The werewolf clan's greatest mistake was siding with Voldemort.
As the clan's leader gazed upon the hellish scene before him, he couldn't help but think so. What unfolded before his eyes was a massacre—a relentless slaughter between werewolves and vampires.
When hundreds of vampires descended under the moonlight following a declaration of war, they attacked the werewolf settlement without a moment's hesitation. Without so much as exchanging words, the vampires began their rampage.
With demonic claws, they decapitated werewolf men.
With demonic fangs, they drained the life out of werewolf women, leaving only desiccated husks behind.
The six hundred vampires who had descended upon this land were demons incarnate, their cruelty undiluted by time. They were the very embodiment of terror that had once dominated the night.
The vampires' proclamation was clear: Voldemort was not the embodiment of fear—it was them. Their blood-red eyes gleamed with a long-lost pride, filled with the arrogance of kings who once ruled over all with terror.
And so, the werewolf leader thought—staring at the claws descending to claim his own life:
What monsters we've made into our enemies.
That thought was his last. As if a switch had been flipped, the leader's consciousness abruptly ceased. A vampire raised the lifeless head of the werewolf leader and let out a triumphant roar.
Thus, the long history of Britain's werewolf clans came to its end.
At the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, a nightmare was in full swing.
A Muggle-born wizard who survived later described it as akin to watching a poorly made, third-rate horror film.
Surrounding the historic and prestigious Beauxbatons were thousands of undead and trolls. It was a scene straight out of a movie. But the undead feared no death. Blasting off their arms with magic did nothing to stop them. Even losing their legs only made them crawl forward.
The trolls, on the other hand, trampled over their undead allies without hesitation, rampaging freely through the school's interior.
Of course, Beauxbatons did not fall without resistance.
Under the leadership of Madame Maxime, the defenders fought valiantly, striving to protect their beloved academy. Countless spells flew, and the magical creatures guarding the school tore through the undead.
But the numbers were too uneven. There were far too many non-combatants to protect.
If this continues, the children will die.
Realizing this grim truth, Madame Maxime decided to evacuate all students, leaving only a handful of teachers to hold the line.
A teacher's duty is to protect their students. Even if it means breaking their bodies, they would shield their beloved students. They would not let these marauders have their way.
With that noble resolve burning within her, Maxime led her teachers in a daring charge. Spells erupted from wands, undead were trampled underfoot, and trolls were felled like dominoes by the sheer force of her half-giant strength.
It was a desperate battle, a true testament to the courage and might of the great Madame Maxime.
She cut down a hundred undead, scattered a hundred trolls, and pressed forward, draped in the gore of her foes. With a demonic visage, she surged ahead, confronting trolls head-on, grappling with them barehanded.
In moments, the trolls' arms were ripped from their sockets, their faces caved in by her fists.
Undead clung to her in droves, but she dragged them forward regardless. Her arms broke, her legs shattered, but she never stopped.
At last, her gaze locked onto the commander of the enemy forces—Quirrell. Despite her battered body, she lunged straight for him.
It was something they had always dismissed—a tool of Muggles, mocked as inferior and primitive.
The Death Eaters had always sneered at these tools, deeming them the pitiable efforts of a magicless race. But their perception had changed.
Merciless aerial bombardments rained from above.
Bullets tore through flesh like blades through paper.
Missiles, appearing suddenly from nowhere through magical means, struck Death Eater hideouts, concealed by wards to shield them from Muggle eyes. Each strike ended in a devastating explosion.
Protections meant to neutralize Muggle technology were nullified by the wizards' own spells, leaving them defenseless.
Fleeing their hideouts in terror, the Death Eaters were met with volleys of curses and relentless gunfire from the infantry, who turned the battlefield into hell itself. Pleas for mercy were meaningless.
Their orders were clear: "Kill them all." And so, they obeyed.
They killed. They killed. They killed without hesitation.
All for "the greater good."Not a shred of doubt remained in their hearts.
"Mirabel, are you truly determined to go through with this?"
"Of course. Everything has been prepared for this day."
Above the Ministry of Magic.
Mirabel and Grindelwald hovered, looking down upon the Ministry of Magic.
There were no brooms in sight. These two beings had long transcended the need for such ordinary tools.
"Voldemort served his purpose admirably.
