Chapter 686: Chaos - (1)

Chapter 686: Chaos - (1)

Chapter 686: Chaos

Exiting a café near the Place de la Bastille in Paris, Amandina Zoe and her colleague paid their bill and stepped outside, only to be surprised by the crowd of pedestrians all gazing in the direction of the southern bank of the Seine.

"What are they looking at?" her colleague asked, puzzled.

Amandina Zoe remained silent, tilting her head upward. Her gaze landed first on the Eiffel Tower several kilometers away, everything appearing normal, as if nothing had happened. Then she caught sight of six or seven small black dots. Were they some kind of birds? But she quickly dismissed that thought when she noticed two of the dots suspended motionless in mid-air. What kind of bird could do that?

In the blink of an eye, one of the stationary dots suddenly spread its wings—Amandina Zoe found it odd because it only extended its left wing—and the next moment, a massive green sign hung in the sky, lingering like frozen fireworks.

Distant cries of astonishment reached their ears.

"It's people!" her colleague exclaimed, grabbing her arm tightly. "Oh my god! Look—Amandina, is this some sort of large-scale outdoor magic? Can we invite them? How did they do that? With wires, cables, reinforced glass?"

"I don't think so," Amandina Zoe said softly.

In the few seconds they spoke, the six or seven dots suddenly dispersed, rapidly darting in all directions. One of the black dots happened to approach them, becoming clearer and clearer until they could make out the black robes the person was wearing.

"It's a broomstick! It's witchcraft!" a scruffy-looking man with sparse hair shouted.

It seemed like the person flying above them heard the remark. He turned back, hovering in mid-air, and looked down at the Muggles on the street below. With a wave of his arm, Amandina Zoe saw him holding a small wooden stick, and a flash of white light shot out.

The scruffy-haired man floated uncontrollably into the air, screaming and struggling.

"This is magic!" the man on the broomstick cackled.

Amandina Zoe's expression was dazed. A vague memory surfaced in her mind, back when she was in school, hearing a handsome boy earnestly ask the teacher in class, "What if magic really existed in reality?"

Now, magic had indeed appeared!

...

United States, New York.

François Crutoy walked along the famous Broadway, the hub of American theater and musicals. He had been invited to perform here, but the show was scheduled for tomorrow, so after facing the press, he slipped away alone for some fresh air.

Without a doubt, his miraculous experience was once again dredged up by the journalists for questioning, but as always, he remained tight-lipped, treating the events at the 'House of Magic' in Surrey as his own secret. However, over the years, he had been gathering information on the occult. His belief was: if the person who cured his arm wasn't a 'god', then there must be a group of humans with special abilities in this world.

After much contemplation, François Crutoy concluded that the latter possibility was more likely because the person who healed him later appeared at his concert—real gods wouldn't be that idle, right?

Unfortunately, he didn't get a chance to speak, nor did he know if that person had understood the meaning behind his compositions.

Angel of Sorrow... Goddess of Magic... François Crutoy didn't know where the power that healed him came from. It could be from religion or the magic of wizards. He had read in many fantasy novels that wizards worshipped the Goddess of Magic...

Unintentionally, he found himself in the Manhattan area, standing in front of the Woolworth Building. The local staff recommended to him some of the more well-known buildings nearby, including this skyscraper which held a significant place on the list.

François had heard of it before. The Woolworth Building, erected in the early part of the century, stood as the tallest building in the world at the time, shrouded in legend. Apart from its height, its Neo-Gothic style added to its aesthetic value. Lost in thought, François noticed a group of men dressed in black emerging from the revolving doors. Ř𝐀Ɲо𝐛ЁŚ

François glanced at them in surprise; he had been too absorbed by the grand revolving doors to notice the small one. The men hurried past, their expressions solemn, the leader issuing stern commands.

François turned away from them, ears perked up, catching fragments of their conversation: "...abnormal exposure of the magical world... likely related to Grindelwald... off to England for the funeral... authorization granted for use of force if necessary..."

Curiosity piqued, François turned back, did he hear mention of magic? Excitement bubbled within him as he hurried to catch up with the group. However, he dared not get too close, trailing behind at a distance as they veered into the gap between two buildings. François quickened his pace, catching sight of the last man pulling out a small wooden stick from his suit pocket.

A wand? François thought eagerly, though it seemed smaller than what he had seen in comic books...

Taking a few deep breaths at the edge of the building, François pondered how to introduce himself. How about starting with "I know a friend who can do magic"? Feeling prepared, he dashed into the shadows.

Looking around bewilderedly, François found the men had vanished. Surveying the area, all he saw were a dozen or so crooked bicycles. Refusing to believe it, he retraced his steps, but nothing happened. He found himself back on Broadway.

The street teemed with people, none of whom he sought. Little did he know, not far from there, at the intersection of West 42nd Street and Broadway in Times Square, a wizard battle was about to unfold.

Meanwhile, in London...

Mr. Granger was at his dental clinic as usual, with Mrs. Granger helping out. Just as they bid farewell to a patient, Mrs. Granger turned on the clinic's TV, engaging her husband in conversation.

"Hermione's coming back today. We better close up early," Mrs. Granger said.

"I remember. I've booked your favorite restaurant," Mr. Granger replied, washing his hands. Suddenly, Mrs. Granger let out a scream, and he rushed out, hands dripping with water.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

Mrs. Granger stared at the TV, speechless. Mr. Granger looked at the screen, where the camera shook uncontrollably, capturing only half of the female reporter's head, her exaggerated blond curls. Yet, Mr. Granger's attention was drawn to the tornado behind her.

If not for the prominent backdrop of the parliament building, he wouldn't have realized the disaster was unfolding in London. He glanced uncertainly out the window; the weather was surprisingly calm, devoid of any wind. Urgent voices came from the TV—

"Rita! Look, there are people in the tornado—did you see that? And those two blokes who flew past on brooms earlier?"

"Don't need you to remind me!" the reporter snapped angrily, then took a deep breath to calm herself before addressing the camera. "Ladies and gentlemen—though it seems unbelievable, a tornado has suddenly appeared in the heart of London. Um— the cause is still unclear; perhaps it's due to the drastic temperature fluctuations in recent days? We believe meteorologists will provide a reasonable explanation. Please refrain from believing rumors—oh, Merlin's beard!"

The reporter exclaimed in panic. But Mr. Granger couldn't blame her for the slip of her tongue; anyone would be terrified— a young man suddenly squeezed out of thin air, and the screen went black momentarily, leaving the Grangers to only hear voices.

"Hey, careful there. Need any help?"

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