"Herpo the Foul."
With just one sentence, Cyrus called out the enemy's true na.
Herpo the Foul.
Grindelwald, too, recognized the na imdiately—it was a na infamous throughout wizarding history.
Though Grindelwald wasn't British, nationality had never mattered much among wizards, especially in earlier centuries when political borders were very different from today.
Herpo had been a notorious dark wizard in history—so much so that he had earned the title Foul.
He invented many Dark Magic spells, the most infamous of which was, of course, the Horcrux.
Not many knew the details about Horcruxes, as the black magic book docunting them had been kept hidden within Hogwarts, seen only by a select few.
Grindelwald himself had only learned about the Horcruxes after his release from Nurngard, when he began to research Voldemort's deeds and discovered their existence.
"The evil creator of the wicked soul-splitting curse—the inventor of Horcruxes?" Grindelwald said in astonishnt.
Now that his identity had been exposed, Herpo abandoned any remaining pretense. His outer form, like peeling, aged paint, flaked away—revealing a body that was decayed almost beyond recognition.
Though he had taken Voldemort's body, the soul inside belonged solely to himself. And now, the corpse was rejecting him. His soul was accelerating the body's decomposition.
If Aberforth were here, he might have recognized him. After all, at the Hog's Head, there had always been such an old man—soone who occasionally drank a glass of ad, but most of the ti sat reading The Quibbler, laughing at the absurdities within.
(A/N: Rember the old man laughing while reading the Quibbler?)
Even a long-decayed soul needed a bit of humor to decorate its endless rot.
Herpo paid no mind to Grindelwald's words. Instead, he turned to Grindelwald with a face full of sarcasm. "Evil? Look at yourself. Compared to you, I'm hardly evil at all."
He wasn't lying.
Right now, Grindelwald looked a bit like that zombie version of Doctor Strange in the second Doctor Strange movie—after devouring the nightmare spirits from hell. He had consud so many Dentors that he couldn't fully digest them; their broken bodies were sprouting out from his own. Bone-white arms stretched outward from his body, each clawing desperately at the air!
For the sake of revenge, for the sake of killing Herpo, Grindelwald had turned himself into a monster.
But he didn't care in the slightest.
"As for you, Cyrus, I'm truly curious—how did you recognize ?" Herpo asked, wearing an expression of genuine curiosity. "We've never t before. Not even once."
The closest Herpo and Cyrus had ever co to crossing paths was when Cyrus had gone to the Hog's Head to retrieve the key to Vault 12. But even then, they hadn't truly t. It was Voldemort who had encountered Herpo, briefly, in another ti.
"Because I kept wondering—why Voldemort's corpse?" Cyrus offered his explanation. "Every day in this world, countless people die, yet you chose only Voldemort. That could only an there was so kind of connection between you two."
Cyrus explained calmly.
The others remained silent, listening intently.
"At first, I thought perhaps it was a bloodline connection. Maybe you were his ancestor."
"Not impossible," Herpo said.
"Maybe," Cyrus agreed, "but that's not why you chose him. What you needed wasn't just a normal body—you needed a body that could contain a fractured soul."
"You invented Horcruxes. Voldemort thought he could use them to achieve immortality, but now it's clear they aren't as powerful as he believed, are they?" Cyrus asked, voice sharp. "They tear the soul apart, but they can't keep the body from decaying. Just look at you—even if Voldemort had lived, he would have eventually withered under the power of ti."
"You're right, Cyrus," Herpo nodded.
At this point, there was no need for him to lie anymore.
Perhaps because Cyrus himself had once been reborn from a Horcrux, his understanding of Horcruxes far exceeded that of ordinary people—even beyond Voldemort's or Dumbledore's?
Herpo continued, "Just like how, even with so many Horcruxes, Voldemort's body was still destroyed by Lily Potter's magic—so too can a body never truly resist the power of ti."
Ti—older than the oldest!
It was, indisputably, a force more ancient than even the magic of the gods!
"Even with Horcruxes, even if the soul can linger in the world, the body can still be destroyed," Herpo said. "Of course, by relying on the magic of Horcruxes, I have repeatedly forged new bodies for myself. I have lived through endless years—sotis using different nas."
