The cold night air swept through Durmstrang, biting and sharp as it whistled through the castle's ancient corridors. Dorian moved silently through the dark halls, his footfalls barely audible against the stone floor. His mind buzzed with the remnants of the latest ritual, its power still thrumming in his veins. But something was different tonight. The magic felt heavier, more volatile. It whispered to him constantly now, a constant background hum of hunger and need.
And with it came the promise of violence.
His body still trembled from the sheer force of the dark ritual he had performed with Yaxley earlier that night. It had been more dangerous than anything he had ever attempted—magic that required blood, sacrifice, and willpower that pushed Dorian to the edge of his abilities. The whispers had been louder than ever, drowning out his thoughts, filling his mind with darkness and ambition. He had pushed through it, barely, his control teetering on the edge of collapse.
But the magic wasn't satisfied. It was never satisfied.
As he descended into one of Durmstrang's lower, forgotten wings, the shadows seemed to thicken around him, the air colder, the silence more oppressive. It felt as though the castle itself was watching, waiting for what was to come.
Dorian's heart raced with the thrill of the unknown. The power inside him had begun demanding more—more than just quiet manipulation, more than whispered secrets and hidden spells. It craved blood, violence, domination. And tonight, he would give it what it wanted.
Ahead of him, down the shadowy corridor, Dorian sensed the faintest flicker of movement. His senses had become sharper since the last ritual, attuned to even the subtlest disturbances. He stopped, narrowing his eyes, feeling the dark magic coil within him, ready to strike.
He wasn't alone.
From the shadows, a figure emerged—Lukas Grimmel. His brutish frame filled the narrow passageway, and though his sneer was as cocky as ever, there was something off about him. His eyes glinted with an intensity that hadn't been there before, and his wand was already drawn.
"Selwyn," Grimmel spat, his voice a low growl. "I've been waiting for this."
Dorian's lips curled into a dangerous smile, but his heart remained steady, even as the dark magic surged within him, eager for the inevitable conflict. He knew this would come eventually. Grimmel was too proud, too stupid to let the humiliation of their last encounter go unanswered.
"And here I thought you'd learned your lesson," Dorian replied, his voice calm, almost bored. "Apparently, you haven't had enough."
Grimmel's eyes flashed with anger, and he stepped closer, his wand raised, trembling with suppressed rage. "I'm not afraid of you, Selwyn. You might think you're some big-shot dark wizard, but I'm done playing your games."
Dorian's grip tightened around his wand, the whispers in his mind growing louder, urging him to act, to strike first, to show Grimmel the true depths of his power. He could end this quickly—one spell, one burst of magic, and Grimmel would be nothing more than a lifeless heap at his feet.
But where was the satisfaction in that?
"I'm giving you one chance, Grimmel," Dorian said quietly, his voice dripping with menace. "Walk away now, and you might live to see another day."
Grimmel laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. "You think you can threaten me? You think you're invincible?" He jabbed his wand toward Dorian, the tip glowing with raw, uncontrolled magic. "You're nothing, Selwyn. Nothing but a coward hiding behind dark tricks."
The magic inside Dorian roared in response, pushing against his control. He could feel it now, surging through his veins like a storm, begging to be unleashed. But he held it back, savoring the tension, the anticipation.
"You really have no idea what you're dealing with," Dorian said softly, his voice like ice. "But you will."
In a blur of motion, Grimmel's wand flashed, and a burst of light shot toward Dorian. He didn't even flinch. With a flick of his wrist, Dorian summoned the dark magic, forming a shimmering shield that absorbed the attack effortlessly. The air crackled with energy as the spell dissipated, and for a moment, Grimmel's face twisted with uncertainty.
Dorian's eyes gleamed with cold amusement. "Is that all you've got?"
Before Grimmel could react, Dorian retaliated. He whispered a curse under his breath, and the magic surged forward like a living thing, dark tendrils of energy wrapping around Grimmel's body, constricting, crushing. Grimmel gasped, his eyes wide with panic as he struggled against the invisible bonds, but it was futile. The magic was too strong, too overwhelming.
"You should've walked away," Dorian said, his voice low and dark.
Grimmel's face twisted in pain, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the dark tendrils tightened around him, squeezing the life out of him inch by inch. His wand clattered to the floor, forgotten in his desperation to free himself.
But Dorian wasn't done. The whispers in his mind screamed for more—for blood, for destruction, for power. His control slipped, just for a moment, and the magic responded in kind, its hunger growing more vicious, more violent.
"Stop… please," Grimmel choked out, his voice barely a whisper.
Dorian's hand trembled. He could feel the power rushing through him, its weight intoxicating. It would be so easy to finish this, to let the magic take Grimmel's life and end the pathetic struggle. His fingers tightened on his wand, the decision hanging in the balance.
But then, from the corner of his vision, Dorian saw another figure step into the corridor, one he hadn't sensed approaching.
Ingrid Ravnsborg.
"That's enough, Dorian," Ingrid's voice cut through the darkness like a blade. It wasn't a plea. It was a command.
For a brief moment, the power inside him faltered. He turned to face her, his eyes burning with dark energy, the magic still coursing through him like a wild storm. Ingrid stood there, her expression grim but resolute, her wand at the ready. Her presence was a reminder—a reminder of the line Dorian was about to cross.
"Let him go," Ingrid said, her voice cold and firm.
Dorian's mind raced, torn between the insatiable hunger of the magic and the faint echo of his humanity that still clung to the edge of his consciousness. The dark energy around Grimmel pulsed, tightening one last time before Dorian forced himself to release it. The tendrils of magic unraveled, and Grimmel collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, his body limp and broken but still alive.
Ingrid's eyes never left Dorian, but there was no relief in her expression—only a dark understanding of what had almost happened.
Dorian's breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he fought to regain control over the magic that still surged inside him. He took a step back, trying to calm the storm raging in his mind, but the whispers were relentless, urging him to finish what he had started.
"You're losing control," Ingrid said softly, stepping closer. "This magic is consuming you, Dorian. It's turning you into something you won't recognize."
Dorian's eyes flashed with anger, the power inside him flaring once more. "I am in control," he snarled, but even as he said the words, they felt hollow, empty.
"You're not," Ingrid said quietly. "And if you keep going like this, you'll destroy yourself—and everyone around you."
Dorian opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, a sudden, searing pain shot through his body, unlike anything he had ever felt before. His vision blurred, his muscles seizing as the dark magic inside him rebelled, lashing out against him. He staggered, clutching at his chest, gasping for breath as the power he had wielded so easily only moments ago turned on him.
Ingrid's eyes widened in alarm. "Dorian!"
But before she could reach him, the corridor was filled with a blinding, violent surge of energy. The walls shook, the floor cracked beneath his feet, and Dorian was consumed by the darkness, his screams lost in the maelstrom of magic.
And then, everything went black.