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SD: CH120 - Nightmare At The World Cup Part 3
🕑 Added 2024-07-10 13:41:29 +0000 UTCThis is really good tea,” said Lucius smiling as he sampled the tea that the woman had served him. “You truly have excellent taste.”
The woman let out a girlish laugh. “How you flatter me, Lord Malfoy! But yes, my late husband preferred the Eastern blends, but every now and then I managed to convince him to get something different.”
Lucius decided not to comment about how there were rumours about the mysterious disappearance of her husband.
“I can taste a mix of eastern and western styles in this. It’s always nice to see such unusual components working together so well.” He meant it too. It kept things new and refreshing.
The woman took a sip of her own cup and matched Lucius’s expression. “I must say, Lord Malfoy. Compared to some of your usual requests, this one was rather… explosive.”
Lucius barked out a laugh. “Yes, explosive is one way of putting it.”
The earpiece on his left ear vibrated, and Lucius tapped it twice. Instantly, the familiar voice of Edward Nott whispered into his ears.
“Targets 2,3 and 4 addressed.”
“Target 1 under attack.”
“Target 6 left for you as requested. Good hunting!”
Lucius smiled. The earpieces were a product of ingenuity. He had had Narcissa fashion them using a combination of charms that dealt with amplification and reception of auditory stimuli, switching charms, and convergence to create these earpieces, and redirect all information passing through them to a singular sink — himself. Quite naturally, anyone that had the temerity to point out the similarity between his devices and muggle earpieces would quite naturally be subjected to a liberal application of a number of Ministry-cleared dark curses that would make them wish for death several times over.
Lucius had initially been quite repulsed to the idea of demolishing the credibility of the current administration. A no-brainer, given how painstakingly he had developed his relationship with the current Minister over the better part of two decades. It was a bitter irony to destroy his own handiwork with his own hands, but at least he had the opportunity to topple everything in the way he thought best.
And so far, everything was going great. A three-pronged attack that would cripple wizarding Britain and make it ready to be served to the Dark Lord as a welcome gift for his resurrection. And Lucius, as his greatest and most faithful servant, would hold the honour of standing by his side while he conquered the entire wizarding world and reshaped it in his image.
The detonation at the stadium had already killed a significant population of aurors and hit-wizards, crippling the DMLE. They had doubly checked to make sure that Amelia Bones, the Director and backbone of the DMLE, would perish in the detonation.
Another group had been sent to capture Harry Potter and kill pretty much anyone that resisted. Given that the brat was staying with the Weasleys was quite serendipitous. In a single shot, the Dark Lord’s enemy would be captured, and the blood-traitors would die horrific deaths to save him.
Of course, it was a high risk manoeuvre that promised great rewards if he succeeded. Obviously, Lucius had no desire to die for his cause, so he needed to find others stupid enough to die in his place. And from personal experience, Lucius knew it wasn’t usually that hard.
All it took were some sums of gold thrown around to get hired wands to augment his forces. Lucius had also gotten access to certain highly illegal potions and ingredients that could make things easier for the werewolf packs, and some extra incentive for Greyback himself, and he had an entire army of werewolves, influenced under a modified Draught of Rage that also made them amenable to commands from anyone wearing a Death Eater mask.
It was the other ‘Death-Eaters’ that took some convincing. Fortunately, the Quidditch World Cup served as a melting point for nearly everyone of some significance in and around Britain. Given the chaos the attack would ensure, it allowed the ‘participants’ the cover to indulge in their rage, vengeance or just bigotry. Alecto Carrow in particular, was obsessed with killing Amelia Bones, while her brother Amycus had Kingsley Shacklebolt on his shit-list. The Carrows had an understanding with Corban Yaxley, a closely tied-in family member, ensuring that Corban would rise to become the next DMLE Director, which motivated him to join the group. In return, Corban would ensure that Amycus Carrow got the Head Obliviator’s job, while Alecto was assured of a promotion to Head of the sub-Department of Wizengamot Administration Services. With the government in tatters, Lucius would rise to offer Cornelius his kind aid, in exchange for becoming the Advisor to the Ministry of Magic, officially an ad-hoc position but one that guaranteed substantial benefits in the long run.
