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The howling winds ceased at this moment, and Harry's figure appeared as the dust settled. The Invisibility Cloak was ideal for use when unnoticed, but despite Voldemort's obstructed view at the time, there were only a few objects capable of making a wizard vanish. For Voldemort, it wasn't hard to guess.
"You're even more foolish than I imagined, thinking that just wearing that cloak would keep you safe?"
"I'm tired of this game, Potter."
"Hand over the Philosopher's Stone, submit to me, and perhaps I might spare your life."
A troublesome centurion of the demon clan had been trapped by Voldemort in a sphere made of sticky mud. Voldemort summoned water like a spring and mixed it with the dirt from the floor to create a non-magical, pure mud trap. The demon clan's passive ability to absorb magic was useless against such non-magical traps. During the long millennia of war, wizards, as the dominant side, had conducted extensive research on the demon clan, and Voldemort knew many such tricks.
Harry remained silent, clenching his teeth, his eyes narrowed slightly. After chewing and swallowing the Philosopher's Stone, his body underwent a near-total transformation. A mysterious energy coursed through him, merging with every corner of his body along his magical channels. Yet, to Harry's surprise, he didn't feel any significant changes.
His strength hadn't increased, and the only thing he noticed was that his magical heart was now beating much slower than before—almost once every fifteen seconds. This made his magic flow almost return to normal. If he were to use ebony wood for casting spells now, the magic amplification would likely be about 1.6 times, with 2.2 times the magic consumption—not much different from the previous ratio of 1.5 to 2.0.
There might have been other changes, but with time running out, Harry couldn't explore them fully.
"You want the Philosopher's Stone, right?"
After hearing Voldemort's words, Harry slowly lifted his head.
"Sorry to disappoint, but the Philosopher's Stone is gone."
"I couldn't call for backup, so when I had to rely solely on myself, I had no choice but to make a decision, even if I didn't want to."
"I originally intended to use the power of the Philosopher's Stone to become a unique Animagus, but unfortunately, I can't do that now."
"The Philosopher's Stone you want is right here."
Harry patted his stomach and gave a friendly smile.
"It's a bit sharp going down, and the taste was pretty awful, but it's better than most potions—at least edible."
"The only regret is that Nicholas Flamel's description of the Stone's forty-nine effects wasn't entirely accurate. I overestimated the Stone's ability to enhance my strength. I didn't gain the power I was expecting."
Once again, the pure black human figure reassembled, with the chaotic dark energy previously contained within Harry now spilling out. This pure chaos was born from Harry's continued self-hypnosis, convincing himself that this world wasn't real. He identified himself as the Fourth Calamity, and this chaotic energy was a manifestation of that belief.
This energy was an extreme manifestation of madness, transcending the limits of good and evil, born from Harry's mind and intertwined with the natural magic. In essence, this power wasn't fundamentally different from the magic inside a wizard.
But this power wasn't sustainable. The second time Harry hypnotized himself, he knew he wouldn't be able to fool himself a third time. He understood now—this world was real. To him, it was very real. It wasn't a virtual game world, but the living, breathing world he had spent nearly twelve years in.
This chaos was like water without roots, and now that Harry could no longer deceive himself, he couldn't summon the madness and recklessness unique to the Fourth Calamity anymore.
"Let's just call this my last struggle."
"How can this little bit of blood be called a river of blood, right?"
Harry glanced at the pool of red liquid collecting in the crater on the ground and smirked. There were only eleven centurions from the demon clan. Even if they bled out completely, it wouldn't be enough to soak the entire floor.
"Whether it's your blood or mine..."
"At least let it stain the ground. Let Professor Grindelwald witness the true river of blood in the end!"
"Sectumsempra!"
The dark, evil figure lunged at Harry in an instant, like he was donning a suit of pitch-black armor. Wrapped in dark magic, Harry appeared even more sinister than Voldemort. With a booming magical explosion, a dark blade shot out from the ebony gun barrel like the scythe of death, slicing through the air and dust.
The razor-sharp magic, enhanced by the ebony wood, cut through Voldemort's thin silver shield—crafted to conserve his magic—without effort. Voldemort had not anticipated the power of the ebony wood. A look of shock crossed his face. As he stared in disbelief, the black blade seemed to transcend space itself. By the time he realized he needed to dodge, it was too late.
A burst of black mist marked Voldemort's disarray. The dark blade, passing through his form, didn't seem to harm the scattering mist, but a pained, piercing scream was proof enough of the damage.
At this moment, Voldemort was nothing more than a phantom, his body composed of dark magic. He had constructed a temporary form using black magic, one nearly indistinguishable from the Dementors in the previous room.
A fifth of the black mist dissipated in an instant, its significance unmistakable. Yet Voldemort's agonized screams ignited a nameless fury within Harry.
"Blood! Where's your blood?!"
What Grindelwald wanted to witness was a river of blood. But as a phantom, Voldemort had no flesh or blood to offer. If the prophecy led to his own blood covering the floor, wouldn't that make his death the final outcome?
"If only one of us can survive..."
Remembering Trelawney's prophecy, Harry extended his right hand. "Ivory, come."
He gripped his two-tone guns—black and white.
"Since both prophecies point to you and me, if I kill you first and fulfill the first prophecy, then without you, the second prophecy can't happen, right?"
"Professor Grindelwald, does this count as me exploiting a loophole in fate?"
In an instant, black blades filled the space before him. Ivory unleashed a torrent of seemingly endless darkness. Beyond the curtain of ebony blades, a pair of scarlet eyes glowed with malice.
"Finish him off!"
At that moment, the mud prison shattered. The demon centurion Voldemort had used as a shield was free once again. This fearless giant strode through the rain of dark blades. Any magic that couldn't kill it only served as nourishment for its growth. A creature of the Abyss, it fed on magic, and the sumptuous feast awaited just ahead.
Crimson blood splattered through the air—a strange, sweet aroma filling the atmosphere.
(End of Chapter)