Misdirection
Tariq Al-Zahrani crouched low on his flying carpet, the wind whipping through his dark, unkempt hair as he surveyed the empty Yeosu Refinery below. The complex maze of pipes, tanks, and towers stretched out before him, a labyrinth of metal and concrete illuminated by the harsh glare of floodlights that cast long, eerie shadows across the ground. Tariq's eyes, once sharp and alert, now held a distant, glazed look, as if he were not entirely present in the moment.
The plan... the plan... The thought echoed in his mind, a fragmented mantra that he clung to like a drowning man to a lifeline. Zain's orders... strike hard, fast... leave no trace...
His grip tightened on his wand, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grasp. The smooth, polished wood felt strange in his hand, as if it belonged to someone else, someone he no longer recognized. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog that seemed to have settled over his thoughts, but it was like trying to grasp smoke with his bare hands.
Suddenly, the air beside him shimmered, and for a moment, Tariq thought he saw a flicker of movement, a ghostly silhouette that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He blinked, unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him, but the unease that had been growing in the pit of his stomach intensified, a cold, creeping sensation that set his teeth on edge.
Something's wrong... not right... The thought skittered across the surface of his mind, a fleeting warning that he couldn't quite grasp. Too easy... too planned...
But before he could dwell on it further, the refinery below erupted in a series of earth-shattering explosions, the force of the blast hitting him like a physical blow. Massive spikes of earth, jagged and cruel, burst from the ground, impaling the storage tanks and sending geysers of oil and flames shooting into the night sky. The heat was intense, a searing wave that washed over Tariq like a furnace, making his skin prickle and his eyes water.
What... what's happening...? His mind reeled, trying to make sense of the chaos unfolding before him. This wasn't... wasn't part of the plan...
He watched, transfixed, as the flames consumed the refinery, turning the once-orderly complex into a raging inferno that painted the sky an ominous shade of orange. The smoke billowed upwards in thick, choking plumes, filling his lungs and making him cough and sputter.
Need to... need to act... The thought struggled to the surface of his mind, a moment of clarity amidst the confusion. Make the flames bigger... finish the job...
With a shaking hand, Tariq raised his wand, pointing it at the burning wreckage below. He took a deep breath, trying to focus his scattered thoughts, and began to chant the incantation for a fire-starting spell, his voice hoarse and strained.
"Incendio... Incendio..." The words felt strange on his tongue, as if he were speaking a language he didn't quite understand. But as he repeated the spell, over and over, the flames began to grow, feeding on the spilled oil and debris, until the entire refinery was engulfed in a raging inferno.
The heat was unbearable, a physical force that pressed against Tariq's skin like a tangible weight. He could feel the sweat pouring down his face, stinging his eyes and dripping onto his robes. The smoke was thick and acrid, filling his lungs and making him choke and gag. But still, he kept chanting, his voice rising and falling with the crackle of the flames, as if he were in a trance, a waking nightmare from which there was no escape.
It's done... it's done... The thought stuttered through his mind, a moment of grim satisfaction amidst the horror. Zain will be... will be pleased...
But even as he watched the flames dance and writhe, Tariq couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that he had missed something important. His head throbbed, a dull, pulsing ache that made it hard to think, hard to focus.
Need to... need to go... The thought surfaced slowly, like a bubble rising through molasses. Get out... before it's too late...
He raised his wand, preparing to disapparate, when suddenly the air around him crackled with the telltale signs of incoming apparition. Tariq's heart leapt into his throat, a surge of fear and adrenaline that cut through the haze of his thoughts like a knife.
ICW... they're here... The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, a cold, sinking feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach. Need to... need to go, now...
With a desperate, panicked urgency, Tariq focused his mind on the familiar image of the Nasim al-Aakhir base, the secret compound hidden deep in the mountains of Afghanistan. He could see it in his mind's eye, a sprawling complex of caves and tunnels, carved into the very rock of the mountain itself.
Safety... need to get to safety... The thought pounded in his head, a frantic drumbeat that drowned out all other considerations. Zain will know what to do... he always knows...
With a sharp crack, Tariq disapparated, his body twisting and contorting as he was pulled through the suffocating darkness of apparition. For a moment, he felt as if he were being torn apart, his very essence ripped and shredded by the forces of magic. But then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the sensation passed, and he found himself standing in the middle of the Nasim al-Aakhir base, his chest heaving and his heart pounding.
Made it... I made it... The thought flickered through his mind, a moment of relief amidst the chaos. Need to... need to find Zain...
But before he could take more than a few steps, he heard the unmistakable sound of apparition behind him, and he spun around, his wand at the ready, his heart pounding with dread.
No... no, it can't be... His mind reeled as he saw the ICW wizards materializing out of thin air, their wands drawn and their faces grim. They followed me... they tracked my apparition...
For a moment, Tariq stood frozen, his mind racing as he tried to think of a way out, a way to escape the trap that he had unwittingly led himself into. But before he could act, before he could even begin to formulate a plan, the air around him exploded in a shower of earth and rock, the ground beneath his feet erupting in a series of jagged spikes that shot out in every direction.