Then there were others that were in for a vendetta. Arthur Weasley had recently conducted a raid on Nott Manor, confiscating a lot of dark artefacts that would have sold at hefty prices in the black market. Quite naturally, a man like Edward Nott believed that killing the Weasley children and leaving Arthur Weasley destitute would be an appropriate vengeance.
And finally there were people like Walden Macnair that were in just for the chance to kill without reservation.
“Is there a problem, Lord Malfoy?”
Lucius shook his head, taking yet another sip. “Cornelius is safe, as are the more important Wizengamot members and the visiting delegates. Of course, I have you to thank for that, Madame.”
The woman gave a high-pitched, girlish laughter “Oh Lord Malfoy, how you flatter me! I merely did what I was tasked for.” She took a deep breath. “And you know exactly what I wanted in return.”
Her features took a darker shade.
“The veela and the blood-traitor that spawned her,” spat the woman. “I want them dead. That was my price in exchange for betraying Cornelius like that. And yet, I noted that the eyesore and her father managed to leave the stadium before the explosives went off.”
Ah, Sebastian Delacour. The Minister of External Affairs for Magical France, as well as the French Ambassador to the ICW. Sebastian Delacour was one of the most powerful individuals in the French government, and the strongest candidate for the next Ministerial elections due in four months. The worst part? The sitting Minister, Claudie Besson, was on excellent terms with the man, and publicly supported his nomination against Fabien Dumont, leader of the blood-purist faction in France. Unfortunately, blood purism had a far less stronghold in Wizarding France than Britain, which explained why a half-giantess managed to stay on as the Headmistress of its premier educational institution, Beuaxbatons.
Really, Lucius had forgotten the sheer number of times Dupont, Montague and Almeideaux, the big names in the blood purist faction, had impotently spewed hate about how Sebastian Delacour was helping the half-breeds to stay in power, and nothing, not even slander, could bring the man down. It was them that had supplied Lucius with the illegal ingredients for the werewolves, in return for Lucius ensuring that the visit to the Quidditch World Cup would be the last thing that the Delacour family ever did.
The exact same thing that the woman sitting in front of him had demanded in return for helping place a magical explosive in the World Cup stadium with little help from Yaxley and Carrow.
Lucius smiled. He just loved when there was a brightside.
“It was… necessary,” he said with a note of apology in his voice. “The Delacours were in the Top-Box. Holding them back while allowing the other delegates to pass, would not only attract suspicion, but also invite resistance. But do not worry, Madam Umbridge,” said Lucius, standing up. “I will personally ensure that your requests are met.”
“You will?” asked the woman, her eyes flashing with irrational hatred. “You will kill the filthy half-breed and her blood-traitor father?”
Lucius smiled. “My word is my bond.”
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....
....
Walden Macnair was no longer smiling.
Amelia Bones was known and feared as the Iron Lady for a reason. As the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she had done all she could to make her organisation an oasis of competency and efficiency amidst the bureaucratic quagmire that was the British Ministry of Magic. Unlike Crouch who had used the platform to boost his own popularity, enough to land him the prestigious position of Head of Department of International Magical Cooperation, Amelia Bones had focussed on hiring good people, promoting skilled ones, and building a team spirit rarely seen in other divisions of the Ministry. The quiet competence of the Magical Law Enforcement squads restored the confidence of the people in the government, despite Lucius Malfoy’s constant efforts to cut down the DMLE budget year after year. In fact, Amelia Bones made it a point to replenish the DMLE budget by donating from her own House revenues.
It was even Lucius threw backhanded praises about the way the woman handled her business. Even with Cornelius Fudge’s administration allowing complacency and rot to fester within the system, Amelia Bones was the silent juggernaut, the pragmatic war veteran that maintained her purity, her dignity with honed precision and an iron-clad control.
None of which could be seen in the woman he was fighting.
His opponent thrashed like a beast, her wand stained black and purple from the dark energies it constantly spewed out, and rage driving her movements. The moment Amelia Bones had chosen to focus her undivided attention upon him, Macnair found, to his great irritation, on the defensive. Rather than seeking a hole in his defences, or indeed doing anything tactical, Amelia Bones simply struck him head-on with all the power she could force into one spell, and it was a lot. Macnair didn’t fear pain, but one hit from that would leave him missing the top half of his body. And to make matters worse, Bones was, in a straight charge, fairly close to casting speed to him. Caught flat-footed, he had little choice but to hide behind shields and block.
