The moment Skoll's fingers closed around the prism, the stone statue behind him was struck by three simultaneous Blasting Curses.
The explosion thundered through the entire floor. His ears rang violently as shards of stone burst in every direction. Cabinets splintered, enchanted brooms clattered to the floor, and debris rained down like a storm of knives.
His movements faltered, only for a heartbeat, but against four Death Eaters, each battle-hardened and ruthless, even a heartbeat was deadly.
He barely managed to cast another Shield Charm before a flurry of spells shot toward him. Three struck true; one skimmed just above his head.
Red and green light collided against his defenses. The barrier shattered. Skoll's body was flung backward, slamming into the wall.
Amid the swirling dust and splintered wood, a cloud of red mist blossomed.
"Damn it!" one of the black-robed wizards shouted, firing a white spell at another, but his target deflected it with a sharp flick of his wand.
In an instant, the four Death Eaters split into two opposing pairs, wands raised against each other.
"Rodolphus! The order was to take him alive! You used the Killing Curse again?" one roared, hurling curses between every shouted word. "You bloody always do this! Always trying to steal the credit, and when you can't, you wreck everything! I've had it with you!"
"Watch your mouth when you talk to my brother!" the man beside Rodolphus snapped back. "We didn't even want to take this damned mission! Filthy, pompous pure-blood families—"
"Bastard!"
"Hmph." Rodolphus deflected another curse lazily. "Brainless fool. Always charging in headfirst—"
"Say that again, you—"
"Didn't you notice he's wearing armor?" Rodolphus cut him off coolly. "You've seen nothing of the world. I only used half my power on that Killing Curse. He's not dead."
With that, Rodolphus strode toward the place where Skoll's body had hit the wall. "Let's see what kind of man this so-called leader of the Order—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Something was wrong.
The dust in the air shimmered strangely, and from the spot where Skoll had fallen came a pulse of magic, unnatural, sharp, predatory. Instinct screamed a single word in his mind: danger.
He raised his wand. A shield flared around him as he took a step back.
Extreme danger.
For the first time, Rodolphus Lestrange actually felt the urge to flee.
The other three Death Eaters reacted too, throwing up whatever protections they could.
A heartbeat later,
A storm of magical wind blades erupted from one point, slicing through the air toward all four men.
"DOWN!" Rodolphus shouted,
But the words had barely left his lips before the first blade struck. His shield collapsed like a soap bubble.
"Protego!" he tried to cast, but his magic was chaotic, surging wildly through his veins. No spell formed.
His pupils dilated. The wind blade grew larger, closer, then there was a flash of steel-cold air across his throat, a burst of red across his vision, and finally, blackness.
The second floor was drenched in blood. White dust turned scarlet as it mingled with it; splinters, shattered stone, and fragments of bodies covered every surface. The iron taste of blood filled the air.
The wind blades raged on, carving the room into ruin. Only one spot remained untouched, a small, triangular prism-shaped space at the base of a stone wall.
There, amid shattered debris and a pool of blood, Skoll lay motionless, his wand only a few centimeters from the glowing, toy-like prism that pulsed faintly with three colors of light.
"...Cough, cough—"
Dark red blood bubbled from his mouth. His grey robe was shredded; the deep-brown leather armor beneath had turned a dull, ashen hue. The golden runes etched across it had gone still. A jagged silver shard jutted from his abdomen, and blood poured freely around it.
With trembling fingers, he groped for a small crystal vial beside his wand. Inside shimmered a clear liquid with a strange crimson glow. He bit off the stopper and drank two-thirds of it in one swallow.
The dizziness and nausea eased slightly.
He poured half the remaining potion across his face, relief dulled the searing pain of the gash that cut across his left eye. Finally, he emptied the rest over his abdomen. The bleeding slowed to a trickle.
Skoll leaned back against the wall, chest heaving, eyes closed.
"Cough, cough—"
The fit wracked him again, bright red splattering the ground.
Gradually, the roar of the wind blades faded. His glasses were gone; his left eye was half-shut and blinded, a terrible wound slicing across his face.
When the last current of air stilled, the second floor resembled a vision of hell, blood, smoke, silence.
A faint, broken laugh escaped him. "Villains always... die from... hah, infighting... and too much talking..."
Even half-dead, he couldn't resist the irony.
With his right hand, he pulled the Order's insignia from his pocket. His remaining eye struggled to focus, the world hazy and doubled.
The orange sigil flared. The insignia's alert level rose to its highest classification: SS-Level Alert.
Outside the headquarters, glowing runes flared to life across the walls, then shattered one by one. Every defensive enchantment collapsed.
"Cough—" Skoll whispered hoarsely, gripping his wand. He Disapparated.
Five seconds later, fire erupted from the first floor. Flames devoured the building, lighting two streets in blazing crimson.
Muggles poured from their homes, shouting in confusion.
The fire raged fiercely, but touched no other house.
After three minutes, the headquarters exploded in a deafening roar and collapsed into itself, leaving nothing but a sea of fire.
The blaze continued to burn.
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Note: Regarding the Unforgivable Curses, specifically the Killing Curse, it is theoretically possible to control its power. Dumbledore once told Tom that Hogwarts existed to help young witches and wizards learn to control their magic. Moreover, the false Moody once said that even if a student cast Avada Kedavra on him, it might only give him a nosebleed.