HP: Spirit Talker

One of the beasts points its wand at me, but I'm already beside it. There's barely a glow at the end of the wand as the arm separates from its body and falls to the ground. The brunet in the damn jacket just begins to scream as a hilt blow to the solar plexus makes him gasp, a kick under his knee and a hilt blow to his temple. Step.

Barely dodging a sprawling blow from a clawed paw, I duck under it. The enemy dodges the blow, turns, but I'm already on my feet. One step. The young wolf who had climbed onto the digger loses his footing. Howls wildly. A step. A simple swing of the hatchet sinks into the void with a rumble, and its owner grabs the shattered and charred side. He begins to extinguish the burning clothes. Loud howls and growls.

A step. I stand twenty paces from the werewolves. The creatures growl, curse, send out curses. Two beams of curses. One step. The enemy does not have time to lower his arm before it falls of its own accord, and the redhead himself falls to the ground, head smashed. Will survive. One step. Thirty meters behind them. A quick look around. BANG! As I step away, I catch a glimmer of metal on the right side of the shield. What an idiot, I forgot to wear protection. Good thing I still have the artifact with me.

I get out of the transfer at the truck. I jumped up, into the back of the truck, then onto the roof, and from there onto the shoulders of the werewolf, who for some reason climbed into the truck. As I fell, I managed to slash him in the back, somersaulted and went into a new movement. Step. I cut off the leg of another big guy and struck him in the back of the head with the hilt.

Two shuriken under the young wolf's knees in one leap, a high somersault, and a shattered collarbone. Shield to push one away, the other hard to the head. A kick to the head, a somersault and another move. I appear at the hill where the werewolves came down.

My brothers tell me that six werewolves crashed into the shield, shooting at them and hurling some not-so-strong curses. It turns out the werewolves have some kind of defense. But what good are they against a real spiritual weapon? Step. The owner of a monstrous self-shooter is quickly and easily decapitated. The body shudders a few times as it falls and is already on the ground. Clawed fingers rake the floor. One step. How did he react? He barely managed to cut his cloak, and his sweater flared up.

— This sword will be mine! Graaaa!

The shuriken flies off the defense around the werewolf. Step. The last full wolf cub grabs the canister from the truck and runs towards the house. I appear right in front of him and he literally slips on the tanto. Wide eyes stare at me in disbelief. A sideways jerk, the tanto returns to the weapon bracelet, and I move to the last wand wielder.

 A red-haired man, thin and tall, wearing boots, jeans and a raincoat. The werewolf is roaring with grief — his son just died. A circular movement with the katana and a new movement. The werewolf stiffens, mouth closed, mouth open, swaying, falling to his knees. His head rolls away, but there is no blood — the wound is cauterized.

The wandless Aguamenti strikes the ringleader with a powerful stream. The mother-of-pearl shield holds, but quickly turns translucent. I don't have time to finish the shield as I receive a report of another arsonist. I move to the side to see the right transition point when I see Lizzie shoot something from her wand at the arsonist. With the crack of the canister exploding, the werewolf is thrown back against the protective dome. His clothes burn brightly from the spewed fuel. The werewolf howls with the pain of burns and a severed arm.

A few precision shots from Nick Summers and the werewolf's head bursts open. Expansive bullets? One step. Another step. A powerful "Stupefy" comes from the staff, and the leader's defenses burst. Another Stupefai tosses him aside as I hear the clatter of the device. A quick glance back. Lowering my wand. The reinforcements have arrived.

Fourteen wizards, skilled, experienced, and understanding of teamwork, had literally overpowered the remnants of the pack in a matter of minutes. No one was killed, only paralyzed and sedated — we had already discussed this with Anthony. If anything, we need a "language," otherwise how can we find out who gave the orders? The magicians split up.

One part of the group placed the seals I'd given them on the faces of the living werewolves, while the others collected the bodies. A special mobile prison, like the one Moody was in the movie, quickly filled with the living, and the dead were collected in a bag with expanded space. Twenty minutes later, the arriving reinforcements leave with Nick.

Only Anthony, Lizzie and Megan remain. No one was able to chase the girls away, and I couldn't use magic on them. While the three of them talked to the builders, who had calmed down from their hysteria and shock with magic, I performed an express version of a ritual.

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