The world was pain.
Dorian's vision swam in and out of focus as his body convulsed on the cold stone floor. It felt like his skin was being torn from the inside out, his bones on fire, the magic within him twisting, writhing, trying to break free. The power he had bound to himself was now raging, feral and unchecked, no longer listening to his commands. He tried to draw breath, but it felt like his lungs were filled with shards of glass, every inhale a fresh agony.
His fingers scraped against the stone as he struggled to push himself up, but the magic lashed at him again, a violent, searing wave of energy that knocked him back down. His mind was filled with nothing but the roaring of the dark power coursing through him, tearing at his very essence, threatening to rip him apart.
Through the haze of pain, he heard Ingrid's voice, faint and distant.
"Dorian! You have to fight it!" Ingrid's boots echoed against the stone as she rushed toward him, her wand glowing faintly in the darkness. Her voice cut through the storm of magic, but it felt so far away, like she was speaking to him from the edge of a void.
Dorian clenched his teeth, trying to focus, trying to pull himself out of the abyss of his own creation. The power... it was suffocating him. He had never felt anything like this. This wasn't just losing control—this was being consumed.
"Get back!" he gasped, barely able to form the words. His voice was hoarse, weak. The magic surged again, and his body convulsed, his vision flashing white as he screamed, the sound echoing through the corridor.
Ingrid stopped a few feet from him, her eyes wide with alarm, but she didn't retreat. Instead, she raised her wand, and the air around her shimmered as she whispered a series of protective incantations. The glow from her spells cast long shadows against the ancient walls, and for a brief moment, Dorian could see her face clearly—stern, determined, but tinged with something else. Fear.
"You can't let it take you," she urged, stepping closer despite the waves of dark energy crackling around him. "You have to take control. This power... it's feeding off you, Dorian. You have to push it back."
But Dorian couldn't hear her. His mind was a tempest, a storm of whispers and chaos. The power he had so carefully cultivated, so eagerly embraced, had turned on him, sinking its claws into his soul. The whispers that had once been seductive now screamed in his ears, deafening and relentless.
Give in. Let go.
"No..." Dorian rasped, his body shaking violently as he tried to resist the pull of the magic. But the force was too strong, too overwhelming. His vision blurred again, the world slipping away, dissolving into darkness.
Ingrid stepped closer, her wand raised. "Dorian—"
Before she could finish, the dark magic erupted from him, wild and untamed, lashing out in all directions. Ingrid barely had time to throw up a shield before the wave of energy crashed into her, sending her skidding back across the stone floor, her protective spells flickering under the force of the assault.
Dorian screamed again, this time not in pain, but in raw fury. His body lifted off the ground, suspended in the air by the sheer force of the dark power coursing through him. His eyes blazed with unnatural light, and the runes on his skin, remnants of the rituals he had performed, glowed with dark energy.
The corridor trembled as cracks spread through the stone walls, and the torches flickered wildly, the air charged with volatile magic. The very foundations of Durmstrang seemed to groan under the weight of it, as if the ancient castle itself was trying to resist the power that had been unleashed within its walls.
Ingrid pushed herself up, her eyes wide as she watched Dorian levitate, the air around him warping and crackling with dangerous energy. "Dorian, stop! You're going to destroy everything!"
But Dorian couldn't hear her anymore. The power had consumed him, twisted him, and now it was in control. His hands clenched into fists, and without a word, he hurled another wave of dark energy at Ingrid, faster, more violent this time.
Ingrid barely had time to react. She threw herself to the side, rolling across the floor as the wave of magic tore through the corridor, shattering the stone where she had been standing just moments before. Dust and debris filled the air, and Ingrid coughed, scrambling to her feet, her wand raised defensively.
"Dorian!" she shouted, her voice filled with desperation now. "You have to fight it! You're not—"
But Dorian was already moving. He was nothing more than a blur of shadows and power now, his body a conduit for the ancient magic that raged within him. He moved with unnatural speed, closing the distance between them in an instant, his hand raised, crackling with dark energy.
