But..
Help Voldemort resurrect?
Cyrus never even considered such a thing.
He had a better idea—especially now that the cup could produce endless "elixirs of immortality."
Cyrus focused his attention on the cup.
Since Voldemort had polluted the cup himself, it was time for him to taste the curse!
Cyrus threw the ring into the overflowing sludge of the cup, and it sank like a stone into a swamp.
Moments later, the pitch-black sludge began to boil, bubbling thickly and then bursting, spraying muck onto the table and immediately corroding a pit into the surface.
Cyrus watched, heart pounding. Suddenly, a dense black smoke rose up, like the toxic fumes from burning hazardous waste.
The black smoke gradually formed a semi-transparent figure before Cyrus—a Voldemort whose face had not yet twisted into its final, snake-like form.
"You—"
Seeing Cyrus, he seemed momentarily stunned, as if unable to comprehend why "he" was standing before him, and in such a distant-seeming guise.
"What exactly happened that night? What kind of power does that child possess?"
Like the other Horcruxes, the soul fragment in the ring lost its connection to Voldemort on that fateful night.
This fragment had experienced the terror and anger of its main body, and now, seeing Cyrus, it sought to understand what had happened back then and what Cyrus truly was.
However, Cyrus had no intention of engaging in conversation.
Previously, he had manipulated the diadem because he needed its power, but with the soul in the ring, there was no need for further dialogue.
His eyes cold, he directly picked up his wand.
"Expelliarmus!"
A spell hit Voldemort's face directly.
Voldemort: ???
"What are you doing?"
The soul fragment in the ring was clearly bewildered. He couldn't understand why Cyrus would attack him, even though the spell had no actual effect on him.
"It really didn't work?"
This result did not surprise Cyrus. The protective power of a Horcrux was very strong. Ordinary magic, and even many dark spells, couldn't destroy a Horcrux. Only a terrible curse like Fiendfyre could destroy both the object and the soul inside it.
Cyrus shook his wand and fished Gaunt's ring out of the cup.
The elixir of life flowing from the cup, despite its curse, indeed possessed strong vitality. He didn't want to actually revive Voldemort, not even in a state between life and death.
"This feels great," said the soul fragment in the ring with delight.
In just a few minutes, he had constructed a half-real and half-virtual figure from a shapeless soul fragment, just like the state before Cyrus swallowed the Philosopher's Stone.
His appearance was similar to Cyrus, but his features were more sinister and slightly older, reflecting the dark, twisted nature of his mind.
Perhaps because he hadn't fully revived and gained a truly vital body, the curse of the elixir hadn't been triggered yet.
"If I'm not mistaken, you're not the real one, are you?" Voldemort's ghostly soul, after a brief moment of intoxication, quickly regained his composure and turned to look at Cyrus.
He probably already knew how Cyrus had been revived and thought Cyrus was trying to resurrect him at that moment.
"Not the real one?" Cyrus finally responded, his eyes, different from Voldemort's, looked at the soul fragment with disdain. "You're correct in a way, but more accurately, I'm not Voldemort at all."
Cyrus had previously deceived the diadem by assuming Voldemort's identity, but when it came to the useless soul fragment in the ring, there was no need for such a pretense.
"What?" Voldemort was stunned, seemingly not understanding what Cyrus meant. He was about to question further, but suddenly found he couldn't open his mouth.
Cyrus's wand flashed lightly:
"Silencio!"
"You'd better stay quiet. I have no intention of listening to your nonsense." Cyrus ignored Voldemort's current look of angry humiliation. He clapped his hands, and a large stack of magical books appeared on the table before him.
These texts were all related to soul studies.
Souls had always been an important subject of research for wizards. Voldemort himself had done extensive research on souls in his quest to create Horcruxes.
Cyrus continuously flipped through the books. He was now treating the Voldemort remnant in the ring purely as an experimental subject, applying any ideas that came to mind without hesitation.
"If I use the Severing Charm combined with the power of ancient magic, could it possibly affect the soul?" Cyrus pondered.
The realm of souls was profoundly deep. Ordinary magic couldn't affect the soul, but ancient magic had the power to break through such limitations. Using the power of ancient magic, it might indeed be possible to separate Voldemort's soul from the ring.
He immediately began to experiment with the feasibility of this idea.
During this period, the Voldemort soul fragment inside the ring was entirely at Cyrus's mercy, being repeatedly used for experiments with no way to resist.
At first, he would curse at Cyrus, but after realizing that Cyrus's spells and experiments couldn't actually harm him, Voldemort became indifferent.
"Do whatever you want, it can't hurt me anyway," he seemed to think.
So, when he was once again forced out of the ring, he mocked Cyrus.
"I advise you to abandon these meaningless experiments. It's not too late to repent now. I can overlook whatever situation the original body is in, since it's you who has been revived. It's not good for us to be at each other's throats," he said.
