would do to reach it but they were fools. None, other than perhaps a few, understood that people were all slaves to something.

All living creatures at the very least were slaves to their baser instincts, the need to survive. Muggles were the perfect example of this. All of their progress was centred on making their existence easier, less pitiful than it truly was.

And then there those who were slaves to duty, to family, to their morality. Even he was not free from this affliction, his was a slavery to The Greater Good, the need to act even if it was heinous, to sacrifice that which needs to be sacrificed.

And The Greater Good for the world was for him to guide the world as its emperor, his decisions and his judgment were to be the guiding hand for humanity, magical and muggle alike for if either one was left to their own devices, they'd tear themselves and eventually each other apart.

And what right did he have?

To be an emperor of Mankind and all its derivatives?

To be the one who would control the lives of millions?

His eyes darkened as his magic swirled across his skin, swelling around him. Magic and Destiny gave him that right and Might would ensure it for there was nothing able to stop him from his ultimate path, his goal.

His eyes snapped back to the battlefield as the last giant crashed amidst cheers of the enemies and his lips twisted into a cruel smirk as he watched on with a vicious gleam in his eyes.

His wand slipped into his hand, his long pale fingers caressing the rough elderberries of his wand.

His magic swirled across his skin, swelling around him. His magic continued to rise as he focused, sharpening his senses. His magic unfurled his tight control, power roiled underneath his skin and waves of murky black magic exuded from his skin.

The soft crackles of his magic fused with the sounds of the forest that he stood above, his eyes fixed on the men who would feel his wrath.

Defeating them in duels was not enough.

No…

This war would not be won simply at wand point. It had to be won through hearts and minds, through gold and honey.

Fear had to be seep into their very bones when they thought of him, when they thought of the magic he wielded.

There was nothing special about defeating one in a duel, not special enough to gain the unshakeable image that he would need in the coming years and decades.

For how could you fight one whose command of magic is beyond your comprehension?

He raised his wand above him, the tip of his wand glowing an ethereal silver glow, like a new born star amidst the abyss of the Void.

The men on the ground began to round up his followers who were hard pressed to defend against the onslaught but they were performing admirably.

Their sacrifices would be remembered.

He slowly, deliberately whirled his wand around his head, the ethereal silver glow etching into the very air and a silver circlet was beginning to form.

The density of the air increased as magic became tangible, tendrils of velvety black magic exuded from his body like thousands of small antennas, each of them swaying in the thick air teeming with magic.

The ethereal silver circle now hung almost a foot above his head, wisps of ethereal silver that exuded from his wand latched onto it in a spiral form, feeding it and it was growing.

His eyes glowed menacingly that were set in a stony face, one focused on the task at hand.

The circle of ethereal silver grew, and grew, and grew until the it was an oblong disk of silver white, its radiant glow casting a massive light onto the world below. Waves upon waves of energy were emitted from the silver disk, a beacon of power that was waiting, itching to be released.

By now, the enemy below all noticed him but it wouldn't matter, it was far too late.

The disk twisted and stood vertically, its long surface angled towards the battlefield.

He slowed the twirling of his wand, the last silver strands having left his wand before the tip glowed a dull blue colour.

This…this was one of his rarest of spells, found in one of the most valuable tomes in the history of magekind.

A spell from Atlantis.

The fabled golden city in an era of Magic to which the likes had rarely ever been seen off.

He'd found this tome discarded in a Bazaar in Marrakesh, a novelty as its age could not be discerned but ultimately without value even if it seemed to be old…so old. The language was one none could read.

Until he could. It took years, and luck, of absently finding small traces of this language and when he'd found a journal that translated some phrases to Abyssinian, he made the discovery of what the tome really was.

A remnant of Atlantis.

His magic crackled, the power that was running through his veins pulsed, thrummed rhythmically as he raised his free hand and opened up his body as the disk began to whine audibly, the sound that it was giving off reverberated in the air around them, loud enough for everyone in the battlefield to hear.

His glowing eyes surveyed them and he saw they were rushing towards him, some even attempting to leave.

It was far too late.

Most of the Atlantean spells in the tome were inaccessible to him, perhaps it was better to say he did not understand. The Antlantean train of thought on magic was far more sophisticated than it was now and it seemed their control likely was the same.

He could only understand a few and even then only do three, perhaps four of the spells.

This spell was one of them. It took him years of control, years of fine tuning the conversion of Atlantean magic into Wizarding magic for there was a substantial difference between the two and he knew that this likely was a pale comparison to the real thing.

Even so…

The area around him was thick with his magic, the black strands swirled around him, their

"wishuea I o meniayashi luosh fasha cindiok FUIIIE" His voice was guttural and high pitched as he invoked the wrath of the heavens.

The glowing silver ethereal disk that had been emitting waves upon waves of energy stopped and time slowed.

The beautiful shining gleam of the disk dulled in an instance and the surface warped and twisted into a void as black as the blackest of nights that made it appear as if a hole in the fabric of reality opened.

The blue glow of the tip of his wand grew into a ball and he slowly, purpose in his movement brought down his wand towards the battlefield.

His lips curled with malevolence, his mismatched eyes shone with the promise of Death.

