Final Cut

If there was a ceiling for how much anger one could feel, it was a glass one because Quinn had shattered it the moment the link between the Horcrux and Voldemort's soul was broken. And when he found that Rivers Lock was the reason behind it, his fury was no longer quantifiable.

Quinn raised his hand towards the offending Death Eater and clenched it into a fist. Rivers rose up from the ground, his limbs stretched straight, forcing him into a starfish posture as he floated towards Quinn at a blazing speed that pushed his cheeks back, revealing the gums and teeth. Quinn opened his fist and hit the brakes on Rivers' body. If not for Quinn restricting Rivers' body— it would've folded in on itself by the force of the sudden stop.

"Do you know what you did just now?" Quinn said, glowering. "You inconsequential bug, how dare you interfere with ME?!" He pulled on Rivers' limb, extending the joints to the point the joints could almost pop off but didn't.

Rivers screamed, but his body couldn't even wriggle in struggle.

"I am more furious than I was when Voldemort cursed me," Quinn's nostrils flared as he pursed his lips to forcibly seal his mouth.

Rivers opened his mouth, "I— argh!!!" He screamed again, and a light waft of white smoke escaped his mouth. Rivers stuck out his tongue, and the pinkish muscle had been charred into a burnt mess.

"Did I say you could speak," Quinn said, a cruel light burning in his eyes. ". . . I will deal with you later when I have time." He waved his hand, and Rivers was sent flying. The Death Eater's body hit the ground and dragged on the ground for dozen feet before coming to a stop.

Quinn turned back to Voldemort and Dumbledore's fight. The battlefield was an orchestra of chaos played through magic, flashing lights, dust, and two men hellbent on killing each other. If not for the soul sense picking up on the souls of Dumbledore and Voldemort, Quinn wouldn't have been able to spot anything beyond the obstructive could of raging magic.

'One more time,' Quinn raised his arms towards the duel.

Slytherin's Locket and the Resurrection Stone felt heavy in his hands. His shoulders begged him to put his arms down and rest for a moment; his mind screamed the same. A part of him wanted to listen and put his efforts down and watch, but the dominant part wouldn't let him rest— it wasn't time to do so, not until the end.

He locked onto Voldemort's soul, and an invisible line appeared connecting it to the Horcrux, a line only visible to Quinn's golden eyes.

'One more time.'

His soul nudged the Resurrection Stone awake, and the soul artifact welcomed the rich magic provided to it and, in return, filled Quinn's soul with its power. Quinn perked up as the fatigue retreated; his being felt rejuvenated once more. Arduously, carefully, he channeled the power into the invisible line connecting the two souls— immediately, the invisible line thickened and gained a faint color.

It was easier than the previous three times but still something that made Quinn subconsciously stick out his tongue in concentration. The process was as infuriatingly slow as watching sand trickle down an hourglass in hopes that it would go faster. Why did magic of such greater importance have to be so slow? Nothing healthy ever tasted delicious. Medicine had to be bitter. Did everything good always have to have something negative attached to it? Was this nature's way of maintaining balance?

Eventually, the soul power saturated the invisible line, and Quinn returned to where he was before Rivers interrupted him. Just like before, anticipation bubbled inside him like boiling water. With one last push, the soul power poured into the line, and Quinn followed by casting Empyrean, providing the line with a 'physical' form.

A gleaming golden line greeted the world. Voldemort's angry proclamations announcing its arrival.

Quinn didn't grin or beam. Instead, his brows merged together as he prepared himself to pull as much of Voldemort's main soul so that he could cut a piece off, causing pain and harm.

'I'm stronger,' Quinn thought as he pulled. 'My soul is stronger. My soul is whole. My soul is better.' His soul had always been more robust because of his status as an outsider, as a transmigrator. He pulled and pulled on, and the other side pulled back, ensuing a tug-of-war.

Even with Quinn's belief that his soul was stronger, Voldemort was no slouch. It was magically exhausting to go against Voldemort. To compete, he had to unplug the sink in his magical reserve and let it drain into the Resurrection Stone so that it could fill his soul with its power and use it to pit against Voldemort.