Someone should have told Bones that she was supposed to be blocked.
“REDUCTO HORRIBILIS!”
The shield exploded, and with it, came a roar of primal fury, as the force of an armoured truck smashed into him. Half of his ribs shattered right upon impact, and blood gushed forth from his mouth and eyes, as Walden was sent sprawling. He tumbled, agony filling his thoughts and a lunatic madwoman after him to finish the job and pulp him to fine paste.
It was all he could do not to burst out in exuberant laughter.
“Not half bad!” He crowed, rolling back to his feet and charging wholeheartedly back into the foray. It didn’t matter if he was bleeding. Hell, it didn’t matter if he was not going to be for long on this earth. He finally had that one opponent that he would brazenly fight to the death. No holding back, no tactics, nothing. Instead, he went by his preferred style — half a dozen rapid-fire severing curses, each targeting a vital organ, while keeping his left hand free and near his pouch to summon his cursed axe at the right moment. He only needed one arm to wield it, and if only he could land… two of those curses, it would grant him enough window of opportunity to decapitate the DMLE Director in a single swing.
“BOMBARDA MAXIMA!”
A hurricane blow smashed through his guards, so fast that he barely saw it, and once again, it sent him sprawling. It was beyond obnoxious. The simple fact was that the physics of the situation were beyond him. Both of them were quite evenly matched in combat and reflexes, and he wasn’t being vain by thinking he was perhaps a shade better than Bones.No, the really damaging factor was that the Director had somehow amassed a magical strength so immense that just a single spell was tossing him around like a rag doll. It was less like fighting Bones herself and more like….
…Like the Dark Lord.
Just one mistake, and he’d be crushed to death.
“Finally! A battle worth fighting!” He said. “I must thank you, Director. I’d never get the chance to use this spell otherwise.”
He lifted his wand at the sky, and yelled — “MORSMORDRE ANIMUS REVERSO!”
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....
....
Further away, Emmeline Vance observed the two duelists attack each other like mad dogs in a frenzy. Bones had taken Macnair’s fullest attention. With most of the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle locked away in Azkaban, Walden Macnair was, by all means, the most dangerous fighter available in the Death Eater ranks.
And despite that, Amelia Bones was crushing him.
A little further away, Alecto Carrow lay still, impaled with silver javelins through her neck and chest, while her brother Amycus had been gouged through his neck by Amelia Bones. That left Warrington and Jugson, neither of them skilled to last against her, but having to deal with the werewolves at the same time was taking a toll on Emmeline’s reserves, even if Hestia was somehow able to throw around curses as if she hadn’t just suffered from magical exhaustion some time ago.
They were winning. By all accounts, they would definitely win.
Then Macnair thrust his wand up in the air.
“MORSMORDRE ANIMUS REVERSO!”
Emmeline frowned. As an Order agent, she was no stranger to seeing the Dark Mark from the last war, but this was the first time she was seeing it being cast in decades. Also, she had never quite seen the expanded version of the Dark Mark’s incantation. All she knew was that one moment Macnair was on the verge of death and casting the Dark Mark, presumably to attract support from his fellow Death-Eaters and the next…
Macnair vanished, and the next moment, he was right behind Bones, hurling curses behind her back.. Bones raised her shield in time, but Macnair thrust his axe, the cursed blade impaling through her shield, shattering it, and piercing her stomach. A blasting curse later, Amelia Bones was hurled away by several feet, her face and arms bruising.
Emmeline didn’t know how, but somehow, Macnair felt far more ominous than ever.
“First blood to you, second to me.”
Still smiling, Macnair levelled his wand at Bones, as if nobody else in the world existed anymore. The manic smile on his face only widened. “You first. The rest are cattle, and will be butchered, but you are the one that dies first! Come on, Director! Get up! Show me your inner animal!”
“Exquisite,” said Bones, slowly standing up. “That power… it came from nowhere.” She looked up at the sky. “Another mystery regarding the Dark Mark, perhaps?”
The shark-like smile on Macnair’s face was so wide that it looked like his face would split open, but somehow it got wider still.
“I’ve always wanted to cast that spell!”
“Interesting,” said Bones, and Emmeline noted how the wounds on her body were slowly beginning to close by themselves, a powerful healing spell in effect. Had she cast it when she was down?
“I’ll have to make sure to keep your body in one piece after I kill you. I bet there are all sorts of wondrous properties I can learn from the Dark Mark from that.”
