Back on Earth, everyone realized at once what it meant for Malachi's greatest asset to be taken out of the picture. Greymist did not need to yell out his command. He thought it, and all 290 of his men opened fire upon the Aurors above, shooting until the ammunition for their conventional weapons was dry, and then brandishing their wands before the Aurors could get their bearings. But they were not entirely defenseless. The inverted pyramid shimmered with bluish light, its immense reserve of magical power at last revealed. Like a giant whip this power was brought down upon Greymist's army, and those it touched ceased being biology and transitioned into being physics. Greymist raised his wand just in time to parry the second attack with an invisible shield, but the force he was resisting was enough to make him stagger.

For miles around, night was extinguished by the battle that ensued. Shapes could be discerned in the flashes of light, shapes of men on brooms flying every which way around an immense dark pyramid, fly–like in aspect, charting nonsensical patterns in the sky as they exchanged spells in every color and every element imaginable. The air was filled with curses fired upwards like upside–down rain, curses that writhed slowly and slithered like snakes, hellfire which zig–zagged to follow its targets, bursts of dark energy which disappeared as soon as they appeared yet blew huge chunks out of the black pyramid and made it drift closer to the ground bit by bit. Some turned into pure lightning and fell upon the foe, some simply strode through the chaos of the battle, leisurely casting their spells and dodging curses with unnaturally perfect timing.

But Jeremy could barely comprehend any of this. All he was cognizant of was the very start of the battle. Eren, Karla and her father ran together to safety. He tackled Abigail and snatched his wand from her as she wriggled out of his grasp. Next time he saw her was amidst the brief flashes of light taking the Aurors head on, an angel snapping necks and removing entrails in a killing frenzy, her rifle all but forgotten. Hermione picked up a wand someone had dropped. He raised his own wand, and everything after that point was a smear of spells and hexes and faces and bodies...

...until at one point he stood, his limbs aching, his conscious mind stretched to the limit by the enormity of the battle, his soul exhausted by such an immense expenditure of magical power in such a short amount of time. The thing that shocked him back into reality was in the sky, tumbling gracelessly toward the ground. For all her teleporting about, someone had managed to get a drop on Abigail. That, or she had been hit with a stray spell. Either way the angel was falling, red mist trailing in her wake until she was out of sight and the ashen earth greeted her.

Jeremy was not the only one who beheld the dark lady fall from heaven. What of her dark lord?

The battle until that point had lasted no more than three minutes, by his own estimate, but going by intensity alone it should have lasted for an hour, at least. Malachi, too, was brought out of the trance of combat by Abigail's passing. He could feel her one moment, and the next he could not. It could only mean one thing.

He looked up at the sky, and every muscle in his body was rebelling against what he knew well enough already, shouting at him to move, to fly to her, to save her, but to what end? She was dead, she had been dead long before her body hit the ground.

This was always a possibility. He knew it, Abigail knew it, and she followed him anyway. For his dream and his empire, she chose to remain with him when she could have fled Seattle on the night of her transfiguration. Instead she chose him, and neither death nor imprisonment could ever turn her away. So many others under his command started as people, people with their own free wills, until they degenerated into worshippers and followers. Not Abigail. She began her second life infused with his blood, barely above the level of an animal, yet became not just his consort but his advisor, his second in command, his friend.

Maybe they would meet again in another time, another place, but until such a time arrived this was the end of the line for her, for the future they imagined together, and Malachi could hardly say that he was surprised. How many girlfriends did he murder today, anyway? How many boyfriends? How many fathers and mothers and children? How many poets, priests, soldiers, workers, strivers, builders? And what of their families? How many more would take their lives, on account of all those who died? How many more victims would he claim with the destruction of London? How many lives and how many futures? In comparison, Abigail's death felt more like a fraction of the divine punishment he deserved. A fraction of a fraction.

But he could not pretend it did not hurt.

Who was to blame? Everyone, and no one. She died doing what she wanted. In some twisted way, no injustice had been committed by this act. Nevertheless, if not for him, she never would've been here, and so Malachi blamed himself. And one other.

Logically it should've been the one who cast the spell, but in this chaos he would never find them. What logic was there in a fight where one could say a word and hurl meteors from the sky to crush their foes? The only logic was that of friend and enemy. And Malachi's enemy was very clear. The one who disrupted his operations in Seattle, the one who against all odds still managed to cling to life. The one who took away his one advantage and called in the Aurors.