His gaze swept over Cyrus and Grindelwald, before lowering his head to look at the sea now flooding over the sunken island:
"Herpo… Ekrizdis..."
Ekrizdis—the na of the dark wizard who had built Azkaban.
"So the Dentors were your creation too?" Cyrus asked.
"When one road is blocked, you have to find another," Herpo said with a laugh. "Especially after my father's bones were completely devoured by the earth, I realized that if I didn't find a new path, the only future left for would be possessing rats and snakes to cling to life. That was not the immortality I desired!"
"I captured those Muggles to conduct experints—for the sake of my eternal, undying life!"
"After all, those lowly creatures' lives were worthless. They should thank —it was I who granted them true immortality! No curse can kill them!"
Here, Herpo paused for a mont. "Well, aside from you two."
Hearing this, Cyrus shook his head. "You're truly pathetic."
"Pathetic? No, you're wrong! I should be considered great!" Herpo shouted, his voice echoing as the waves surged violently behind him.
"Who else can stop ?" he demanded. "I left behind the magic of the Horcrux, the secret to my immortality—for this very day!"
Clearly, from the very beginning, the Horcrux spell had been a trap.
Voldemort thought he had discovered the secret to eternal life, but he never considered why the wizard who created it had seemingly vanished.
Or perhaps he had considered it, but Voldemort's conclusion had been, "one Horcrux is not enough." He assud Herpo must have failed because he hadn't made enough Horcruxes.
Little did he know, Herpo hadn't disappeared at all—he was still alive, and had used Voldemort's body as a vessel to contain his own filthy, fractured soul.
Only a fragnted soul could fully rge with another fragnted soul—and only Voldemort's body could serve as the perfect container for Herpo the Foul!
"Very soon, I will sacrifice the two of you," Herpo declared, "and by then, I will obtain true eternal life—even the sands of ti will not be able to erode !"
"My great power will guide to rule the entire world!"
Then, his voice softened, as if an elder offering advice to Cyrus: "Playing house with those Muggles? Truly, how naïve of you, Cyrus. If it were , I would never have wasted my ti."
In his eyes, Muggle lives weren't lives at all—they were worthless scraps, only good for being used in experints, just like lab rats that had no other value.
"You and Voldemort are so alike," Cyrus said, staring at Herpo's now completely transford face, unable to hold back a sigh.
Looking at Herpo was like looking into a mirror and seeing Voldemort reflected back. Though their appearances differed, everything else about them was eerily similar:
The hatred for Muggles.
The fear and rejection of death.
The arrogance of proclaiming themselves gods.
They were so alike that Cyrus even began to doubt his earlier assumption: "Are you truly Herpo who seized Voldemort's body—or was it Voldemort who, borrowing your soul, ca back to life?"
It was a provocative question, but Herpo only laughed.
And once again he said, "I am Death."
Whether Herpo or Voldemort—it no longer mattered to him. He had never cared about nas; otherwise, he wouldn't have changed them so many tis throughout the ages.
The only thing he wanted to be—was Death itself!
Herpo's obsession with Death was so intense that even Cyrus began to wonder if he might have truly seen Death once.
But whether he had or not, Cyrus and Grindelwald's goal tonight was the sa—
to send him to et Death!
After this brief exchange, the battle erupted once again.
And this ti, the fight clearly escalated!
Grindelwald unleashed the full force of his despair.
Every ti he swung his wand, the spells he cast carried with them the anguished screams of countless dead souls.
Those faceless monsters might have seed like emotionless puppets now, but before their deaths—before they beca Dentors—they had each been a vibrant, living soul!
This was a world where emotions could amplify magic.
At this mont, the overwhelming negative energy Grindelwald had gathered was like a massive black hole, threatening to swallow all light and hope.
He didn't even have to move much.
Just standing there, he radiated a coldness more chilling than any winter storm.
Every ti he raised his arm, it carried the weight of countless lost lives.
Every spell he unleashed was vengeance—an act of furious retribution on behalf of all the Muggles who had died!
Behind him, the Dentors bared their claws and fangs.
Not long ago, they had fought against Grindelwald—but now, they fought alongside him, united in purpose!
Those countless arms stretched outward, linking together like chains, reaching for Herpo, as if to drag the creator of their misery back down into the depths of hell!
_______
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