Holding back emotions, not showing them in any way, hiding them — every Japanese can do it to varying degrees, some better, some worse, but as a people, the Japanese are among the few who are superior to everyone else. I can't say that I have this ability perfectly, so in order not to let people suspect anything, I tried not to look beyond the barrier, to ignore those who were there.
On the other hand, to turn off the spiritual vision even at the minimum level — a complete nonsense, in the current situation can not relax, so the eye is not every now and then clung to the ghostly figures, distorted and distorted, as if embodied human negativity.
At one of the intersections we found another barricade. Or rather, not at the intersection of the corridors, but a little deeper into one of them, literally five meters away from us. I knew from the intel that this corridor led to the unused rooms, but there was one of the secret passages I had blocked earlier.
I didn't want to linger too long, so I shared my magic generously, and the spirits simply collapsed the wall and ceiling onto the group of gifted people, burying them alive. I waved my wand a little, of course, but even so, there were more misunderstandings and fears in the looks in my direction.
I'd heard it before... or read it? Never mind. In general, I once came across the idea that the weak are always afraid of and dislike the strong, and quite often the weak do not try to become better and stronger, but on the contrary try to bring others down to their level. The Miyazaki family is a perfect example: they have excellent talents, but only a few people try to develop them, and even then, only from underneath, the rest are satisfied with the status of the clan, politics and money. To be honest, I never expected much from the Anglos, I just somehow got used to such views in my direction, relaxed, and I didn't want to remember it, but what can you do if everything is as it is?
So we walked on, not in a hurry, but in a hurry. I broke down the wall with the barricade again, one barricade, which I had warned about before, was covered with massive fire from Confringo (blown up and set on fire), Bombarda and Reductor, leaving the defenders no chance. Some of the "Bombarda" was specifically directed into the floor and walls to create shrapnel.
I won't tell you what was left of the barricades and people after our attack — the effect of the same grenades, only in larger quantities. People literally ran through this "ambush" to avoid looking at the nightmare under their feet, on the walls and ceilings, because the sound of wet slaps of pieces of flesh falling from the surfaces was enough to make many experienced people squirm, some even turning green in an emergency.
I won't judge anyone, because after the first barricade I fell into a trance and still haven't come out... I can't even imagine how people get over what they've seen without such measures, how they endure it?
About an hour after we entered the building, all the storming forces reached the main "operating" room (operating because this is where the work was done, operations, not surgical, although that remains to be seen). As soon as the doors opened, a strong and powerful stench hit my nose, making even me and my trance start to vomit.
But as long as I could hold myself back, I slammed the doors shut with a wave of my hand and put some seals on them, which should quickly bring the air back to normal and also act like locks, otherwise we will be taken "warm" when we come to our senses.
Yes, that hasn't happened to me in a long time. When everyone was relatively back to normal, drugged with the "allowed" potions, I opened the doors again and we walked cautiously in.
It was probably what Dr. Moreau's or the Nazis' laboratory would have looked like: a large, spacious room of a few hundred square meters at first, if not more, all stone, with high ceilings and a stone floor, bearing traces of industrial-scale slaughter, a kind of infernal conveyor belt.
The floor, for example, has special channels for the quick disposal of the accompanying waste, which is no fun for anyone to look at. Rectangular columns in the floor are equipped with a lot of fasteners, on which are installed various cabinets, shields, cages, metal grids, on which it is so convenient to fasten the "material" and then thoughtfully study its details. A lot of desks and very good lighting above them and in the corridors, but the high ceiling remains hidden in the shadows.
I won't describe anything else — I just don't want to think about the fact that on one of the desks lies a torn body that once belonged to a young girl, and next to her, in the same condition and shape, a rather sturdy male figure. It is torture to look at all this. And it was no less torture to see, right next to it, large cages of living, formerly human beings, now broken vessels in which, by some misunderstanding, the souls of the living still lingered.
What kind of creature, or creatures, would you have to be to do such a thing right in front of those who would be dragged to the cutting table next? The werewolves in the cages could see their fate, they spent hours and days watching what would happen to them as soon as the order for a fresh "ingredient" came in. Humanity? No, they hadn't heard of it. What is it?
There's still living flesh in the cells that breathes, that even has a soul, but there's not an ounce of mind left. I don't even know if there's any way to save them, in the sense of growing new personalities in these bodies, and is it worth it, because all the prisoners without exception have traces of cruel torture and abuse? Well, I don't think we should rush into drastic solutions. I have to talk to a person, or rather two of them, and only after talking to them will I make a final decision about the organisms in the cells.
But my doubts had nothing to do with those who were waiting for us in this hall — the local workers and their masters, who stood against the opposite wall, hiding in the deep shadows so that no one but me noticed them — all attention was drawn to them by the group of greeters.
There was no warmth, no friendliness, no welcome, no hospitality — none of that — but there were plenty of the opposite feelings, subtly hinted at by the intimidating-looking cleavers in their hands, as well as the wands that sparkled with power and outright aggression.
No one wanted to talk or negotiate — everyone understood the futility of this activity, so after a few seconds of looking around, the first rays of "good and happiness" flew in our direction. I don't know what it was, but there were no Avadas or Cruciatus or anything like them, the locals were using "ordinary" spells and spells at the level of Hogwarts graduates. That is, no one went beyond Bombardas, Reductor, and Baubillious with Seco.
The attacking forces reacted the same way, reasoning that if the enemy wasn't using "forbidden" spells, we wouldn't either — there was no reason to provoke them and make life difficult for ourselves. Especially since the defenses were not that much more numerous, the superiority was not as great as we thought, so it was quite possible to work.
The Aurors and my men did just that, fighting a rather large battle, actively using the columns as cover. It didn't seem to occur to anyone that it would only take a few columns to get everyone in trouble.