The first sign of attack wasn't fire or brimstone. It was pressure.
A weight settled over the battlefield, thick as smoke and twice as suffocating. The air shimmered with magic as the wards—woven by some of the best enchanters in the ICW and American magical forces—strained under the assault.
And yet, they held.
From the cliffs, wizards stood ready. War mages lined the ridges, their wands raised, their eyes scanning the shifting horizon. Beneath them, the Grand Canyon stretched vast and treacherous, its deep gorges and towering plateaus now a labyrinth of fortifications, hidden bunkers carved into the rock, elevated platforms reinforced with transfigured stone, and conjured bridges that could be dismissed in an instant to cut off advancing forces.
They had turned the land into a weapon.
Distantly, the hum of enchantments filled the air, concealment spells keeping Muggle eyes blind to what was coming. The sky above shimmered where illusion charms kept the battle hidden from satellites and radar, distorting images, weaving lies into the air itself.
Then the air rippled.
The first to step through was not an army. It was a single figure.
Azrathos.
He emerged slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp black garb, his presence a cold weight against the heat. He looked almost human—if one ignored the unnatural stillness, the way his shadow stretched the wrong way, and the embers burning in his hollow eyes.
He exhaled, surveying the battlefield with a practiced eye.
And then, he snapped his fingers.
The sky shattered.
A golden light tore through the clouds as angels descended, their armor glinting like divine fire. They did not flap their wings—they simply existed in the air, untouched by wind or gravity. Spears of light crackled into existence in their hands, humming with celestial energy.
And below them, the demons emerged.
They stepped forward in eerie unison, their movements measured, deliberate. These were not mindless beasts. They were soldiers. The first wave of a war that had been brewing since the dawn of time.
Azrathos tilted his head, then gestured forward.
"Advance," he uttered
"VOLLEY!"
The command rang out, and the war mages responded instantly. Spellfire rained down from the cliffs—arcs of lightning, explosive hexes, transfigured shards of metal hurtling at lethal speed.
The demons moved.
Some blurred forward, vanishing in flickers of shadow. Others let the spells strike their flesh, absorbing the magic with unnatural ease. But the ground fought back.
One demon, larger than the rest, landed heavily on a rocky outcrop—only for the stone beneath him to liquefy. Transfigured quicksand swallowed him whole before solidifying again, trapping him in jagged rock. Another leapt forward, claws stretching unnaturally long, but a war mage flicked his wand—and the very air solidified, trapping the creature in a sphere of hardened force.
The terrain was alive with magic.
Beneath the canyon rim, a team of enchanters worked frantically, reinforcing the shifting defenses. Runes flared along the walls, igniting counter-spells and repelling intrusions. Every step the demons took shifted the battlefield against them.
But Azrathos?
He simply walked forward.
A squad of five war mages turned on him, their wands igniting in coordinated spellfire. They struck as one—binding chains, cutting hexes, conjured spears aimed for his heart.
Azrathos didn't dodge.
He simply raised a hand.
The magic stopped. Not deflected, not absorbed—just ceased to exist. The spells hung in the air, frozen, before crumbling into nothing.
The wizards hesitated.
Azrathos smiled.
He stepped forward—too fast—and brushed his fingers against their robes.
Five bodies crumpled. Not dead, not harmed—just empty. Their eyes vacant, their magic gone.
One mage attempted to Apparate away, vanishing in a whirl of sand—
Azrathos reached into nothing.
With a vicious twist, he ripped the wizard out of Apparition, dragging him back into existence mid-transport. The man's scream was brief—his body flickered, half-trapped between two locations—before he collapsed in a heap, broken.
Marax exhaled, adjusting his sleeves.
Then he turned his gaze to the heart of the defenses.
And smiled.
"REINFORCE SECTOR THREE!"
From the canyon depths, another squad surged forward, led by a silver-haired witch in combat robes.
"Transfigurate!"
The terrain shifted—pillars of stone launched into the air, striking down descending angels mid-flight. The ground beneath the demons warped, growing jagged teeth, biting into anything not human.
A war mage beside her flicked his wand—sending a rain of molten silver arrows into the sky, anti-divine munitions crafted specifically for this battle.
The angels did not dodge.
They burned.
Golden fire erupted as silver met celestial flesh, but the angels kept coming, spears of light forming in their hands as they dove toward the forward lines.
The witch turned, barking orders—only for her wards to fail.
Something unraveled the magic in an instant, and then—
Azrathos was there.
She barely had time to react before his hand caught her wrist. Magic drained from her veins like water through cracked stone, and she fell.
Azrathos looked around and frowned deeply, "Somethings not right." he growled
An angel swooped down next to him, "We should push in, they are crumbling Azrathos."
The demon shook his head, "No wait for my signal."
****
Morpheus's eyes snapped open, "Clever." he murmured
"The attack on the pyramid was a ploy, they are using their main force on the canyon," he said bitterly
Herpo grunted as he looked at the map, "We figured that the pyramid was a ploy for you and a small group of wizards to hold them off that long was unrealistic. but to think they would go for the canyon, shall I go?"
Morpheus shook his head, "No, you need to meet with Albus don't you?"
"Yes, I should be leaving now actually. I wonder what the man wants from me."
"Information most likely."
"Are you confident in holding the canyon?" Herpo asked a frown etching onto his face
Morpheus shook his head, "I'm not sure, I'll try my best."
He stood from his seat and created his doppelganger, "It looks shabby brother." Herpo joked a peel of laughter escaping his lips
Morpheus tsked, "It's been in use constantly poor thing doesn't have much life left in it, today will be its final stand I suppose."
Herpo's eyes widened as he realized what his brother meant to do and he erupted into laughter, "Your animagus form should have been the snake."
Morpheus shrugged, "Let's just hope they follow my orders."
The two brothers hugged briefly before separating. Morpheus pulled out a portkey and Herpo headed to the floo, "Should I be worried about meeting Albus?"
Morpheus shook his head, "No, an old friend will be there too have fun brother."
"An old friend, you have those!?" he laughed once more before both of them disappeared from the house
A/N:
Sorry short chapter really sick right now