What... what's happening... His mind screamed as he felt the searing pain of the earth magic tearing through his body, ripping and shredding his flesh like paper. The vial... the fail-safe from Zain... it must have been triggered...
And then, with a horrifying clarity, he felt the flames begin to consume him, the vial igniting in a blaze of agony that engulfed him from head to toe. He screamed, a raw, animal sound that tore from his throat like a knife, as he felt his skin blacken and char, his bones cracking and splintering under the intense heat.
No... no, please... His mind begged, even as he felt his consciousness slipping away, his thoughts scattering like ashes on the wind. I don't... I don't want to die...
But it was too late. The flames consumed him utterly, melting his flesh and bone into a unrecognizable mass of charred and twisted remains. His wand, his robes, even the vial that had contained the deadly magic, all of it was reduced to ash and dust, scattered across the rocky ground of the mountain fortress.
And as Tariq Al-Zahrani drew his last, agonized breath, his mind filled with a final, fleeting image of Zain, his leader, his mentor, the man who had promised him power and glory beyond his wildest dreams.
Forgive me... forgive me, Zain... The thought echoed in his mind, a whisper of regret. I failed... I failed you...
And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, Tariq Al-Zahrani was gone, his body consumed by the flames.
oo0ooOoo0oo
ICW Investigator Hans Müller appeared on the scene with a sharp crack, his wand already drawn and his senses on high alert. He had been tracking the Dark Lord Desolus for weeks, following the trail of destruction and chaos that the madman had left in his wake, and now, finally, it seemed that they had him cornered.
These mountains... they're the perfect place for a dark wizard to hide, Hans thought to himself as he surveyed the rugged terrain that surrounded him. The jagged peaks and deep valleys were shrouded in a thick, clinging mist that seemed to swallow the light, creating an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere that set his teeth on edge. But no matter how well he thinks he's hidden, we'll find him. We have to.
Around him, his team of ICW wizards and Korean Magical Law Enforcement officers were already on the move, their bodies tense as they fanned out across the rocky landscape. Hans could feel the crackle of magic in the air, the hum of revealing charms and anti-apparition wards being cast, and he felt prideful in his team.
We've got some of the best wizards and witches in the world on this team, he thought, his eyes scanning the faces of his colleagues. If anyone can take down the Dark Lord, it's us.
But even as he raised his wand, preparing to lead the charge, the air around him exploded in a shower of earth and rock, the ground beneath his feet erupting in a series of jagged spikes that shot out in every direction. Hans threw himself to the ground, his wand flashing as he cast a hasty shield charm, barely managing to deflect the deadly projectiles that hurtled towards him.
What in the nine hells was that? He thought, his heart pounding as he struggled to make sense of the unexpected attack. Desolus must have ambushed us! But where is he?
And then, through the swirling mist and debris, he saw a figure emerge, a man engulfed in flames, his body writhing and twisting in agony as he burned alive. Hans felt his stomach clenching as he watched the man's flesh blacken and char, the stench of burning meat filling the air.
Bei Hexenmeisters Humpen! What is happening? He thought, his mind reeling as he tried to process the gruesome sight before him. Could it be... could that be the Dark Lord himself? Did he just... die?
For a moment, Hans dared to hope, to believe that they had finally caught their quarry, that the monster who had terrorized the Muggle world was finally dead and gone. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he heard the shouts and cries of alarm from his team, and he spun around, his wand at the ready, his heart pounding with sudden dread.
Scheiße, we're under attack! He realized, his eyes widening as he saw the horde of wizards and witches pouring out of the mountainside, their wands flashing and their faces twisted with rage and grief. They must be the Dark Lord's followers, his inner circle!
He cursed under his breath, his wand moving in a blur as he cast shield charms and counter-curses, trying desperately to hold back the onslaught of spells and hexes that rained down upon him and his team. He could hear the screams and shouts of his colleagues, the sizzle and crackle of magic as they fought for their lives, and he knew that they were in trouble, that they were outnumbered and outmatched.
We need reinforcements, he thought, his jaw clenching tightly as he sent a patronus message back to headquarters, calling for backup. We can't hold out much longer on our own.
But even as he fought, even as he poured every ounce of his skill and strength into the battle, Hans couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that there was more to this attack than met the eye. Why were they hiding out here, in the middle of nowhere? He wondered as he tried to piece together the clues. And why did Desolus just... explode like that? It doesn't make sense.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and focus on the fight at hand. There will be time for questions later, he told himself, his wand flashing as he sent a volley of stunners and disarming charms towards the oncoming horde. Right now, we need to survive.
We can do this, Hans thought, his eyes narrowing as he sent a blast of fire towards a group of attackers, sending them scattering like leaves in the wind. We have to do this.
And with that thought ringing in his mind, Hans Müller threw himself back into the fray, his wand flashing and his heart pounding as he fought with every ounce of his being.