Their gazes locked, piercing everything in their path. No words were necessary to describe what lay in their eyes, but Malachi thought of a certain quote anyway, from Coriolanus.

I will fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee worse than a promise–breaker.

We hate alike,came the answer.

If Greymist was so intent on claiming some sort of revenge for Abigail's death, even if only symbolic against the one who was merely responsible for the circumstances of her demise, Jeremy would make him work for it. The dark lord would have to fight as he had never fought before. But not here.

A pillar of white light shot up into the sky. A pillar of blood–red smoke followed it.

What was it that Stalin once called the sweetest thing in the world? To choose one's victims, to prepare one's plans minutely, to slake an implacable vengeance, and then to go to bed. There was truth in those words, and Malachi felt it as he pursued Jeremy through a darkness that stretched on for an eternity. All thought of spells was lost amidst the urge to fight but that was fine. They both had functioning arms and legs and teeth.

The trail of light that was Jeremy stretched on ahead of him but then he faltered for just a moment and Malachi smashed into him with the force of a wrecking ball. Punching, kicking, grappling, they whirled through the air together like the twin snakes of the caduceus until in one moment Jeremy grabbed on to him and pulled, in which direction Malachi knew not for the earth beneath was just as dark as the sky above, but he could guess. And his guess was confirmed to be correct when they slammed down into the cold hard ground like a comet. Jeremy tumbled away from him but instinct and adrenaline would not let him rest and he got up and turned away and ran down into some kind of tunnel whose entrance was miraculously left intact by the collapse of the rest of the building to which it belonged.

Ran! Never in a million years did Malachi think something would make him snarl the way he did at the sight of his foe turning away. No one had ever managed to reduce him so completely to an animal, not even his Dark Lady, may she rest in peace. He got up and chased after Jeremy, tripping over rubble and metal support beams and a spoon, of all things.

As he penetrated further into the darkness of that tunnel, realization sobered him up, if only barely. This tunnel was not a tunnel to some basement. It was a tunnel to a bunker. So, this was how Jeremy made it out of the ruins of London alive, along with his friends Eren and Mulligan. How did he know of this place? Well, he was joined today by the Minister for Magic, maybe she informed him of it.

FormerMinister for Magic. He corrected himself in his mind. Former. And may there never be another.

No sign of his prey within. All the lights were working inside and Malachi moved through a great empty room with a bunch of chairs, some overturned, and a white wall with dots and dashes burned into it.

„You led me here," Malachi shouted. „I can only assume you have a trap prepared for me. But once it's sprung... what then? Will you muster up the courage? Will you walk through the door? The one I walked through?"

For a while he thought Jeremy would not dare to even answer, which surprised him. He didn't imagine the Auror to be the guy to cower behind a wall, hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming as his doom approached. If he was silent, it must've been because it was another part of his trap, trying to lure Malachi further in. But he would not play this game. In the conference room the dark lord stood and waited for a reply.

And there it was, a thought from a foreign mind transmitted to his own. A single word.Yes.

Malachi was glad to hear that. The stakes were clear now. When next they met wand to wand, Jeremy would be his, or the other way around. Simple. „And may I ask, what made you decide that?"

This time the reply was almost instantaneous.All the things you've done.

To know he would probably die was no big deal for Malachi, not anymore. What irked him was that he was being judged. He had shown this man the incident that first drove him to seize lordship, and still he was being judged, as if Jeremy had been tested as he was. As if an Auror knew the first thing about how non–wizards lived. All he knew was what he saw whenever he came home for a vacation. Though there was something of a non–wizard in him just as there was in Malachi, Jeremy had never truly lived among them.

„You might end up being my executioner," he said, „but I won't let you be the judge and jury as well. This isn't the first time you saw a city in ruins."

Not like this. Never like this.

„Why is that so difficult to accept?" Malachi asked, and realized he did not shout that question as before. Unconsciously he had shifted to an almost parental tone, the voice of a teacher scolding a brilliant yet lazy student. „You have made up your mind on whether I should live or die. You have made up your mind on whether I'm good or evil, sane or insane. But what I did today is a step too far? I thought you'd say I was kind to them. Need I remind you of that intersection in Seattle? How I dealt with criminals there?"

