Having thrown off the blood traitor who had been following him, Barty stood in front of the veil. All around him curses and debris were flying, but his attention was focused on the figure before him. He knew that the Dark Lord would strike the blood traitors down, would squash the interfering mudbloods as though they were insects, and would recognise in him a follower more loyal than the pretenders currently struggling to show what they were worth.
He tried once more to remove the mask, wanting to show his Lord his adoring face, but it was stuck fast. He didn't despair, though. The Dark Lord would remove it for him. The Dark Lord would tear away the weakness he had been infected with.
He strode forward, with the purpose of embracing his Lord and assisting him the final steps to freedom, when a binding hex caught his ankles and he toppled forward. Rolling quickly onto his back and raising his wand, his breath hissed through his teeth. "Bella!"