“Good, very good,” said the madman, his wand trained at the Director. “CRUCIO!”
“DEPRIMO MAXIMA!”
The sickly red cruciatus curse met the amplified shattering charm in full vigour, the two spells crackling and frothing as their casters attempted to overpower each other with sheer willpower and magical might.
“Come, Director Bones,” spat Macnair. “Let’s see which of us is the better killer!”
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....
Half a mile away, Lucius almost buckled down in pain. If not for his Occlumency, he would have already been screaming his guts out. For a moment, he feared someone had cast the cruciatus at him from behind.
But then a searing pain up his left sleeve taught him better.
He looked up.
And up.
At the moonlit sky, where the Dark Mark was floating in all its glory for everyone to see.
That was not the shocking bit, not even remotely so. Lucius himself had planned to cast the Dark Mark after the deed was done, preferably above the stadium. Unfortunately, that bit hadn’t gone according to plan because of the chaotic mob fleeing in terror, and Lucius had to spend precious minutes finding his own son and Broderick’s family and ushering them to safety while chaos broke out everywhere else. Then he had to be seen escorting Minister Fudge out as an alibi, only to entertain Madam Umbridge’s untimely request for tea.
No, the real issue was that some fool had cast the Forbidden Spell, one that was crafted by the Dark Lord, and geared towards draining power from the bearers of the Dark Mark into the Caster. It was the ultimate form of submission, offering one’s magical reserves, and even one’s Family Magic, to the Dark Lord for his use. So long as the spell was in effect, the bearers of the Dark Mark would serve as living magical batteries, empowering the caster with everything they had. And in the middle of such an important event, something like this would only be a disaster.
“Malfoy,” came Nott’s voice right that moment. “Why by Merlin’s —”
“It wasn’t me, you fool!” Lucius snarled into the earpiece. “Must be that fop Androcles! Or Carrow!”
“Carrow’s responder went off,” said Nott from the other side. “Both of them. Androcles is with me. That leaves —”
“MACNAIR!” Both of them hissed vehemently at the same time. Walden Macnair was a bloodthirsty psychopath, but he was also one of the better duelists among the Inner Circle. As much as Lucius hated it, Walden was a superior battler than himself, and the only way Lucius could defeat him would be to use his family’s proprietary magic. Built on the foundations of traps, illusions and draining of power, it was the perfect counter to Macnair’s berserk attitude.
The bigger question was, what kind of opponent did Walden Macnair face that resulted in him casting the Forbidden Spell?
“Lucius, if —”
“Silence!” Lucius hissed, and closed his eyes, focussing on the magic flowing out of his body into the Dark Mark above. As an accomplished magical sensor, it was rather easy to follow the path of its trajectory, with all of it being drained into a single sink. Using a bit of pin-pointed, focussed Legilimency, Lucius followed the path all the way to the Dark Mark and through it to the spell that was draining their power.
Then he felt it.
Felt the twisted power of the Cruciatus, attempting to overpower the charm cast by…
Amelia Bones? Bones was… alive?
That Amelia Bones was alive was shocking.
That Walden Macnair needed to channel the combined power of the remaining Inner Circle to fight her was infuriating.
That Amelia Bones was meeting the combined might of the Death Eaters was terrifying.
Lucius could almost feel the monstrous hatred she held for Macnair lapping in her mind and magic like waves, a loathing so unadulterated that it was almost beautiful. He could sense her vengeful rage at being killed… killed? — blasting out of her consciousness in one concentrated aura. He could taste her animalistic fury at the way it has been treated, emanating from its mind like some dark miasma.
A consciousness that was simpler, purer, deadlier. There was no sense of logic to it. No reason or sense of judgement. Her conscience, no, not her — Lucius corrected himself, their, for there were many, but also her —
It didn’t make sense, and yet that made it all the more thrilling. There was no right or wrong, no good or evil, no sanctimonious beliefs nor self-righteous fury. There was just a jumble of thoughts and vague emotions, all of which were tied together in a single lance of hatred and fury.
Compared to that thing that was Amelia Bones, Lucius’s own hatred and bigotry felt petty and inconsequential.
“Nott,” said Lucius at last, his whole body shaking from the experience. “Listen to me, very carefully.
Send every single werewolf we have for Macnair’s aid.”