He played his role perfectly… no, even better than anticipated.
He stirred fear across the magical world, incited rebellion, and brought pureblood supremacists into his fold."
Becoming a universal enemy and gathering pureblood supremacists—this was precisely the role Mirabel had envisioned for Voldemort.
The latter part, especially, was critical to Mirabel's grand design.
Pureblood supremacists were marked for purging—a scourge to be eradicated from existence. But simply exterminating them outright would garner backlash from the populace.
However, if these pureblood extremists had aligned themselves with Voldemort, things changed.
Desperate to save themselves, they would have ingratiated themselves with him, insisting they were allies who shared his ideals.
And that was exactly what Mirabel wanted.
Let them submit, driven by fear. Let them crawl to Voldemort's side.
"Give me the justification I need to wipe you from existence."
"Dolores Umbridge also played her part spectacularly.
Her zealous collaboration with the dark faction, orchestrating sham trials against non-purebloods—it was almost enough to make me want to applaud her villainy before erasing her."
Mirabel idly toyed with a crystal in her hand.
But it wasn't just a pretty trinket.
It functioned much like a Muggle camera, recording Umbridge's vile deeds in excruciating detail.
Umbridge had a unique talent for evoking disgust. Her very presence was repugnant, but when paired with that smug smile and saccharine voice, meting out cruelty with evident delight, she was insufferable.
Fabricating crimes against innocent people simply for their bloodline. Branding their wands as stolen property and sentencing them to the Dementors.
And all of it carried out with a genuine, sinister glee.
It was more than enough to shatter public trust in the Ministry of Magic.
The grotesque spectacle had already been disseminated across the magical world through Rita Skeeter's channels. While Skeeter had come begging for reprieve, claiming her hands were "stained crimson," Mirabel allowed her to survive just long enough to see the culmination of this plan.
The result: a widespread uproar against the Ministry.
In truth, the war had begun long before the first official declaration.
By exposing Umbridge's atrocities, Mirabel had planted the image of the Ministry as complicit in Voldemort's rise.
In an environment where all media outlets spouted propaganda favorable to the dark faction, this narrative stood out as the singular "truth."
And so, the Ministry could be obliterated without regret.
"First, I'll start with a show-stopping spell.
Then, unleash the full force. Leave no one alive. Understood?"
"…Understood."
Grindelwald's reply carried a hint of disinterest, which Mirabel found amusing.
"Still sulking that Dumbledore didn't show up?"
"…More or less. What is he doing? If he intends to act, now is the time."
"As it happens, it seems he chose to save as many lives as possible rather than seize the opportunity for a decisive strike.
Thanks to him, I missed the chance to kill a few more purebloods."
Mirabel's vendetta against pureblood supremacists extended even to the parents of Hogwarts students.
Killing them would undoubtedly bring sorrow and lasting scars to their children.
This was precisely what Dumbledore had once criticized Mirabel for—the "tears of the innocent." It was also why he could never condone her actions.
As an educator, Dumbledore had chosen to save those children, even if it meant forfeiting the chance to strike at Mirabel.
It was a noble decision.
A model act for any educator.
But—
"Foolish," Grindelwald spat disdainfully.
Mirabel neither agreed nor disagreed, simply gazing forward.
In the end, Dumbledore had chosen to remain an educator rather than take up the mantle of a leader.
For a fleeting moment, an expression of melancholy crossed Mirabel's face.
If—if only he had chosen to be a leader instead of an educator—
"Mirabel?"
"It's nothing. Let's proceed."
For the briefest of moments, an image of her past self flitted through her mind—a self who had spent carefree days alongside an old friend.
A self who had been stripped of her fangs and dulled by complacency. A self who had once tasted happiness.
An "if" that could never be.
But that self was gone, buried along with her humanity.
The being that stood here now was a merciless demon.
And so—
Now it begins.
Now they die.
They would destroy the symbol that was the Ministry of Magic and raise their own banner in its place.
Now was the moment to bring an end to the British wizarding world with her own hands.
The surrounding residents, wizard and Muggle alike, had already been evacuated.
There was no hesitation left.
"Finito Incantatem Maxima! End the spell!"
Golden light poured from Mirabelle's hands, cascading to the ground below.
