Chapter 602: The Coiled Serpent
Intense emotions transcended space, weaving a bond between minds on the tumultuous battlefield.
Voldemort, consud by thoughts of slaughter, brandished his wand—
"Boom!"
His snake-wood wand emitted a resounding, echoing burst, followed by a surge of black mist from his body.
"Harry Potter!?"
Voldemort incredulously shouted, certain he heard the voice of the boy amidst the lingering smoke and dust, as if soone might erge from within.
But that was impossible. Before the formal duel, he cast nurous protective spells throughout the valley.
Suddenly, Voldemort disappeared and reappeared at the edge of the battlefield. Uncontrolled dark magic emanated from him, turning into countless maggots, clinging to Voldemort's robes, hands, face... seeking to devour him entirely.
But Voldemort paid no heed. The formidable magical backlash ant nothing to him. "Co out, Harry Potter!" he roared, shaking his head to dispel any illusions, finally spotting a suspicious figure in a corner of his mind.
Realization struck him, followed by uncontrollable anger. He yearned to charge into Hogwarts and tear Harry, who repeatedly thwarted his plans, into pieces.
Yet, he had just cornered Dumbledore. How could he abandon this opportunity? Moreover, his Horcrux was still in Dumbledore's possession. So, he suppressed his resentnt and attempted to expel Harry from his mind.
Soon, he realized it wasn't an easy task. The boy on the other side clung like a stubborn piece of toffee, refusing to leave.
For a mont, the situation seed to reverse, leaving Voldemort entangled in three imminent threats—Harry penetrating his thoughts, the unruly and escaping dark magic turning into maggots, and the greatest threat, Dumbledore. Voldemort, frustrated for squandering a golden opportunity, intensified his hatred for Harry.
However, a disconcerting worry crept into his mind—the prophecy. The person capable of defeating the Dark Lord was approaching.
Why him!?
Fiery rage surged within him, and Voldemort's black robes billowed as maggots fell to the ground, transforming back into dark magic.
He inhaled the dark magic back into himself, swiftly erecting defenses in his mind. He reluctantly isolated Harry's influence—given ti, he could easily drive the enemy away, but at present, he had no surplus energy and could only defend passively.
Having dealt with two troubles, Voldemort stared at the gradually clearing dust. Dumbledore's faint figure indicated that he had risen. Voldemort, unimpressed, believed Dumbledore, the old man, was no match for him, as demonstrated in their previous battles.
But sothing seed different. Was Dumbledore standing on a rock?
"Clang!"
A chilling tremor echoed in the valley.
As if provoked, hissing sounds erged—an intricate magic Voldemort cast with his snake-wood wand. The pervasive snake-like hissing, like a curse, could easily attach to Dumbledore.
However, this magic was now broken, or at least half of it was. Two opposing forces clashed, with neither side overpowering the other.
"Is this your trump card, Dumbledore—" Voldemort sneered, "Do you know what just happened? I brought a guest to witness our duel. He entered recklessly and positioned himself as a witness... he will witness your downfall, and then I will gladly repay him for the 'surprise' he brought ."
"Oh, Tom? I think there's no need for such trouble. I will personally express my gratitude to him," Dumbledore said.
Voldemort squinted his snake-like eyes, staring fixedly across. There was a hint of suspicion—was Dumbledore standing on a stone?
"Zing!"
A grave sound reverberated through the valley.
As if challenged, hissing sounds, orchestrated by Voldemort's snake-wood wand, erged. The omnipresent snake sounds, like a curse, would easily cling to Dumbledore.
Yet, this magic was broken, or at least half of it. Two sounds intermingled, and neither could suppress the other.
"You think you can escape Death with this, Dumbledore?" Voldemort roared, frantically injecting magic into his wand. A green chain connected the wand's tip to the green-robed Death figure, continuously providing power to help it break free.
The green light intensified, and the vibrant fire-cloud wrapped around the Death figure hissed. But soon, a burst of golden light erupted, akin to the evening sky's radiance. It imprinted intricate patterns on the chains ford by the transford fire-cloud, connecting Dumbledore's magic to Voldemort and the Death figure.
This was not just Transfiguration—few recognized Dumbledore's other identity, an alchemist. He then poured all the surrounding clouds into the mix. The golden-red chains rattled, twisting as if alive, and eventually separated a thread from the Death figure. It extended along the magical connection between the Death figure and Voldemort towards the opposite end.
Voldemort widened his eyes as the golden-red thread climbed onto Voldemort's snake-wood wand. His wrist suddenly tightened.
He had lost.
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