Feast of Saint Valentine Ⅵ

Out in the midst of the battlefield, dark spells fly out as groups of Auror's attack the humanoid giants with dark spells. The Aurors had become more comfortable in using the dark arts against the giants after the ongoing skirmishes between the two. The spells that Auror's used were stronger and deadlier than before. However, the giants had also learned to fear the Auror's spells and instead now concentrated on keeping Auror's at length and killing them at length. An Auror's magic is only deadly if the spell can reach (in close-range combat) otherwise an Auror is as good as a sitting duck (in long-range combat).

Alastor Moody blasts his way through the battlefield dodging wayward giant attacks and only pausing to offer aid to wounded Auror's who is pulled back by the arrival of Aurors from Team 2. The Auror's carefully and swiftly pull the wounded from the battlefield to the secure point to be briefly treated with emergency healing, before being apparated to St. Mungos.

Wading through the battle the screams of the giants and others fill the air. A hag riding on her broom is viciously swatted out of the air by a massive giant hand. One of the hags dives down to her comrade's aid but it is too late. The fall from such a height ensured that the hag perished upon impact.

Such a scene is common on the battlefield and Alastor Moody did not have time to stop. No, there would be plenty of time to mourn their dead and tally their losses after the long night is over. That is should they survive through the night long enough to see the dawn.

A loud thump pulls Alastor Moody's attention only to see Stephen Flint flying towards him. Rolling out of the way, Alastor Moody dodges only to see the heavily wounded wizard land next to him. Drying blood drips down his nose as Stephen Flint's once neat appearance is in complete disarray. His monocle is heavily cracked with dried rust-colored droplets.

"Reporting," Stephen Flint gasped struggling to speak. "Gurg. Dangerous. Livius Rowle innocent. Dead. Dolohov present."

"Don't speak, Flint," Alastor Moody firmly instructed. "Don't move, conserve your strength. The healers will be here shortly," he said before casting "Periculum," sending red sparks into the sky from the tip of his wand for the healers to find Stephen Flint.

Stephen Flint moves his mouth to warn Auror Moody, but no words come out. His steely flint eyes can only watch Auror Moody being attacked from behind by Dolohov. Despite the abrupt attack, Auror Moody nimbly dodges and counterattacks. The battle sounds grow fainter in Stephen's ears as his eyes grow heavier.

The giants had broken before all the women and children could fully be evacuated. Stephen Flint had remained behind to provide cover along with others. His beloved Halina along with others had safely gotten away. And before he could appearate to safety, he had found himself being attacked by Antonin Dolohov.

No longer feeling pain, Stephen Flint was barely able to keep his steely blue eyes open. He felt rather cold and sleepy. His thoughts were sluggish and drowsy. He would just rest his eyes for a second, but he never opened them again.

In the nearby distance just beyond Rowle manor, the Gurg of the giants calmly observes the battlefield having completely pulled out from the battle after the initial start of the battle. Wurfbog's eyes coldly gleam as he reveals a shark-like smile at spotting the wretched wizard along battling the fierce middle-aged wizard. It had been his exact intention all along.

Wurfbog knew that he could not permit the alliance between him and the dark wizard to end at this juncture, especially after the countless sacrifices made including of his mate, Iwara. His strong and ferocious mate, who had died along on the battlefield. His face darkened with old hatred and glanced down at the silver hook on his hand.

It may not be logical, but Wurfbog utterly blamed the abrupt and tragic demise of his mate on Dolohov. The vile wizard had cut into his hand with a poisonous silver goblin forged spear. Iwara already weak from their travels had forcibly healed his wound and cured the poison. He would have perished otherwise. This only resulted in weakening Iwara even further fully depleting her magic.

If Iwara had magic that day, Wurfbog was certain that his mate would not have perished. Neither did Wurfbog forgive the insult that Dolohov had given him. However, he could not act openly against the wizard. No, he had been forced to stomach his hatred and rage against the wizard.

And so, Wurfbog thought and thought in the depths of that horrid damp cave until an awful brilliant idea began to take form and grow in the depths of his wicked mind. An experienced hunter, Wurfbog knew exactly how to create a trap for his prey. When hunting dragons, he had to be careful to not be burnt nor have his prey fly away safely out of his reach.

Wurfbog had to be clever and more importantly trick his prey by permitting himself to be wounded. Once wounded, Wurfbog would skillfully lead the arrogant dragon into the forest where it cannot clearly spread open its wings to fly. Even with the forest constraining the wings of a dragon that would still not be enough. The dragon could still set the forest ablaze entrapping Wurfbog along with it.

No, Wurfbog needed to appear to be weak. He needed to ensure that his wounded weak state is constantly visible and the sole focus of his prey. Dragons are arrogant creatures and the moment a dragon spots a wounded prey, it tends to forget everything except for that which is directly in front of it. With such ease, Wurfbog leads the inattentive dragon into a carefully dug trap. The dragon once caught attempts to escape by unleashing its fiery breath only to be choked with mud from the wet ground. The use of water would be far too obvious, but mud is just as damp and just as deadly as water.

Distracted by the battlefield, Wurfbog paid no mind to the massive giant standing at his side. A heavy, ugly giant over twenty-three feet tall fretfully scratches at his rhino skin with one hand. Karkrus did not like humans, but he liked humans' food and things. Humans were clever and he did not mind trading. In his old clan, the giants had at times traded with the magical village just over the next mountain. Then Wurfbog had come and killed their clan Gurg.

Then Karkus's life had changed just as the rest of their tribe giants. Those that opposed the Gurg were viciously killed and eaten as an example to the rest of them. Their Gurg enjoyed the blood and had hunted the gurg of every single clan until none were left.

Karkus was not as intelligent as their Gurg, but even he understood that something was amiss. Their Gurg had pulled the strongest of giants from battle and those still remaining were the weakest of giants, the elderly and their youth. Unexperienced and still not fully grown the youth of their tribe were being slaughtered like lambs. Yet the Gurg did not move to protect the halflings that were not yet fully grown.

"Gurg," Karkus hesitated at seeing an overly enthusiastic youth being wounded by Auror's. "Golomath and the younger halflings are under attack."

"And?" Wurfbog coldly responded without even bothering to glance back at the other giant. "They choose to join the battle, it is their own foolishness that brought forth their inept demise," he muttered as he gazed down at the battlefield.

Karkus presses his thick lips together as he watches Golomath fall to his knees screaming before being mercilessly killed by a combined team of Hags and Auror's. Karkus did not like Golomath. Golomath is annoying and always chattering about killing humans. Golomath wanted to be their clan's Gurg someday. Yet Golomath is still not fully grown, a halfling going forth into battle. And now Golomath is dead.