Silence.

Chuckling, Malachi went on. „I used to wonder which one of us is the hunter and which is the dragon... It seems we are both the dragon. Except one of us is honest about it, and the other one is owned by a circus. The wizarding world," he sneered as he said those words. „That world is no more. The Statute of Secrecy is broken beyond repair, nothing those hypocrites can do about it. They say the Statute was for protection of wizards and non–wizards alike... as if there's any difference between protection and control. But you'll never hear them admit that. To control people's memories is to control their past, and we know what George Orwell had to say about that. But you'll never hear them admit that."

Silence.

„And that's why they needed people like me. Ask yourself, in that broadcast, did you recognize a single face preceding Voldemort? Why not? They, too, were dark lords, who would admit to what your taskmasters never could. For their efforts they were wiped from history so thoroughly that none remember them now, but they served their purpose well enough, as someone for the great and the good to point their fingers at and say..." he paused here and, seemingly embodying the taskmasters and hypocrites he spoke of, pointed away from himself frantically.„It's him! He's the dark lord! He's the tyrant, he's to blame, not us! We kept ourselves hidden because of him, not because we chose to, no sir! The blame is never with us!"

Malachi dropped the act. Standing a little straighter, he went on. „Well, I took that title, I took part in their system... and broke it. If you live to see another day, you'll see their system crumble under the weight of contradiction, once there's no dark lord they can blame. You'll see as I have, there is little difference between an Auror and a dark wizard, when there's a wand pointed in your face and a curse on your enemy's lips."

The reply, when it came, was as biting and simplistic as he expected it to be.Don't try to justify yourself to me. You murdered millions.

„Boiling frog, my friend. When they chose to hide themselves, wizards consigned over half a billion souls to oblivion. Only they were spread out over three centuries, so you're not noticing them. Had they signed the Statute of Secrecy and half a billion people died through their inaction the very next day, would you condemn them? If I killed London slowly enough, would you choose me over them?"

What do you suggest we do in your new world, then? Throw off all notions of right and wrong, good and evil? Rule the non–wizards openly rather than secretly? Be hated for it once again, attacked, driven into secrecy once more, closing the cycle?

Malachi sighed. „I am a man of my word, you know that. I promised miss Granger no wizard would've feared persecution under my rule. But that future is gone now, thanks to you. It is notmynew world that is emerging. And for that... well, for that, you're going to pay."

Out of the empty space before Malachi's eyes, tiny bits of light drifted toward him and coalesced into an image of a tall blond Auror in a brown trenchcoat. Jeremy Taylor had heard quite enough. He raised his wand.

„So how about we just get it over with now?"

He'd hoped there would be a storm. All good final battles had a storm. But this was real life, for them at least, and so there would be no natural storm. But no matter, they would create a storm of their own.

The first spell Jeremy cast was a miniature black hole, to absorb whatever Greymist would throw at him. Thus protected he placed his hands on the ground, and–

There was a noise, a noise he could not classify or describe as anything other than strange. He looked up just in time to see he wasn't the only one who could cast a black hole. Greymist had cast three of them, in fact, and they were growing in size rapidly.

No. Not growing. Moving. Towards me.

Blind instinct took over and he threw up his arms for defense, as if that would do him any good. He thought he was about to be torn apart and his remains spaghettified, then he felt friction as he was dragged forward across the floor. He looked and he saw not the three black holes, but Greymist towering above him, eyes glowing and mouth open as hellfire bubbled up from within the dark lord. Then he lunged down, mouth turning into the maw of some prehistoric beast with rows upon rows of teeth within, all circling the fiery abyss surging bright and hot.

Jeremy rolled, but the shockwave from the spell sent him flying a short distance just the same and he landed among the chairs of the conference room, and when he looked back he saw the floor where he'd been laying was turned black from the heat and flames danced faintly upon the spot. He slammed one hand on the floor and the chairs were hurled away from him in a circle, clearing the place. Some that flew at Greymist were simply slapped aside, but before the dark lord could retaliate Jeremy was on him once again, desperate to keep up the pressure. In retaliation for the fire he sent ice, gesturing with his wand. The very air between them froze rapidly and the ambient moisture turned into tiny crystals of ice which merged together and grew in size until they were visible with the naked eye, and then these shards launched themselves at Greymist.

