"Let me... judge you for your sins."
Voldemort stood to the side, his voice hoarse as he gazed upon the skeleton engulfed in hellfire.
He couldn't help but find it inexplicably ironic.
Such words would make sense coming from a righteous wizard or a hero of justice.
But you—Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, a murderer of countless lives—now stood there, looking like an evil skeleton, uttering those words.
The phrase "sinner" sounded almost laughable coming from him.
Anyone unaware of the situation might mistake this as the righteous judgment of a noble wizard.
Yet, who in the wizarding world didn't know? If sin could be measured, Tom was undoubtedly at the top, one of the most infamous figures in history.
The contrast was simply too absurd.
However—
"Ho... ho... ho..."
The Death Eater suspended in the air by the skeletal figure's hellish flames struggled, his throat producing desperate, guttural sounds.
His hands flailed wildly, his legs kicked frantically, searching for the ground, yearning for even a single breath of air.
But in mere moments, under the watchful eyes of Voldemort, Grindelwald, and countless wizards, the infernal flames within the skeleton's eyes ignited with renewed intensity.
At the same time, hellfire poured into the Death Eater's eye sockets, seeping into his skull, as if searching—examining his very soul.
Then, suddenly—
Dark red hellfire burst violently from the Death Eater's mouth, nose, and eyes.
"Ho... ho... ho..."
"Sinner, you are guilty!"
The Death Eater's struggles grew even more desperate, his screams filled with agony. The flaming skull—Tom's transformed form—pronounced its judgment without hesitation.
In the next moment, the flames surged wildly, flooding into the Death Eater's body.
A second later, amidst the hellfire, something translucent was forcibly torn from the Death Eater's body—his very soul.
Then, without pause, the spectral essence was devoured by the flaming skull.
Devouring souls.
The realization sent a chilling thought through Voldemort's mind.
His once-calm expression turned even grimmer, a flicker of fear flashing in his deep, red eyes.
Voldemort had long relied on Horcruxes to attain immortality, but this—this power before him—it was almost entirely focused on the soul.
And more terrifyingly, his Killing Curse had already proven utterly useless against it.
Put simply, this entity before him was his natural enemy.
Especially after his resurrection, when his soul had already been fractured and weakened—
For the first time in a long while, Voldemort felt regret.
He should never have let things escalate to this point with Tom.
BOOM!
Grindelwald's heart lurched as he witnessed the forbidden act of soul devouring.
Without hesitation, he swiftly brandished his wand.
The sky darkened.
Thunder rumbled.
Bolts of lightning crashed down upon the flaming skeleton.
Thunder was always more effective against dark creatures—
Or so Grindelwald thought.
Voldemort, standing beside him, had the same idea.
After all, the skeletal figure before them, engulfed in black flames, looked no different from the darkest of creatures.
However, as the final bolt of lightning dissipated, the flaming skull turned slowly, locking its burning gaze upon Grindelwald.
The hellfire that wrapped its body flared aggressively.
Thin, blackened marks lined its skeletal frame—evidence of the attack—but they were insignificant wounds at best.
Whoosh!
Provoked by Grindelwald's assault, the hellfire around the skeleton exploded outward.
Behind it, a lone wand had been floating, consumed by infernal flames.
But now—
The wand began multiplying.
One became two.
Two became four.
Four became eight.
The rapid duplication continued until the number of wands reached thirty-two.
Thirty-two wands, identical in appearance, wreathed in flames, arranged themselves in two rotating circles.
One aimed at Voldemort.
The other at Grindelwald.
A powerful surge of magical energy rippled through the battlefield, thick with the stench of death.
Both Voldemort and Grindelwald tensed.
The flaming skeleton slowly outstretched its arms.
The thirty-two wands aimed.
And then—
BOOM!
A torrent of spells was unleashed.
Brilliant red Disarming Charms, deep black Blasting Curses, and even the sinister green glow of Killing Curses filled the battlefield like a relentless storm of arrows.
Each spell howled through the air, carrying immense destructive power.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
One after another, the spells crashed into Voldemort and Grindelwald's defenses.
They reacted instantly.
Golden shields of Protego Maxima formed before them.
Other defensive charms layered upon one another in rapid succession.
BOOM!
The first impact.
The golden shield trembled.
BOOM!
The second wave.
Cracks spread across the surface.
BOOM!
The third wave.
The shield shattered.
The Death Eaters and Grindelwald's followers, the Saints, watched in horror.
But neither Voldemort nor Grindelwald allowed panic to show.
Their gazes remained locked on the incoming attacks, wands flicking ceaselessly, countering and deflecting the relentless barrage.
Then—
Grindelwald's right eye flashed silver-white.
The ground beneath him transformed, glowing with an ethereal radiance.
The Domain of Fate.
A tide of destiny's power surged forth, illuminating the battlefield in a silvery glow.
Yet, faint black tendrils—ominous and shifting—began to manifest above the domain.
Grindelwald's expression darkened.
His gaze fixed upon the flaming skeleton—Tom's grotesque form.
Then, with a forceful slam of his wand—
A blade of silver-white fate materialized, slicing through the air toward the flaming skull, attempting to sever its very destiny.
Simultaneously, waves of calamitous misfortune descended upon the skeletal form, attempting to smother it in ill fate.
Noticing this, Voldemort wasted no time.
With a flick of his wand, he unleashed his most powerful dark curses, taking advantage of the skeleton's seemingly cursed state.
It was time to end this.
But then—
Something horrifying happened.
Grindelwald's confident smirk froze.
His eyes widened in shock.
The power of Fate had—failed.
In his perception, the flaming skeleton was neither truly alive nor truly dead.
It had no discernible fate.
Or rather, its destiny was completely obscured.
The force of misfortune was wasted.
And Voldemort's dark curses?
They burned to ashes the moment they touched the hellfire.
The battlefield grew eerily silent.
Grindelwald and Voldemort exchanged glances.
They had no way of dealing with this creature.
The Avada Kedavra had no effect.
Curses disintegrated upon contact.
And even Fate itself could not bind this entity.
This being—this monstrosity—was beyond their comprehension.
And now—
The flaming skeleton raised its arms once more.
The thirty-two wands rotated ominously, preparing another devastating onslaught.
Grindelwald and Voldemort immediately made their decision.
At the exact same moment, their voices thundered across the battlefield:
"Death Eaters /Saints, RETREAT!"
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