"Sectumsempra!"
An invisible blade sliced through the curse. Cyrus didn't dare to be distracted for even a second.
The severed curse shot past him, the resulting gust lifting the golden hair on his forehead.
The two exchanged spells back and forth under the night sky, the flashing lights like urgent beacons in a thick fog.
Voldemort wielded Dark Magic with a flourish, casting many spells that Cyrus had never seen before. He didn't dare to et them head-on and instead countered with ancient magic.
Cyrus' spells were powerful and thunderous, their sounds booming like thunder!
"Is this all you've got?" Voldemort sneered arrogantly, raising his chin. His spell-casting gestures were unusual, with his wrist held high, full of contempt.
And he certainly had the right to be arrogant. His imnse magical power was utterly unreasonable, and the force of his spells made Cyrus's wrist ache and the base of his thumb throb with pain.
Anyone with eyes could see that Cyrus was at a disadvantage, and Voldemort's attacks were becoming even more fierce.
'As expected of the Dark Lord,' Cyrus thought, feeling increasingly strained.
After all, he was known as the Dark Lord, a man who single-handedly instilled fear in the British wizarding world. He wasn't just hard to kill—his raw talent might even surpass Dumbledore's. If Dumbledore didn't have the Elder Wand, the outco between the two would be uncertain!
At this rate, Cyrus would have to use his trump card.
Crack!
After another spell split the ground, Voldemort seized an opening. At that mont, Cyrus had just deflected one of Voldemort's spells but was imdiately surrounded by three more.
Voldemort's wand emitted a green light!
A deeply satisfied expression appeared on Voldemort's face, his voice low and excited—
"Avada Kedavra!" He silently cast the first two then shouted the last one to increase the power of the spell.
The green spell shot out like a thunderbolt, piercing through the gaps between the other spells, aid straight at Cyrus's heart!
"Protego Diabolica!"
Reflected in Cyrus's golden eyes was the image of death. He swung his wand in a circular motion, summoning a blaze of blue fire that clashed with the three dark curses.
The explosion sent flas bursting outward, creating a cloud of smoke that rose ten ters high! Flying debris shattered Harry's glasses, nearly blinding him!
Boom!!!
The violent sound and thick dust hung in the moonlit air like holy ash.
Harry was thrown by the force of the blast, rolling several tis on the ground before coming to a stop.
Voldemort glanced at him and subtly moved his hand, using a spell to shield Harry. Naturally, he did so in a way that no one would notice or perceive, he still wanted to duel with Harry after all.
At the sa ti, the Killing Curse twisted and turned like a snake, cutting through the high-temperature dust left by the exploding flas, its lethal fangs secretly bared!
Silence.
The entire world seed to plunge into stillness.
Within the thick dust, no one could make out any figures; only the trajectory of the green spell remained clearly visible in everyone's eyes.
"M.. Mr. Cyrus?!" Harry was stunned.
This single second seed to stretch on forever. Death appeared before Harry for the first ti, so vividly, like a maiden stripped of her garnts.
It felt like a dream, until Voldemort's laughter snapped him awake. Only then did Harry realize what had happened.
"Ha. Haha! Cyrus is dead, Neahehe…"
But his glee lasted barely a second.
The dust that had settled began to stir once more, swirling upward as sothing within it whipped up a whirlwind!
CrrrRRRRRrrriiiiIIIIIIiii
In the next mont, a sharp cry echoed through the night sky. A massive shadow erged from the gray dust, like a phoenix reborn from the flas!
Only this phoenix was bathed in golden lightning!
Boom!
In an instant, clouds obscured the moonlight!
The Thunderbird spread its golden wings wide!
Voldemort was still in shock at the sudden appearance of this Thunderbird when, in the next mont, a massive bolt of lightning, four to five ters thick, struck down!
Crack!
BoOOoom!
The lightning hit his chest almost dead center, and Voldemort was sent flying like a ragdoll, lifelessly rolling several tis on the ground before coming to a halt.
At this mont, aside from the rumbling thunder, the only sound left was the heavy breathing of the Death Eaters.
Cyrus flapped his wings, descending with the wind.
The golden wings abruptly retracted, slowly transforming into the tails of a black coat that fluttered gently as he landed.
He reverted to his original form, but the wizards present looked at him with even more astonishnt, even fear and madness.
"An.. Animagus..." Everyone was shaking.
"And his animagus form is... a Thunderbird?!"
Barty Crouch Jr. felt the world must have gone mad.
It was common knowledge that no wizard after rlin could transform into magical creatures. It was only known as a myth that rling could transform into a Dragon.
Every wizard who attempted to break this rule without exception ended up becoming a mindless Quintaped.
But now, it seed this rule had been broken?!
And the one who shattered this ironclad law was the so-called "imposter" Dark Lord.
Barty Crouch Jr. still firmly believed that Cyrus was an imposter. Of course, in reality, he was right. However, it was evident that the other Death Eaters didn't necessarily share his view.
Those who had been wavering saw Cyrus's power firsthand and were already swayed.
As for those loyal to Voldemort, they hadn't personally participated in his resurrection and, in fact, weren't sure which of the two was the real one.
The things Voldemort had said earlier were just his own words; who could guarantee they were true?
Perhaps the person before them was the real Dark Lord.
At this mont, Barty Crouch Jr. was both angry and worried. He knew better than anyone the nature of those who follow the strongest; if the Dark Lord truly lost, these people, who had betrayed the Dark Lord once, would naturally do so again.
Yet, Cyrus's golden eyes seed to pierce into their hearts.
He stepped forward, looking down on all the Death Eaters, and then drew a barrier of flas around himself.
"Now, make your choice. Bow down to your true master!"
Cyrus said coldly.
He was almost forcing them, yet he appeared generous.
Harry stood amidst the flas, looking at Cyrus with a gaze full of words left unsaid. At first, he thought Cyrus had been killed, but in the blink of an eye, Cyrus had defeated Voldemort.
Now, Cyrus was showing signs of recruiting those scoundrels again, making Harry feel very uncomfortable.
Was he really planning to take over Voldemort's forces and beco the next Dark Lord?
He wanted to say sothing but ultimately couldn't find the words.
At that mont, he heard Cyrus's lazy yet tempting voice:
"Walk through the blue flas and join !"
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12 Advance Chapters—
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