But when the freezing mist cleared up, Greymist wasn't there. Jeremy blinked, and that was his mistake. Gone one moment, Greymist appeared before him the very next, so close he could see his eyes behind the weathered black gas mask he wore. In his left hand he held not a wand, but a gun.

But when he pulled the trigger the air before him was empty already, and he had fired at nothing. Malachi flinched at the loudness of the shot in this enclosed space, and that was his mistake, just as it was Jeremy's. Gone one moment, Jeremy appeared before him the very next, so close that he could see the beginnings of a curse forming on his lips. His gun was knocked out of his hand and it clattered on the floor, firing off one more bullet into the ceiling, nearly deafening them both.

Jeremy shouted a curse, and Greymist shouted his own. One's shot went high, the other's went wide. Not that spells mattered at such a close range. Malachi punched the Auror in the side and used the opportunity to gain some distance between them while the other recovered. Sadly, it took Jeremy far less time than he expected. Oh well, a distance of six or seven feet should be enough.

In magic, the Aurors were the best of the best. They had to be, or else they would not truly be Aurors. And yet facing down Greymist, Jeremy felt something he never thought he'd experience up until that point. He actually worried that he might lose. If so much as a single curse connected, that would be the end of it. This was a duel to the death, his very first, and he had no doubt that Greymist was fighting to kill. Whereas he was pressed against the wall and fighting to simply stay alive. He grabbed at nothing. In an instant the empty air caught alight and he held in his fist a bolt of lightning so pure and bright it hurt to look at. Every hair on his body stood on end and imitating Zeus, he hurled it at Greymist and a dozen smaller bolts followed, only to be broken against the dark lord's countercurse like a wave against a cliff. A sphere of darkness expanded rapidly, repelling Jeremy's lightning and dispersing it into harmless sparks.

„Prot–"he went to shout, to shield himself from the oncoming shadow, but it caught him and slammed him against a wall, and he fell with a pained groan. Yet when the darkness dispersed he looked beyond to see that some of his lightning bolts did in fact find their mark, for Greymist was doubled over and hissing in pain, his once immaculate white coat lightly burned and smoking where he was hit.

That was enough to embolden Jeremy once more. He focused through the pain which increasingly insisted upon being acknowledged, and a ring of ghostly light spread out from him horizontally, like a ripple in a calm pond after a stone had been thrown into it. Greymist tried jumping over the light but then the spell bent and followed him and caught him mid–air, causing him to fall to the ground and grunt in pain. His eyes looked and found Jeremy, who dared not approach him. Rightly so.

Jeremy tried to shout an Expelliarmus when he saw Greymist point his wand at him. A pinprick of light appeared at its tip and rapidly grew larger. Jeremy rolled just in time to get away from the blast which atomized a chunk of the wall he had been standing against. Malachi made a run for it to retrieve his gun, but was deterred by Jeremy firing bolts of magic as he ran to position himself between Greymist and the door.

The dark lord looked at him, squinting. „Do you think I might try to escape?" he asked, and cackled. Malachi Greymist! Cackled! With a wordless howl he stabbed outwards and another beam of light was sent after Jeremy. With a hiss of pain the Auror flailed his right arm out as if backhanding someone, and the beam was returned back to its caster, who stomped on the ground and made the huge beam shatter and reform above his head as a million glass–like shards. Pointing at Jeremy, Greymist barked „Go get 'im!"

The swarm launched itself forward, but Jeremy was quicker. He made a fist with his free hand, opened it, and a huge pillar of smoke burst forward, obscuring him from Malachi. The wall behind him was demolished, splinters of wood and chunks of cement flying in every direction, but the barrage did not in the end find its target. The smoke was clearing up, just in time for Jeremy to reappear, unharmed.

A jet of light shot forth from his wand but Greymist was ready with a countercurse. The streams of light collided midair and the two fighters found they had to hold on to their respective wands with both hands, so violently were they shaking. It took all his strength of will and every ounce of his actual physical strength, but Jeremy managed to wrench both of their crackling beams of light up into the ceiling, bringing a portion of it down on their heads, not enough to breach the safety of the bunker but just enough to kick up yet more dust and cover his escape.

