Hadrian ducked beneath a swinging, club-like fist and drove his blade upward, piercing a Stone Man through the jaw. He ripped the sword free and pointed his wand at the stone earth beneath the advancing tide. "Bombarda Maxima!"
The concussive force was deafening. A massive crater was violently blown into the cobblestones, tossing dozens of the rabid creatures high into the misty air, their bodies breaking apart upon impact. But mere physical destruction was losing its efficacy; the shrouded lord from the distant courtyards was already beginning to piece shattered limbs, attempting to fuse them back together.
Hadrian gritted his teeth. He needed to push the line back. He reached deep into his core, bypassing the dark, pragmatic magic of the killing curse and summoning his absolute purest intent.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A blinding, magnificent silver light erupted from the tip of the wand. The divine energy rapidly coalesced into the form of a massive, luminous owl. The silver guardian let out a piercing screech and dove directly into the heart of the horde. It acted as a radiant battering ram, its positive energy violently repelling the Taint-soaked creatures and throwing them backward down the steps in a chaotic pile.
For a brief second, the plaza was bathed in brilliant silver. But the sheer volume of the corruption was overwhelming. The black mist thickened aggressively, pressing back against the Patronus until the silver owl began to visibly dim and dissolve into the damp air.
Hadrian breathed heavily, his muscles burning from the relentless physical exertion. The horde was endless, and Hermione needed more time to finish the inner array. He had to expend significantly more mana to create an impassable barrier.
He raised the Elder Wand high above his head, channelling a massive, volatile surge of magical power.
"Protego Diabolica!"
A roaring inferno of blinding white and bluish flames erupted from the wand. The sentient fire rapidly expanded, forming a towering, crescent wall of apocalyptic heat at the base of the temple steps.
The mindless Stone Men did not stop their charge. They threw themselves blindly into the fire. The dark magic of the flames was absolute; the moment the corrupted flesh touched the bluish fire, the Stone Men were violently incinerated, turning into fine grey ash before they could even scream. The wall of fire consumed scores of them in seconds, creating a flawless, impassable line of defense.
Hadrian lowered his wand, allowing himself a fraction of a second to breathe.
But then, the air behind him hissed.
Hadrian snapped his head around. The sentient, ravenous fire of Protego Diabolica was not just consuming physical matter—it was aggressively devouring his mana in the environment. And it had found the blood-laced runes he had just finished carving.
The bluish flames were licking up the temple steps, actively siphoning the potent, crimson magic right out of the geometric runes. The brilliant red runes began to rapidly flicker and dim, their protective power being eaten alive by his own spell.
"Damn it," Hadrian cursed.
With a sharp slash of his wand, he violently severed his connection to the dark fire, extinguishing the bluish flames before they could completely destroy the outer array.
The immediate threat of the horde had been turned to ash, but the runic circle was now critically weakened. Without hesitation, Hadrian rushed back down the stone steps, dropping to his knees. He grabbed his broadsword and reopened the weeping wound on his palm, pressing his bleeding hand back onto the fading stone to forcefully reinforce the failing runes before the next wave of the Taint could advance.
Hadrian strode through the crumbling archway of the inner sanctum, the residual heat of the violent battle still clinging to his heavy cloak. Ash and grey dust drifted through the air like morbid snow. As he stepped into the centre of the temple, he paused.
Mother Rhoyne and Hermione were speaking in quiet tones. Hadrian raised a sharp eyebrow, a sudden spike of protective concern piercing his battle-hardened focus. He studied his daughter closely. Hermione was unharmed, but her eyes were red-rimmed, and the faint, silvery tracks of recent tears marked her soot-stained cheeks. The goddess looked upon the young witch with an expression of profound sorrow—a motherly tenderness that momentarily transcended the suffocating Taint binding her.
Whatever had transpired between them, Hadrian knew this was not the time to pry. The roars of the Stone Men echoing from the plaza were a grim reminder of their ticking clock.
"Hermione," Hadrian said, his voice a steady, grounding anchor.
Hermione quickly wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeve, her posture straightening as she turned to face him. "I am ready, Father."
"Take your position at the central node," he instructed, his tone shifting into the uncompromising cadence of a commander. "The moment I strike, the Taint will violently lash out. You must be prepared to flood the runic circle with your mana to contain the mist."
Hermione gave a firm nod, stepping to the edge of the blood-laced runes and raising her wand.
Hadrian turned his intense, glowing emerald gaze toward the bound goddess. The black corruption had crept higher up her chest, fiercely battling the fading golden light. "Are you ready?" he asked.
Mother Rhoyne did not flinch. She looked past the blade and into his eyes, giving a single, resolute nod. "End it, Hadrian."
Hadrian extended his right hand. With a sharp hum that vibrated through the ruined temple, his heavy goblin-steel broadsword materialized in his grasp. Almost immediately, the ancient metal began to resonate with his core, radiating a blinding emerald hue that cast long, eerie shadows against the pillars.
He adjusted his grip, his expression hardening into cold detachment.
"Mors Prope," Hadrian chanted, his voice dropping into a dark, reverberating register.
The air pressure in the room violently plummeted. Arcs of chaotic, pitch-black lightning lashed out from the broadsword, cracking like whips against the stone floor. The dark magic was ravenous, demanding a severe toll for its manifestation. As the black lightning surged around the blade, Hadrian's right arm grew visibly gaunt. The skin pulled tight against his bones, his veins turning a bruised, inky black as the spell aggressively siphoned his own vitality to fuel its lethal power.
Despite the agonizing physical drain, his hand did not tremble.
Mother Rhoyne's sky-blue eyes widened. Even blinded by the Taint, her divine perception could perfectly see the sheer, contradictory nature of the soul standing before her—a mortal wielding the essence of death with the absolute authority of a god.
His presence was an avalanche of pure pressure as it nearly brought the entire ruins down to the very base.
"You truly are a being of vicissitudes... Destroyer," the goddess whispered, a mixture of awe and tragic realization trembling in her voice.