A grotesque, indescribable lump of flesh, screaming within a cloud of steam, crashed to the ground. Resembling a blood-drenched tumor, it swelled and grew at an alarming rate. Countless bone spurs jutted out from the mass of flesh, spraying blood that stained the surrounding ground red.
Limbs, organs, eyes, ears, wolf heads, tails, and hair sporadically grew from the flesh. At times, there were even swollen chests and slender legs, but more often than not, there were shapeless blood, flesh, and bones...
"What have you done..." A mouth on the top of the flesh mountain screamed in agony, roaring, "What have you done..."
But soon, a wolf leg emerged from that mouth, tearing it apart and interrupting the words that followed.
From a distance, Murphy watched the expanding mass of flesh with some surprise. It seemed that the elixir of immortality did indeed provide a great deal of magic power; this flesh mountain was much larger than when he himself had taken the Baxian growth serum.
"I'll kill... you!"
The flesh mountain roared in anger, seemingly aware that Murphy was the instigator. Several limbs twisted and dragged its massive body, attempting to get closer to Murphy.
As Murphy retreated, he glanced at the sky. His preparations were almost complete. He stopped by a tombstone, "How does it feel to have a body again, Voldemort?"
"Murphy!"
The flesh mountain roared. A giant bone spur shot out from it like a spear towards Murphy.
Murphy, however, did not dodge but simply snapped his fingers.
The sky changed, lighting up with green lightning. A thick beam of green light descended from the sky, striking the flesh mountain.
"Ah!!!"
It was as if dozens of mouths screamed simultaneously. The green energy of death seemed to instantly spread across all the randomly distributed limbs, organs, blood vessels, and nerves of the flesh mountain, causing it to violently tremble and convulse. The protruding bone spear also froze in place.
The screams and wails of the flesh mountain lasted for nearly ten seconds.
The bone spear stopped in front of Murphy, its tip twisting and forming a pale, serpentine face.
He—or "she"—opened her eyes in front of Murphy. Those blood-red eyes stared at him, "Murphy Darkholme... I... will remember... you..."
The next moment, the face collapsed, the flesh began to dissolve, and the entire massive flesh mountain quickly melted away like acid had been poured over it, turning into a pool of thick blood.
Covering his nose, Murphy set the blood ablaze, cleaning it up. Then he approached Quirrell and lifted the petrification curse.
"Murphy, how come you're here?" Quirrell's face was pale. Voldemort had just left his body, and he was near his end.
Murphy didn't pay attention to him. Knowing that Voldemort, after obtaining the elixir, wouldn't wait to be resurrected, and from previous information, he knew the so-called resurrection potion was similar to the one in the original story. Voldemort would naturally choose this burial place of his father for his resurrection.
Murphy searched Quirrell and found the remaining elixir of immortality—only five bottles left.
Sighing, Murphy read Quirrell's memories, confirming the formula for the resurrection potion. He discovered that after learning about Dumbledore's absence from the school, Quirrell had sneaked into Dumbledore's office and found the correspondence with Nicodemus, learning of his address. That's why Voldemort hadn't gone for the magic stone immediately.
Understanding this, Murphy cast a Stunning Spell on Quirrell.
Murphy then set up a cauldron. Once the water boiled, he added the ingredients for the resurrection potion in order, took a bone from old Tom Riddle's grave, chopped off part of Quirrell's arm, and then apparated back to the Three Broomsticks' box, bringing Harry and Tom. He took blood from the unconscious Harry and added it to the cauldron.
The cauldron boiled. It was time to add the essence of the resurrectee. Murphy looked at Tom's damaged body, extracting the mental seed that connected his body and soul, leaving only the part in his spirit.
"Although you didn't bring me the real magic stone, it wasn't your fault. Now, as per our agreement, it's time to resurrect you."
The modified Tom Riddle had exceptional personal abilities and a strong will, valuable assets to Murphy. Wasting him would be a pity.
Having tamed a fierce dog, it would be wasteful to just slaughter it. Better to let it continue creating value.