At that moment, the previously hidden form of the Ministry of Magic was revealed. All the protective charms that had shielded it vanished, leaving the Ministry defenseless.
Mirabelle then cast the spell to signal the beginning of the battle.
"Voltajurelaide Maxima!"
Lightning bolts rained down from the sky, shattering, burning, and desecrating the revered Ministry of Magic. It was a divine judgment, one so powerful that it made the soldiers believe justice was on their side.
After launching this overwhelming first strike, the demon gave orders to the soldiers.
"All forces, charge!"
Hundreds of golems, sixty dragons, over five hundred house-elves, and ten basilisk creatures, along with a variety of magical creatures.
Muggles armed with firearms, followed by tanks.
Dark Wizards wielding wands, and resistance fighters against Voldemort's regime, all surged forward in a massive assault on the Ministry of Magic, slaughtering the panicked staff in their path.
Mirabelle's relentless lightning strikes continued, while Grindelwald's death spells claimed more lives.
The dragons set buildings on fire, tanks roared with their cannon fire, and basilisk eyes killed countless.
Magical creatures devoured the bodies, while Muggle machine guns turned wizards into mere fragments of flesh. House-elves marched forward on the corpses.
A man whose wife had been taken by kidnappers released his fury, casting curses, while another, whose family had been fed to Dementors, stained himself with blood.
"Fear! Your era ends today!"
Whether they were brainwashed by Voldemort or not, it didn't matter.
If they were here, they were enemies.
After partially destroying the building, Mirabelle herself led the charge, gliding low over the ground, stabbing staff members with her wand, and shooting down fleeing wizards from behind.
She crushed a woman who had been screaming and ripped the spine out of a hidden official.
Lankorn, Travers.
Yaxley, Mafalda.
With maniacal laughter, she slaughtered them all, painting the Ministry of Magic in crimson.
Along the way, she spotted a particularly noticeable pink-clad witch.
"Delores Umbridge," she muttered with a cruel smile.
"Eeek! Please, don't kill me! I beg you!" Umbridge cried out in fear.
Mirabelle closed the distance in an instant, grabbing her by the hair, and as Umbridge shrieked in terror, Mirabelle looked down at her with a voice that almost seemed tender.
"I see... you don't want to die so badly?"
"Yes! Yes! I don't want to die!" Umbridge begged.
"Then show me how a frog behaves," Mirabelle ordered.
At those words, Umbridge flinched in terror.
"Go on, make the frog sound. It suits you with that frog-like face of yours."
"Y-yes! Will you spare me if I do?"
Her teeth chattered as she asked, but Mirabelle didn't respond. Instead, she placed her foot on Umbridge's head, pushing her face into the ground.
"Who gave you permission to ask questions?"
"I-I'm sorry! I'll do it, I'll do it! I'm a frog!
G-Geko! Geko-geko! Geko-geko-geko! Geko, geko-geko..."
Mirabelle forced her to mimic a frog, showing her no more humanity.
It was an insult, an utter humiliation, and a blow to her pride. But Umbridge, desperate to survive, croaked miserably, and Mirabelle laughed mockingly.
"Hahahaha! How amusing you are. So, you're not human, you're a frog."
"Y-yes! I'm a frog! An inferior creature! So..."
Umbridge's face relaxed in relief, hoping to have pleased Mirabelle, as she looked up at her, desperate.
Mirabelle smiled quietly, and in an instant, her expression twisted into that of a demon.
"Inferior creatures like you should die!"
"—What?"
With a sickening squish, Mirabelle crushed Umbridge's head with a brutal stomp, the sound of her skull breaking echoing through the air.
This wasn't a metaphor.
With inhuman strength, Mirabelle truly crushed her skull, shattered her brain, and turned her head into a bloody mess.
Looking at the miserable corpse, Mirabelle clenched her hand, crushing Umbridge's soul.
"Fool. You're useless in the new world I'll create."
She flicked her robes and walked away, uninterested, leaving the corpse behind.
The body would soon be destroyed in the aftermath of the battle, trampled, blown away, until no one would recognize it as being Umbridge. But to Mirabelle, it didn't matter anymore.
Having ended one life, the demon continued her assault, advancing towards the room where the Minister was holed up.
The Ministry guards, mere pawns, were turned into meat piles with a flick of her claws as she faced the Minister.