Malachi glimpsed his stumbling retreat. „No... no, you won't do this to me again..." he growled, and ran after Jeremy.

„MALACHI GREYMIST!"

He heard his name shouted as he entered the tunnel, heard the sound of glass being smashed, saw Jeremy already exiting the bunker and running up the stairs away from it. He took off after him in a fury. Not only was he running away, but he had the gall to mock him, to shout his name as he was running away–

But it didn't sound like mockery. And the sound of glass being broken, what was that?

The realization cut through his rage and he came to a gradual halt, right at the exit from the bunker. He looked back to the darkness of the tunnel, and something writhed there in the shadows. He looked to the exit, and saw a pale colorless shimmer had appeared there. Testing it with his hand only confirmed what he already knew; it was a magical seal, and he was trapped. And beyond it, hunched over, Jeremy stood wreathed in darkness.

„Lumos."

Greymist looked up at Jeremy, who was shoving something resembling a brooch into the pocket of his coat. His chest heaved as he struggled to contain his breathing, to bring his pulse down, and he held the wand in a trembling hand as he spoke. „Professor Jäger and Eren already had a sample of the Angel, for experimental purposes. It was inert, but all it needed was oxygen. And someone to kill."

Malachi stared. Even with Lumos illuminating both of them, Jeremy could not peer behind the mask to see those eyes and to try and understand what thoughts dwelled behind them. He tried reaching out to him on another plane, mind to mind, yet found nothing. Did he just... shut down? In the face of his imminent doom, did the dark lord's mind just crack? No, he felt the stare upon him even if he couldn't see it. Malachi was not gone, he was sure of it.

Jeremy found himself curiously empty as well. He thought there would be more mirth, more elation in what he would say next, but he was just so exhausted and numb to everything, and his words were as hollow as the man in white standing at the door.

„Goodbye, Malachi."

Barely suppressing a groan, the Auror lowered himself onto the steps. This was his first time taking a life, Jeremy figured, and this time he would not look away. This time he would stay and watch until it was over.

Malachi stared. The poison began to eat through his clothes. Malachi stared. The flesh beneath erupted in huge blisters as the Angel found its way inside. Malachi stared. The black liquid moved with a mind of its own, through the filters of his gas mask and into his mouth, displacing air from his lungs. Malachi stared. The flesh of his legs was chewed through to the bone and he fell on the rotting stumps. Malachi stared. And when all the flesh on his body began to melt, Malachi stared.

Soon enough his limbs were no more. If he had been breathing at all through the Angel ravaging his lungs, he no longer was. It crawled through his veins and seared his heart, melted him away until nothing remained but a big reeking puddle ready to be set alight.

Briefly, Jeremy removed the seal just to send another spell into the bunker. „Incendio."

All it took was a single spark, but the seal was back in place before the sudden ignition could spread beyond the bunker. Even as the fire raged and what was left of Malachi was but remnants of remnants, still he kept the bunker sealed.

With his final death a tremor ran through what little of his men remained. For a moment they halted in their attack, the will that was with them all this time suddenly gone. They wavered, but rather than breaking as the Aurors hoped they would do, they fought on. Shouting their curses and casting wildly, cohesion was gone as every single one of them fought with a renewed fury.

They left the Aurors little choice.

Not that Jeremy could or would participate in any of it now. He went from sitting on the steps to laying down, as if that would suppress the pain. Wand laying discarded at his side he felt around his torso with his arms until at last he found a spot warm and slick with blood.

Maybe I should pick up that wand?

Yeah... I'm losing blood pretty bad. I should do something about it.

But I'm tired... Can't I rest?

Do not close your eyes. Get the wand. Move. Move. Help yourself. Or find some help. Or try to scream. No time.

They got one another. Finally. Jeremy was still conscious, still breathing, and it was truly a miracle he was not yet dead. But he suspected he would be soon, because it was not just the gaping hole that was wet with blood. He felt it seep into his clothes, pool beneath him where he lay. Brief multicolored pulses of light reached him constantly from far away but his eyes were focused on another, gentler light, far beyond the thick cloud Malachi's atrocity had kicked up. For a moment the pale light of a star pierced through the cover, and Jeremy felt peace at last.

It's over.