“What?” exclaimed a flustered Nott. “Why? We have —”
“Because,” said Lucius, cutting him off. “We might have bitten off more than we can chew.”
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....
A single clash of spells. And they separated.
Two seconds later, another clash. Another disengagement.
Cruciatus meant blasting curses.
Dark stunners met bone-breakers.
Two seconds.
One second.
Half.
One.
Rapid skirmishes that repeated as fast as they ended. Travelling through the dark canopy of the forest as Amelia engaged with Macnair in what looked less like spell combat and more like a war with two participants. Apparation was not possible, but point-to-point translocation was indeed a possibility. Both opponents vanished from one point after casting their spells, only to reappear at the next to cast another. Back and forth. Scattering sparks along the dark forest like small geysers of fireflies in the night.
“EXPELLIARMUS!” yelled Macnair.
“OSSIS DISFRINGO!” sent Amelia.
Amelia’s wand shot out of her wand, as she instantly jumped back by several steps to avoid being sliced apart by the accursed axe. Her bone-shattering curse had hit him in the right hand, making it impossible to cast spells without healing it, but did nothing to keep him from coming at her with his axe. Amelia wandlessly summoned her wand back in her hand, and transfigured the roots of a tree to grab and incapacitate him, but the blasted man cut through them with his axe without a side thought. Nevertheless it did give her the opportunity to aim for his head. She missed, but did send him flying with a banishing charm.
Another failed attempt at each other’s life. But it was far from the last.
Both kept moving, tuning with the momentum they gathered. Magic surged more into them. Their bodies were quickly healed. Reinforced. Eyes narrowed.
This was how she had fought with him from the very beginning. A never ending series of lethal jabs and passes that had them with one foot in the grave at every moment.
Macnair was an expert on the dark arts and offensive curses with a footwork worth the envy of the best duellists all over the world. But that paled before the fact that the Dark Mark floating above was constantly empowering him, healing him, strengthening his spells, enhancing his reflexes, making him a horrifically dangerous opponent to match.
How was it that Amelia was still able to keep up with him?
“Hah! Ugh!” She breathed, her lungs on fire, desperate to supply oxygen to her body as she pulled more and more magic out of herself than should be possible. She was an expert in transfiguration and wide-area curses and charms, but she was still one person.
Her body was constantly being hit by dark curses, but her magic was perpetually healing her.
But that wasn’t enough.
It shouldn’t have been enough.
So how was she able to keep up?
Just a little faster….
She transfigured multiple traps employing the forest to do her bidding, her innate skill at organic transfiguration proving its worth not for the first time, as she set the entire forest alive to destroy her enemy. The resurrection — Merlin, it felt weird to even think about it, had granted her an enhanced seṭ of reserves, but it wasn’t enough. Her senses were screaming that there were others around, probably werewolves — and they were coming from all sides to attack her.
“FULMINATA! FULMINATA MAXIMA!”
Streaks of lightning arced out of her wand at seemingly empty places in the forest and set it ablaze. She heard the growls and yelps as the beasts leapt from branch to branch, coming at her in every direction. Amelia kept throwing lightning in a radial arc, when a severing curse came through and slashed her through the abdomen, making her cough out blood and fall to her knees, whimpering in agony.
The werewolves were inching closer. She could make out their silhouettes in the darkness. There were Death Eaters around her too, ready to see her degradation and death. Watch her be torn and despoiled and feasted upon by these monsters.
“Damn… damn it!” She growled under her breath. The rage and shame that ran through her burned and chilled all at once, stripping away years of professional training with Occlumency to maintain her aloofness to expose the frightened and angry woman underneath. The thought of such weakness, the lack of restraint, only filled her with greater fury, redoubling her efforts yet again.
“Give up,” said Macnair, stalking her from in front. You know it’s pointless.”
Amelia answered with a bone-breaker. It was swatted away with a flick of his wand.
That didn’t stop her. Digging into her reservoirs of power, she let the fury and pain and shame drive her even if it killed her. There were spells out there that could help even the odds, and even kill the enemy, kill every single thing in the vicinity. But casting them would render her unable to escape, and die with the enemy.
Truth be told, the enemy contingent didn’t even compare to her skill or her power. And she had both in spades. Her only problem was that the Dark Mark up there was allowing Macnair to counter her perfectly, leaving her open to attack by the others through sheer quantity.