Pius Thicknesse—the former head of the Magical Enforcement Squad, who had become the Minister after Voldemort's takeover, was nothing but a puppet controlled by a spell of obedience.
"Stop… don't come any closer…"
With a cruel smile on her face, Mirabel walked toward Pius, who let out a scream of fear.
He swung his wand wildly, casting disarming, stunning, and even lethal spells, but none of them had any effect on Mirabel.
She didn't even bother to dodge them; instead, she walked straight toward them, taking them head-on. Then, with a flick of her claws, she struck.
The body, now headless, collapsed, and the head followed, rolling to the floor.
Mirabel crushed the eyes of the terrified head beneath her foot, contorting her youthful, beautiful face into one of victory.
"To the whole army! Retreat immediately!"
Now, all that remained was to erase the traces.
She gave the order for the soldiers to retreat and cast an invisibility charm so they wouldn't be caught in the chaos.
Then, Mirabel rose high into the air, raising her hand toward the sky.
The spell she was about to cast was one that any wizard of a certain level could perform.
It was the most basic of spells, something Harry or Hermione could use—elementary magic.
But she would perform it with overwhelming magical power, using all of her strength.
"—Accio!"
Wands could be used to cast multiple spells simultaneously.
And wands are made from parts of magical creatures.
Therefore, Mirabel, being a true vampire ancestor, could use her very body as a powerful material for a wand.
Thus, Mirabel imagined:
The 215 bones that made up her body.
The blood flowing through her veins.
The flesh and organs that constituted her, every single strand of hair—everything was her wand.
At the same time, the wizards who had already retreated raised their wands, supporting her spell.
Mirabel had no doubts.
If she believed it was possible, it would be.
If she thought it could be done, it would be.
She had always worked that way, and would continue to do so.
Therefore, she never considered that it might not be possible.
"Come, God's hammer! Wrath of the stars!"
In the far reaches of the sky, something responded to Mirabel's voice.
Without a sound, without any intention, the golden call echoed to the farthest corners of space.
It left its orbit, breaking through Earth's atmosphere, descending with fiery brilliance, intent on destroying the fools below.
At the sight of this, people would sometimes place their hopes in it, sometimes fear it, and sometimes even see it as a sign of a deity.
The phenomenon was called a meteor.
Feeling the presence of the falling meteor shower, Mirabel released the Accio spell at the last moment and let the meteors fall on their own.
She had guided them to this point, using herself as the marker.
Now, there was no need for further guidance.
To avoid being caught in the destruction, she flew higher, and Grindelwald followed her lead.
And then…
The wrath of the gods shattered everything.
The mighty force created a massive crater.
For several kilometers, destruction spread in all directions.
A thrill of joy ran through Mirabel's body.
Yes, this was the moment she had been waiting for.
She had wanted to create this spectacle.
She wanted to show her… this very scene.
"Hey, are you watching, Letis? At last, I've avenged your grievances…"
"Hahaha… Ahhahahahahahahaha!
Look, Grindelwald! It's like the Ministry of Magic is nothing but garbage!
It crumbled so easily! Hahahahahahaha!!"
Mirabel laughed wildly, like a child who had grown satisfied with a toy.
Grindelwald, watching her, couldn't stop sweating.
Accio was indeed a spell that summoned objects. "In theory," there should be no exceptions.
But… but calling meteors from space using Accio!?
It was absurd! Completely beyond reason!!
Yet, this woman, Mirabel Belesford, was capable of making it happen.
At this point, there was no denying it.
There was no bottom to her power.
She was a demon who would continue to grow infinitely.
This girl had no limits, no end. The more time she had, the more uncontrollable she became.
She walked paths that ordinary people would struggle with, without even recognizing them as paths.
She was, perhaps, the greatest genius ever seen in history—and one that would never appear again.
A monster of talent.
And one that could not be guided in the right direction, an aberrant monster.
It was as if she had been born only to destroy the world.
Pushing these absurd thoughts to the back of his mind, Grindelwald managed a bitter smile.
Later, she would attack Azkaban and free those who had been unjustly imprisoned. By then, however, the hearts and opinions of the people were completely swayed in her favor.
Dumbledore's worst fear had come true: the most disastrous scenario had been realized.
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09