"Ioshi yelmanush, gartush" he intoned into the unsettled winds, his words were whispered, soft, seemingly inconsequential.

The pitch black disk whined a terrible noise, its harsh and fearsome sound pierced through the night sky before the disk changed once more, its pitch black surface transformed into almost a window.

Thousands of silver rocks spewed from the disk at startling speeds and crashed onto the battlefield with devastating intent. The earth rumbled and shook with each strike that made the rocks the giants had hurled seem like pebbles such was the sheer destruction the rocks hailed down on the battlefield.

Screams and shouts were muffled under the collective sounds of destruction, men and women tried to shield against the onslaught, but it was naught, there were very few shield that could defend against the devastating power of those rocks.

The sky almost was blotted out by the sheer number of the rocks that plummeted into the earth, the gusts of debris, dust and near molten rock only added to the apocalyptic view that was below them.

It was minutes later that it ended, the eerie silence that fell was music to his ears, the sound of total victory.

The spell was not one that could be done on a whim, it took him the entire course of the battle to prepare for the spell, it was almost ritualistic in the way the spell worked.

It was a shame, he mused with a gleam in his eyes. He would not need the muggles if he had been able to create it into a spell that could be used as easily as Fiendfyre.

Moments later, he walked with a few of his men in tow out of the forest and into the destroyed earth that was riddle with craters.

"Go and see if you can find any survivors" He ordered with a glance at his subordinates. He turned back to the craters "I doubt you'll find many…if any" he mused with cruel satisfaction.

"Yes my Lord"

It was almost half an hour later one of his followers came back.

"Sir, we found a few survivors. They seemed to have worked together to create a shield that protected them based on the mostly unaffected ground they were on. They seem to be suffering from acute magical exhaustion" his subordinate informed him.

Grindelwald looked impressed "Fascinating…" he mused. To survive this was no small feat "How many?"

"Fourteen sir. Amongst them was Etherington and a few French nobility" his follower said with a wicked smile.

Grindelwald chuckled as excitement shone in his eyes "Excellent." His lips curled in satisfaction "I would have liked Sinclair as well but he will do."

He glanced at his follower "Are you aware if he was amongst those we allowed to escape?"

"He was" his follower confirmed "In total we believe no more than thirty escaped through the channel we left open deliberately."

"Out of four hundred" Grindelwald said with a gleam in his eyes.

The cause was still underway and finally…after so many setbacks, he had dealt a significant blow to the ICW.

He had to press on now, this loss would send them reeling and if he struck soon and hard…He'd ensure they'd never recover.

The survivors would bring the tale of Mannheim to their fellow comrades, their haunted eyes would strike fear in their hearts when they know exactly what they're up against.

Someone who wielded Magic beyond their comprehension, who could lay waste to hundreds, thousands of magicals with a single spell.

That…was worth more than any single battle.

-Break-

Amelie Cantona POV

"My…aren't you a pretty one?" she heard, a distinct Swiss Germanic accent said in English.

She moaned painfully, her eyes still shut.

'What happened?' she thought groggily before she opened her eyes which made her wince as the intense light of wherever she was stung her eyes. That caused her mind to clear up a little and she remembered.

She gasped awake, now more conscious as she remembered the decimation at the hands…claws of those abominations. They'd torn through them all.

Her eyes opened, hoping to forget the memories of torn limbs and disembowelled men.

But instead, she was greeted by intrusive beady eyes that seemed to be able to strip her of all her defences, poorly hidden between thin framed glasses bored into her soul, eyes filled with controlled madness that filled her with barely repressed terror.

No, no, no, no, no…

He looked at her with wild amusement, his lips threatened to twitch amidst the dread he must be feeling from her.

"My girl, am I really so hideous you feel so horrified by me?" he said with mock offense.

She fumbled for her wand but found it missing much to her terror and a snort of amusement could be heard before she lost the ability to move. She was floated around until she was face to face again with the monster.

"The terror is rolling from you in so many splendid waves" His face changed within a split second, the amusement, the mockery fled him and a cold gaze filled his eyes.

"It's…positively delicious" The terror she felt now was all consuming and if she wasn't petrified, she would have been shaking, trembling.

"I wonder how much more you could handle before your poor heart gave out." He looked up momentarily, seemingly in thought "It would be an interesting test, don't you think? To see how much a young healthy heart could handle" he turned to her, all emotion having left his face, merely a cold interest shone in his eyes "under stressful conditions"

His finger trailed the contour of her jaw "Perhaps a little flaying of your arm, the removal of your finger bones, one by one, perhaps even the careful removal of your tendons?"

The man's unremarkable face was carved of stone, his facial muscles controlled to an unimaginable degree as he spoke with her…to her in things that no sane man could talk about without flinching, without reacting one way or another.

Not even the most sadistic could be as uncaring as he was and that…terrified her. It did nothing for him and yet he would commit those acts,

"It's for you to sleep, my dear girl. We have a great many days ahead of us." His eyes glinted with cool uncaring interest "You will need your rest" he pointed his wand at her and she wanted to cry out, to beg but nothing other than her eyes could move. The tip of his wand glowed red and before she knew it, she lost consciousness but not before wishing she had died instead at the hands of those monsters.

For she knew they were lesser monsters than De Galle.