She grit her teeth.
No, I refuse. I need more. It cannot end like this. Not after I’ve been given this second chance.
I refuse.
I refuse.
I will absolutely not let it end this way.
I will not bow.
And though she couldn’t see it, her eyes closed tight in absolute concentration and her mind flooded with cold shame and burning rage, a few runes began to glow all over her body.
I will not break.
Macnair’s eyes widened in disbelief. He didn’t expect her to be this defiant again. He, alongside the other Death Eaters, raised their wands. A hit from all directions, perhaps Protego Maxima would work, so long as there weren't any Unforgivables. A pitiful hope, but a hope nonetheless. She could use a physical barrier, but that would further entrap her and give the werewolves free reign.
Either way, it would end with her death.
Power.
Please, I need more.
And Power answered.
“You are thinking too small, Amelia.”
If Amelia were Hermione Granger, then she’d have wondered why she was able to hear someone speak to her in her mind. If Amelia were Hermione Granger, she’d have thought it foolish to even entertain a notion that someone would bypass her legendary Occlumency defences like they weren’t even present. Finally, if Amelia were Hermione Granger, she’d have been surprised to realise that it was Harry Potter’s voice she heard in her head.
But Amelia wasn’t Hermione Granger, so she didn’t do any of those things. Instead she asked —
And what do you suggest?
“Haven’t you heard?” came Harry’s amused voice. “When quality doesn’t work, use quantity. You aren’t a Hit-wizard or an Auror. You are the DMLE Director. Leader of your forces. Call for them.”
But — they are gone. Dead.
“So had you.”
Amelia had no answer to that.
“Their spirits might have been sundered, their bodies might have been burnt to ash, but their emotions, their presence, their cries for vengeance still remain.”
Amelia stayed silent.
“They are your true followers. Like the oak forests, they have shielded and bled for you. Your treasure among treasures, you have raised every single one of them to being the warriors they are. Call for them, summon your true might!”
Amelia closed her eyes. What Harry had said was impossible, and yet….
It was true, wasn’t it?
During her entire time as DMLE Director and before, she had focused on hiring good people, promoting skilled ones, and building a team spirit rarely seen in other divisions of the Ministry. Cornelius Fudge and previous unqualified ministers like him were the rot. Complacency and the resistance to change within the wizarding population were the diseases causing the rot. And despite the entire body system rotting and failing, the single arm that was the DMLE was holding everything together with its silent strength and quiet competence. One could even claim that the hit-wizards answered to her, and shared her dreams, pledged their allegiance to her, and not the British Ministry of Magic.
It was only natural that even in death, they would answer her call, for just like in life, she was leading the charge, despite being dead, for however little time.
Closing her eyes, she felt the stirrings, felt their emotions, their leftover shades….
A small smile formed on her lips.
Thank you, Harry Potter.
The DMLE Director opened her eyes, and stood up. “Walden Macnair,” she said sternly. “For crimes of sedition against the Ministry, breaking of Ministerial oaths and sacred protocol, and multiple castings of Unforgivable curses and open display of your allegiance to the terrorist group known as the Death Eaters, I am deploying Martial Law, and sentencing you to death. The sentence will be carried out at once. Hit-wizards, take positions.”
Blank silence rang at her statement.
Then Walden Macnair laughed. “Bitch’s lost it. She escaped death once, but has lost it now.” He sneered. “All this time, I wanted to kill you in battle. A fitting end for a fighter. Now? I’ll put you down as an act of mercy.”
He raised his wand, and yelled —
“AVADA KEDA—”
“STUPEFY!” rang a multitude of voices, as streaks of crimson came out of nowhere. Several of them smashed head-on into Macnair, the collective string of spells, amplified by the sheer emotion channelled by the casters. Macnair was physically picked up and hurled by a hundred feet, spinning into the air. He crashed against a large tree trunk, and slid down, groaning.
“Yes,” said Amelia. “That will do.”
Comments
Elroy Keuris
If that didnt earn Amelia Lady Potter, I don't know what more she can do
Devour
Every chapter and part has been spectacular so far, but this is beyond that. Just bloody fantastic!!!
Michael Friede
This is by far the most badass version of Amelia Bones Ive ever seen, and that's saying something. Fantastic work!
bilgs
Honestly you're story telling and writing is amazing