Ingrid's eyes widened, but she didn't retreat. Instead, she stood her ground, her wand glowing brightly as she prepared for the attack.
"Enough!" Ingrid yelled, and with a swift, powerful motion, she cast a spell that sent a blinding light erupting from her wand, a barrier of pure energy that slammed into Dorian just as he reached her.
The force of the spell knocked Dorian back, sending him crashing into the stone wall behind him with a sickening thud. For a brief moment, everything went still.
Dorian collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, his body trembling as the dark energy inside him flickered, weakened but not extinguished. His mind was reeling, his thoughts a chaotic storm of pain, fury, and the insatiable hunger of the magic that still clung to him like a parasite.
Ingrid lowered her wand, panting heavily, her eyes never leaving Dorian. Her face was a mix of relief and concern, but the tension in her stance remained. She had bought herself a moment, but she knew it wouldn't last.
"Dorian," she said, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "You need to stop. This isn't who you are."
For a long moment, Dorian didn't respond. He lay on the floor, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his body trembling from the aftermath of the magic. But slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up, his eyes burning with dark, unnatural light.
"This is who I am," he growled, his voice barely recognizable, twisted by the power that had consumed him. "You don't understand, Ingrid. I'm not like you. I was meant for this."
Ingrid shook her head, her expression hardening. "No one is meant for this. It's killing you, Dorian."
Dorian staggered to his feet, his body still weak, but the magic inside him surged again, stronger now, feeding off his anger, his desperation. He clenched his fists, and the air around him crackled with energy, the shadows in the corridor growing darker, more oppressive.
"I'm stronger than you think," he said, his voice cold and menacing. "Stronger than any of you."
Ingrid's eyes narrowed. "Then prove it. Take control of yourself."
For a brief second, something in Dorian's expression shifted—doubt, fear, something buried deep beneath the layers of darkness and ambition that had consumed him. But then the moment passed, and the cold, twisted resolve returned.
"No," Dorian whispered, the dark magic swirling around him like a vortex. "I'll show you what real power looks like."
And before Ingrid could react, Dorian raised both hands, the magic surging through him with renewed intensity. The air around him distorted, warping as the dark energy built to a terrifying crescendo, ready to be unleashed in one final, devastating attack.
Ingrid's heart raced as she braced herself, her wand trembling in her hand. She had never seen Dorian like this—so far gone, so consumed by the magic that he had once wielded so carefully. There was no reasoning with him now. The Dorian she knew was gone, replaced by something darker, something far more dangerous.
And then, just as the magic reached its peak, ready to tear through the corridor in a wave of destruction, the shadows behind Dorian shifted.
From the darkness, a figure emerged.
Thorne Yaxley.
His pale face was expressionless as he stepped into the corridor, his eyes gleaming with a cold, unsettling intensity. He raised his hand, and without a word, a pulse of dark energy shot from his palm, striking Dorian in the back.
Dorian's body seized, the surge of magic faltering as the blast of energy hit him. His eyes widened in shock as he stumbled forward, his control over the dark power slipping. The vortex of energy around him flickered, then collapsed, leaving the corridor eerily silent.
Dorian fell to his knees, gasping for breath, the magic within him weakened, but not gone. He turned his head, his eyes blazing with fury, as he locked eyes with Yaxley.
"What… have you done?" Dorian rasped, his voice trembling with anger.
Yaxley's smile was cold, devoid of any warmth. "You were getting out of hand, Selwyn. And we can't have that, now can we?"
Dorian's mind reeled, the magic still buzzing in his veins, but his strength was fading, his body unable to contain the dark power any longer. Yaxley's presence was suffocating, his cold, calculating gaze never leaving Dorian.
"You've taken too much," Yaxley said, his voice low and dangerous. "And now, it's time to pay the price."
Before Dorian could respond, the darkness around them surged again, this time under Yaxley's command. And Dorian knew, with a sickening certainty, that the real fight had only just begun.