Antonio was devastated. He was overwhelmed with pain. The death of Lord Edmund Bones clamped his heart with an iron grip. The emotional agony he felt was indescribable. He was seething, seething in pain and rage.
Minerva, too, was shocked. She did not share the deep emotional connection with Edmund that Antonio had, so she did not feel the loss as grievously as him. Yet she was profoundly saddened. Saddened at the loss of such a man.
Edmund Bones had been a good man, a man of morals and values. These were qualities rarely found among the Lords of the Wizengamot these days. Furthermore, she had spent her final moments alongside him attempting to save his life. Had he survived, a sense of camaraderie surely would have developed between them after the crisis. But Alas! That was not to be.
The spectators were stunned beyond belief. A Lord of a powerful family and an esteemed member of the Wizarding Council had been killed in the well of that very council. The well and the hall and the council represented power and privilege in Wizarding Britain. The walls of the hall represented reputation and respect. And now, a Lord lay dead in the centre of that very hall.
This was a thing which had happened even once since the founding of the WIzarding Council. It was the first of its kind. When the Wizengamot session had begun early that morning, they could not have imagined such a tragedy. A historical tragedy.
Antonio's body was almost trembling with fury. His eyes were fixed on the blackened body of Edmund Bones. He wished, with every fiber of his being, how he could reverse time for just one moment. That he could have saved him. But this was not really possible.
But there was still one thing Antonio could do. Justice. Revenge. He would have justice for Lord Edmund Bones. He would seek revenge for his fallen friend.
"Tsk... tsk..." Voldemort's sneering chuckle broke the oppressive atmosphere of the Wizengamot hall as the focus of the hall shifted back to him.
"Ah!" he said. "I was not expecting this. To think that he was willing to die for you, Antonio Olario. You really did have great friends."
"But then again," Voldemort continued. "He should have known that his sacrifice was going to be in vain. It does not change anything, perhaps, apart from delaying the inevitable for a few moments. You are going to die anyway."
"Maybe," he added with mocking sarcasm. "Just maybe, I might have spared Edmund's life for a few more days had you died instead."
Antonio did not respond. He was breathing heavily and deeply. Whether it was due to his previous magical and physical exhaustion or his cold rage and extreme fury, it was difficult to distinguish. Though his face was pale, his eyes dim, and his shoulders slumped because of the exhaustion, an expression of absolute resolve remained.
Without a word, Antonio summoned all his will, mustering every last shred, every last drop, of magic still remaining inside his body.
It was not much, but Antonio was willing to give his all. The magic circulated through his body and accumulated in his wand. Antonio weaved his wand and cast his spell.
A white sphere materialized in front of him. His knees almost buckled as the last bit of magic left his body, but he did not collapse, forcing himself to remain standing with gritted teeth.
Meanwhile, the spectators stared at the white orb with gaping eyes. Though it appeared to be a simple sphere, it was anything but normal. The interior of the orb crackled with smaller white lights, imbued with the element of lightning. It was a simple deduction that it would cause a massive explosion upon impact. It was a powerful and deadly spell. If it struck someone, he or she was surely going to be obliterated into smaller chunks.
Using the last of his strength, Antonio flicked his wand, sending the spell flying toward Voldemort. As soon as the spell left his wand, Antonio collapsed to the ground, falling to his knees.
"Lord Olario!" Minerva immediately moved to his side, trying to support him.
He was panting heavily as he fought to remain conscious, his eyes fixed on the spell racing toward Voldemort. Voldemort did not even flinch, standing his ground with an obnoxious expression on his face. It was as if it was not a spell carrying death and destruction that was racing towards him.
When the spell was only a few moments away, Voldemort finally moved. But he did not cast a counter spell. Instead, he lowered his hand and gave a sharp flick of his wand. A lazy motion.
Following his motion, a portion of the haze and the shadowy mist that had been floating inside the runic triangle and around the Death Eaters moved according to his will.
It swarmed from both sides of Voldemort, twisting and turning upon itself until it took a shape resembling a coiled rope. A hollow, coiled rope with its mouth open at one end.
The white orb came crashing in and was swallowed whole by the shadowy construct. The open end sealed itself shut, the orb vanishing inside. For a couple of moments, nothing happened.
Then, a loud boom echoed through the hall as the orb exploded. It was a massive detonation, almost shaking the entire hall, but the rope held firm. Though it expanded and stretched to its limit, it did not tear apart. After another couple of moments, the shadowy haze retreated back inside the triangle, leaving no trace of the massive explosion that had just occurred.
"You lose," Voldemort mumbled, his voice cold.
He raised his wand, pointing it toward the kneeling figures of Antonio and Minerva, who was still trying to support him. Minerva let go of Antonio's shoulders as she prepared for her final attempt. She knew she had no chance going against Voldemort, but she was not going down without a fight.
But just a moment before Voldemort was about to cast his victory spell, a massive, enormous pressure descended upon the hall. It was a pressure unlike anything they had ever witnessed in their entire lives. Whether it was the weight that had accompanied Voldemort's arrival or the pressure Antonio had unleashed when he let go of all his magic, none of them could compare to this. It was like an enormous tsunami crashing against their bodies.
Let alone the spectators, even Voldemort, who was basking in the power of the runic formation, found himself struggling against the force. He nearly stumbled from his position, and a trace of fear appeared in his eyes.
"Voldemort!" a voice thundered, echoing not only across the Wizengamot hall but throughout the entire Ministry. "You have done enough."
"Now, it ends," the voice crackled with sheer power.
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