After his shock, Voldemort Apparated once again, narrowly avoiding the black sword-qi that radiated annihilating power.
At the same time, Theodore Ashbourne carried Rubeus Hagrid with him, evading Voldemort's Killing Curse.
By now, Hagrid had completely lost consciousness. Blood continued to drip steadily from his wounds, darkening the forest floor beneath him.
Seeing this, Voldemort's eyes lit up.
He had to admit it—at barely fifty percent of his peak strength, killing Theodore was proving difficult.
If Theodore chose to flee, Voldemort could not stop him.
But carrying a burden?
That was a different matter.
Voldemort's wand flickered rapidly as one vicious curse after another shot toward Hagrid.
Theodore's expression turned colder still.
Brilliant golden light burst forth from his body, radiating sacred energy and erasing every spell before it could reach Hagrid.
Shock flashed through Voldemort's eyes.
What kind of defensive magic is this?
Even Albus Dumbledore could not block his Dark Magic with a single Shield Charm—he would need layered Transfiguration, Patronus reinforcement, and multiple defensive constructs.
Yet the golden radiance surrounding Theodore seemed to be the natural nemesis of Dark Magic itself.
And yet—
This was the same boy who could modify Unforgivable Curses.
By all logic, his soul should have been twisted beyond redemption. Such sacred power should have been impossible.
What exactly is wrong with him?
Countless thoughts flashed through Voldemort's mind before condensing into a single conclusion.
"Kill him," Voldemort muttered.
"Once he's dead, I'll know his secret."
"And when I obtain the Philosopher's Stone and restore my true body—combined with whatever I take from Theodore Ashbourne—Dumbledore won't stand a chance."
With that thought, Voldemort's attacks grew even more vicious.
One terrifying Dark Magic spell after another—magic ordinary Dark Wizards wouldn't even dare imagine—rained down toward Hagrid.
At that moment, Theodore leapt backward, placing Hagrid behind a massive tree at a distance.
Voldemort's gaze flickered.
"Theodore Ashbourne… are you abandoning your friend to save yourself?"
"Tut. That's only human nature."
"I'm sure Hagrid wouldn't blame you when he wakes."
"But what will you tell your friends?"
"That you left him behind and ran for your life?"
"Oh? That doesn't sound very Gryffindor."
"Aren't you lot always preaching loyalty? Won't they be disappointed?"
Moments later, Theodore stepped out from behind the tree.
A trace of delight crossed Voldemort's heart.
So my words worked.
After all, he was still just a child—a Gryffindor.
No matter how monstrous his talent, that weakness remained.
Voldemort's lips curled upward. His wand, hidden in his sleeve, began to glow faintly green.
Then—
His eyes suddenly widened in sheer disbelief.
In Voldemort's vision, Theodore's body began to grow—rapidly.
In the blink of an eye, he towered even taller than Hagrid.
Black hair whipped violently in the air. His once-handsome features twisted into something savage and feral.
Blue-green skin. Fangs bared.
A primal, ancient aura of brutality surged outward.
But that wasn't all.
Two additional heads burst forth from Theodore's neck.
Six more arms erupted from his ribs and back.
Three heads. Eight arms.
Boom!
Thunder cracked across the sky, lightning illuminating the Forbidden Forest.
And in that instant, Voldemort stood completely engulfed by the shadow cast by Theodore's monstrous form.
Voldemort was a master of Dark Transfiguration—someone who had spent decades reshaping flesh, bloodlines, and bodies.
Yet even he had never witnessed anything this insane.
Compared to this, all of his own experiments were children's games.
This wasn't merely Dark Transfiguration.
It felt as though it had surpassed the limits of magic itself.
Looking at Theodore—like a god or demon descending into the mortal world—Voldemort felt something he hadn't experienced in years.
Fear.
Instinctive. Bone-deep fear.
He screamed.
"What is this?!"
All three of Theodore's faces grinned.
"Divine ability."
"Three Heads and Eight Arms."
"You were enjoying yourself just now, weren't you?"
"Then now—return the favor."
Eight arms swung forward in unison.
The Forbidden Forest erupted.
A hurricane roared to life.
Sonic booms drowned out all sound.
The air itself twisted and surged like waves crashing toward Voldemort.
Never in his life had Voldemort imagined that air could carry such overwhelming danger.
Crack!
Crack!
Repeated Apparition blasts echoed as Voldemort fled in utter disarray.
But after activating Three Heads and Eight Arms, Theodore's power had risen beyond reason.
Vision. Hearing. Reflexes.
All had crossed into the inhuman.
Even the instant Voldemort completed Apparition, eight arms followed with another devastating strike—forcing him to flee again.
The ground shook.
Trees snapped.
Winds howled like a raging storm.
Voldemort cursed frantically.
"Damn it!"
"What is this monster?!"
"If only I had my full power—if only I had my yew wand—"
Six icy eyes locked onto him.
A chill ran through Voldemort's soul.
He's matching my Apparition… with raw physical speed?!
Is this really something that can exist in the magical world?!
Dragons. Vampires. Werewolves.
Compared to Theodore Ashbourne, they were gentle pets.
Voldemort poured every ounce of strength he had into defense.
Layer upon layer of silver shields appeared.
Every defensive spell he knew activated simultaneously.
Quirrell's wand let out a strained, miserable whine—but Voldemort didn't care.
He had finally seen hope of revival.
He would not let this body be smashed to death here.
Theodore tightened all eight grips around the Ancient Staff.
Terrifying strength and overwhelming killing intent converged.
The Sovereign of the Staff descended.
The blow fell.
Shields shattered by the dozens.
Protective spells exploded one after another.
Voldemort was hurled away like a kite with its string severed, blood spraying through the air.
His already pale face turned deathly white.
That single strike erased nearly all the gains he had earned tonight from drinking unicorn blood—leaving him barely better off than before.
Three unicorn curses.
No reward.
A catastrophic loss.
Voldemort roared, raising his wand.
"You think you've won?!"
"Theodore Ashbourne—this is your doing!"
In the next instant, he used the same escape spell he had used in Diagon Alley, dissolving into black smoke and fleeing toward Hogwarts.
Dumbledore!
Control Theodore Ashbourne!
Save me!
Theodore froze briefly—then reacted, about to give chase.
But at that moment, fragmented text flickered across the System Interface.
You once again clash in a battle of Dao-hearts with the incarnation of Duobao Daoren.
This conflict atop Mount Meishan has shaken the Nine Heavens, the Primordial Chaos, and the Purple Cloud Palace.
A single gaze descends—Hongjun has set his eyes upon you.
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