"What you should be doing is not destroying me but reviving me!"
The soul fragment in the ring was extremely ambitious. He had already assumed that Cyrus was a soul fragment from one of the Horcruxes that had revived independently after the main body had an accident. Judging by Cyrus's appearance, he thought it was the diary.
However, unlike the soul in the diadem, the soul fragment in the ring, having seen Cyrus's success, had immediately developed a cunning plan.
If the soul from the diary could revive independently, why couldn't he?
As for the main body, he couldn't care less.
Each part of Voldemort's soul felt it deserved the same status—why should there be a hierarchy? Why should the main body live freely while they were confined to objects, serving as mere tools for immortality?
Moreover, the notion of a "main body" was meaningless. The strongest should dominate. Now that one Horcrux had successfully revived, the soul fragment in the ring was unwilling to remain idle.
He longed for a body, to breathe fresh air, to experience existence, and most of all, to savor the thrill of power!
But what met his desires was a spell from Cyrus.
A silver spell, like a blade of moonlight, sliced through the space between Voldemort and the ring. Instantly, a wave of excruciating pain surged from the depths of Voldemort's soul.
"Ah—"
He screamed in agony, and his nearly formed body seemed to dissolve.
Cracks appeared on his once handsome face. The dried skin flaked off like clay scorched by fire, revealing the ugly essence beneath. He clutched his face as an invisible filth seeped from his soul's shell.
It was foul, resembling a cloud of smoke mixed with sludge—
Cyrus took a step back in disgust. The filthy sludge emitted a stench, symbolizing Voldemort's hideous inner soul.
The spell worked!
Cyrus squinted. The spell to sever the soul had successfully extracted Voldemort's soul from the Horcrux, yet the spell also failed.
When Voldemort's soul was released, the ring appeared as if it had been scorched by a searing flame!
The originally silver ring turned blackened and charred, its intricate designs melting and emitting a foul stench.
Once Voldemort's soul was freed from the ring, the curse of the deathly poison from the goblet immediately took effect. Voldemort now seemed like he was being deep-fried in boiling oil; his skin rotted, his handsome features melted away, and his prominent nose drooped like a melting candy...
His body vanished, reverting to a shapeless mist, shrieking in agony!
Cyrus was not satisfied with this outcome.
He had tried to separate Voldemort's soul because he feared that Voldemort might still be lurking within his own soul. He wanted to ensure that if the soul from the diary ever influenced him, he could expel it.
At the very least, even if the soul from the diary had been completely erased, Cyrus could help Harry remove the piece of Voldemort's soul lodged in his head.
However, now, even though Voldemort's soul was extracted, the ring was destroyed.
What difference did this make compared to simply destroying a Horcrux?
No, it was even worse. At least destroying a Horcrux killed the soul within it, but now—
Cyrus raised his eyes, watching the tormented Voldemort.
The soul was glaring at Cyrus with hateful eyes, those bloody orbs resembling a fierce viper ready to tear Cyrus's flesh to shreds and devour him!
"How dare you—!"
His voice was hoarse and sharp, like sandpaper grinding forcefully against a person's skin, leaving a trail of bleeding wounds.
The black mist surged suddenly, like an unpredictable sea that suddenly rolled up an endless storm cloud!
In an instant, Voldemort's power swept through the Room of Requirement.
The dense black smoke condensed, coiling around Cyrus like a black serpent. His crimson eyes seemed to be bleeding, and the howling wind resembled the wails of malevolent spirits!
Cyrus frowned, watching as the creature's pain gradually transformed into madness and excitement!
"Well, congratulations," Cyrus said, twirling his wand, seemingly indifferent.
So what if he broke free of his shackles?
What was so frightening about a Voldemort who had no body and was burdened with a curse?
Cyrus didn't take Voldemort seriously, but Voldemort's eyes were filled with greed!
A fresh body was right before him, and this body was essentially identical to his own, how could he not be tempted?
If he could seize this body, he could immediately be resurrected!
Moreover, since they were essentially the same person, there was no need to worry about incompatibility between the body and the soul.
"Your body is mine!"
At that moment, Voldemort already saw Cyrus as the perfect vessel. The black mist surged, rushing toward Cyrus.
Boom!!!
The endless black mist collided with everything in the Room of Requirement, sending furniture crashing into the ceiling!
It was as if the plug had been pulled out of a filled pool, and in an instant, the entire room's black mist formed a massive vortex, crazily swirling toward Cyrus!
Moments later, everything returned to calm.
The objects that had been hurled into the air came crashing down like a rainstorm.
In the scattered ruins, Cyrus' body seemed to be hit by a sledgehammer, standing like a puppet.
After a while, the body shook suddenly, and then he raised his head stiffly, revealing a pair of scarlet eyes!
_______
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