"Bloody Hell: Infernal Abyss? Can it even work here?"
This spell was something Cyrus had invented before he was ever resurrected.
It fused the power of the Fiendfyre Curse with many other powerful and destructive fire-based spells.
Most importantly, the spell possessed the magical ability to transform destroyed souls into Inferi.
Inferi…
Cyrus stared solemnly at the enemies who kept resurrecting. If his flames incinerated them, they would likely be immediately transformed into Inferi under his command.
Of course, if it were just an ordinary Infernal Abyss, it would be nearly impossible to contend with Death for the ownership of these souls. But it was important to remember—this was a spell Cyrus had invented long ago.
Back then, his strength was far inferior to Dumbledore's.
But now, he possessed magical power beyond human comprehension—power that bordered on godlike.
And more importantly—he was the Master of Death.
This was Death's dominion, but it was now also his power—
"But if I do this… then you two…" Cyrus hesitated as he looked toward Dumbledore. Once Infernal Abyss was unleashed, both Dumbledore and Grindelwald's souls would be consumed by flame, transformed into Inferi.
For them, it would be a cruel torment.
Not just for them—for any soul, becoming a Inferi was a form of torture. It was like being imprisoned in a rotting cage, where every second, searing brands would scorch their flesh.
"I don't think our current state is any better than becoming Inferi," Dumbledore said.
And he wasn't wrong. After all, they were already puppets of Death—becoming Inferi wouldn't be any worse. More importantly, in Dumbledore's view, they were already dead souls, and even if they had to sacrifice themselves again, it would be for the sake of the living.
Still the same belief he'd always held: for the greater good.
With that, Cyrus no longer hesitated.
He pointed his wand downward, carving a prison into the earth.
Blood-red flames erupted, igniting the entire world in an instant!
In this realm of death, the flames spread like fire meeting oil—ferocious and unrelenting, growing fiercer with the wind. And against the spirits, they were devastatingly effective.
No soul could resist the fire's assault. The moment they touched the infernal flames, they turned into statues of dirt, then disintegrated into ash.
But when they emerged from the flames once more, the fire had already severed Death's control over them.
Now, the flames had ignited the entire world!
All the souls of the dead knelt before Cyrus, as if bowing to their god!
At that moment, the blood-red fire split apart, forming a blazing path through the endless dunes.
Death had finally arrived!
Of course, He had to appear—wait any longer, and this realm of death might soon belong to Cyrus.
Death first appeared atop a distant dune. He was unlike any of the others, draped in a tattered, incomplete robe. His face could not be seen—just standing there, He seemed to silence all existence.
With a gentle wave of His hand, all the flames were extinguished, and the dead vanished.
Or rather—they had returned to Death's control.
Infernal Abyss had no power to command souls in front of Death, for all souls belonged to the true god!
Just one brief encounter was enough for Cyrus to clearly realize—he was no match for Death.
He could stand before Death only because of the immense power within the Deathly Hallows—and that power had come from Death Himself.
It was Death's own promise to the three brothers that now bound Him, limiting Him. Even with infinite magical power, He could not defeat Cyrus in a direct confrontation.
But now, Death had no choice but to appear.
"Cyrus, soul from another world," Death spoke from beneath His robes, standing several dunes away, yet His voice sounded as if it whispered directly into Cyrus's ear. "In all of history, you are the only one who has driven Me to such a state."
As a being that had existed for who knew how long, Death had never been pushed so far by a mere human.
Even in the legend of the Three Brothers, He had ultimately succeeded in claiming all their souls.
"But you must understand," Death said, with absolute confidence, "no matter what, you are not My equal."
As a god—perhaps even the only god—His words carried weight. In this world, there was nothing that could truly resist death.
Not even the Philosopher's Stone, nor Horcruxes, could allow a wizard to completely escape the end.
"Maybe so," Cyrus replied softly.
He didn't seem particularly concerned about the outcome of this confrontation. Instead, he asked, "Since you're so powerful, I assume you wouldn't mind answering a few of my questions?"
Death extended a hand, inviting Cyrus to proceed.
He had come to claim Cyrus's life—but the two now spoke as if they were old friends who had known each other for years.
Death even lit a bonfire.
He crossed the dunes and sat down beside Cyrus, offering this human the highest form of respect.
"You desire the three great souls because they would allow you to break free of this world's shackles," Cyrus asked, "and descend into the world of the living, to claim all life there—is that it?"
That had been his and Dumbledore's greatest fear.
But Death shook His head. "Why would I go to such unnecessary trouble?"
"No life can escape death," He said. "And so, all humans, animals, and plants… their final destination is this world—death itself."
Clearly, Death was right. Even if He did nothing, all living beings would eventually return to Him.
"The only soul I truly desire is yours," He said, turning to Cyrus. "A soul not of this world. If I didn't use such means, you might never die at all."
As for those "immortal" souls—they were nothing more than bargaining chips, leverage Death had used in His attempt to claim Cyrus.
But no one could have predicted that Cyrus would actually turn them into Inferi.
Now, Death had no choice but to act personally.
The only thing He truly feared were the three Deathly Hallows in Cyrus's hands.
But even then—
Possessing the Deathly Hallows did not make one invincible!
He simply found it troublesome.
Death ceased the conversation and stood up from the bonfire.
"Enough," He said. "Perhaps you think that holding the Deathly Hallows will allow you to escape death—but that is impossible."
"Maybe you never considered," Cyrus replied with a light laugh, "that I never intended to escape death."
At that moment, he let go of the Elder Wand—
That wand, once overflowing with limitless power, lost its magic the instant it touched the ground, becoming nothing more than a withered branch.
Cyrus then removed the Resurrection Stone—it immediately reverted into an ordinary pebble.
He even took off the Invisibility Cloak, letting it fall to the ground, its fabric reflecting a faint silver light from the sky above.
Death was visibly puzzled by this action.
"What are you doing? With the Deathly Hallows, you might not have been able to defeat Me, but I could not defeat you in a direct confrontation either. You still had a chance to escape this world. But now, you've willingly abandoned every last hope…"
"I'm conquering you, not fleeing from you," Cyrus said softly.
He calmly cast aside all his defenses, opened his arms wide—as if inviting Death to make His move.
But Death was stunned.
It wasn't that He didn't want to kill Cyrus—He simply couldn't.
As a god, He was nearly omnipotent. But the one limit was this: He could not directly strike down the living. Just like in the tale of the Three Brothers, Death could only lure them toward death—never take their lives by force.
After all, the person who had taken the life of Albus Dumbledore wasn't him, but Herpo the Foul, claiming to be Death.
If Cyrus did not initiate the attack, then Death had no way to act against him.
"You're clever, Cyrus," Death said. "You've truly made yourself untouchable. But how long do you think you can hold out? In this empty world—one thousand years, ten thousand years… an eternity of isolation and solitude. No end. If you ask Me, perhaps death would be a mercy for you."
When it came to time—Death had more than enough to spare.
But Cyrus had no time to waste in a battle of attrition. More importantly, he hadn't come here to make Death helpless.
He had come here to destroy Him.