With that thought, Murphy controlled Tom's spirit with the mental seed, throwing it into the cauldron, and then poured in the elixir of immortality. After a moment's thought, he added a bottle of Polyjuice Potion.
Moments later, a silhouette of a young girl rose from the misty steam.
"Tom," Murphy called out.
The girl, dazed, opened her eyes. After a while, she recognized Murphy, "Murphy, Professor."
"Am I... dead?"
Realizing her voice was off, she noticed she had a girl's body, "What's happened to me, Professor Murphy? What's going on with my body?"
"It's a long story, but in short, I found a way to revive you. Do you feel any discomfort?"
"I'm revived?" Tom touched her face, feeling the delicate sensation, her senses seemingly sharper, "I feel... great! Unbelievably good..."
Murphy nodded, "Do you remember who you are?"
"I am..."
Several answers flashed in her mind. She opened her mouth but said, "I am Tom Riddle, Voldemort, Lucas Brightson, Lucas Tom Brightson... But, I am none of them... I... don't know..."
Murphy nodded, "In that case, why not start anew? Tom, Lucas, what do you prefer to be called?"
The girl thought for a moment, "Lucas. I wish to be called Lucas."
The name Tom represented her past, but Lucas symbolized her aspirations for the future.
She inherited some of Lucas Brightson's will, desiring to be that ray of light, shining in despairing darkness, bringing hope to others.
"So, from now on, you shall be called Lucas," Murphy declared.
"Now, Lucas, I'll send you to a safe place to rest. I have some other matters to attend to."
After saying this, Murphy put Lucas to sleep and took her to the magic research institute, entrusting her to Laura. He then brought Harry and "Tom's corpse" back to the Three Broomsticks, recast a petrification spell on Quirrell, and took him to Nicodemus' house.
Throughout the year, to avoid trouble, Murphy had played along with Dumbledore's chess game for the sake of a life-saving Philosopher's Stone. He hadn't even drastically twisted Dumbledore's script.
But as the game ended, and Dumbledore revealed that the stake was fake, that Murphy wasn't his opponent, and winning wouldn't get him the Philosopher's Stone, Murphy couldn't swallow this.
It couldn't end like this.
He brought Quirrell to Nicodemus, "Voldemort is dead, the invader has been captured, and I have avenged your wife's death. Do you feel any gratitude towards me?"
Nicodemus looked at Murphy with an emotionless gaze. After a long pause, he finally spoke, "You have done what you deemed necessary. As for gratitude, I've moved beyond such feelings. My wife and I had long accepted the inevitability of death."
Murphy's expression remained unchanged, but a flicker of disappointment passed through his eyes. He hadn't expected any heartfelt gratitude, but Nicodemus' detached response was less than he'd anticipated.
"Nevertheless," Nicodemus continued, "You have rid the world of a great evil. For that, the wizarding world — though they may never know it — owes you a debt."
Murphy nodded slightly. "I didn't do it for gratitude or recognition. But it's finished now. Voldemort's reign of terror is over."
Turning his attention back to Quirrell, Murphy considered his next move. This man had been a pawn in Voldemort's game, a mere tool. Yet, his involvement had caused significant turmoil.
"You," Murphy addressed Quirrell. "You played a part in Voldemort's plans. Now he's gone, what do you plan to do?"
Quirrell, pale and visibly shaken, stammered, "I... I was just... I didn't have a choice."
"Everyone has a choice," Murphy said sternly. "But it's what we do with those choices that defines us. Your actions have consequences, and you must face them."
With that, Murphy decided to hand Quirrell over to the authorities. Let the wizarding world decide his fate. For Murphy, the chapter on Voldemort was closed. Now, it was time to focus on other matters, other mysteries of the magical world that awaited his exploration.
He turned to leave, his cloak billowing behind him. Nicodemus watched him go, a silent figure in the shadows of a world that had just turned a significant page in its history. Murphy Darkholme had altered the course of events in a way that would ripple through time, the full extent of which was yet to be seen.
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