In the pulling contest, Quinn was at an inherent disadvantage because he was trying to pull Voldemort's soul using Voldemort's Horcrux. To overcome that drawback, he had to compensate with brute forcing as he didn't have the skill to overcome the gap. It worked; Voldemort's soul began to move along the golden line towards Quinn.

'A little more,' Quinn breathed heavily as he felt the soul move towards him. He took out the dagger and raised it above his shoulder as the runes came to life. 'Just a bit more.' This was going to be the last attack; Quinn wanted to do as much damage as possible.

"Now!" Quinn swung the dagger down, but before he could slice the line, his arm froze mid-swing. It was not only his arm; his entire body felt like it had been encased in metal, robbing him of any movement.

"Not so fast now." The moon shone from behind, casting a shadow to the front. Quinn looked down and saw his shadow move and turn from something resembling him to something entirely else. The shadow lengthened, the torso leaned, limbs leaned, and the head turned round, void of hair. When red slits appeared as eyes on the head of the shadow, Quinn realized who the new shadow was.

"You think you can kill me, child?" Voldemort's voice sounded more sinister than usual. It seemed to be coming from just behind Quinn, but he couldn't turn to look. However, he knew the voice was projected by magic. "I will have you tell me how you are doing this—"

Quinn roared as more magic burst out from his core.

"What!" Voldemort exclaimed, and the shadow wavered.

Quinn forced his arm down against whatever magic Voldemort had cast. Every muscle fiber used to make the swinging motion trembled as the arm crept. "Enough you. . . sick fuck!" Quinn screamed as the dagger's tip slowly touched the golden line— and that was enough to sever the line.

Quinn waited for the hold on him to break, but it didn't. He gazed down at his shadow— it was trembling in and out of shape. Quinn was in disbelief. How could Voldemort maintain a spell after suffering a soul injury?!

"I will. . . make you. . . pay!" Voldemort's voice snarled.

Quinn felt a sense of danger pass over him.

It was swift and sudden. A magic passed over Quinn, and the right side of his body burst open. His right arm and leg were gone, and so were parts of his stomach, pancreas, intestine, and entire spleen. Quinn collapsed to the ground immediately, and blood began to pour out as he went into shock.

But a moment before the internal shock hit, Quinn lit his mind up with magic and used the remaining power in his soul. He knew the shock would come when he felt the first sign of injury— and the moment it hit, mind and soul snapped him out of it.

'Injury status: fatal,' said a voice inside Quinn's head. 'Preservation needed.' Magic inside his body reacted, and various forms of spells covered his body. Body magic clenched the muscles around his wounds, while blood magic kept blood from pouring out of his body, and various healing spells pooled around to keep him alive. An injury like this would've killed a non-magical in an instant. It was no different for Quinn; if not treated, he would die— all he could do was hug his life until someone helped him.

Like a machine, Quinn looked to his side with no emotion in his eyes. The Slytherin's Locket lay a couple feet away from him. The Horcrux was still intact and needed to be destroyed, or else Voldemort would still live.

'I need to destroy it,' Quinn raised his left, still good hand and tapped the patch on his chest. In the process, he coughed up blood, and more sputtered out of his wound despite his magic. A small vial of Basilisk venom appeared on his chest. The cork popped out, and the vial floated shakily to the Horcrux. It tipped to the side, and the drops of venom spilled down on the locket, melting a hole to the center of the locket. A hiss and black smoke later, the Horcrux was destroyed.

'It is done,' Quinn thought as his conscious grew weaker. 'Can I rest now?' he asked himself, but he knew that resting now meant not waking up ever again.

He stared at the sky; he couldn't see any stars; there were clouds and dust that blocked their light from reaching him. Quinn found his emotions returning as the need to be razor-sharp had faded.

Quinn heard the sound of footsteps. He felt his hopes go up for a second, but then he realized they were coming from the wrong side. He barely moved his head to the side and saw Rivers Lock dragging his feet to him.

"Look at you," Rivers said, a mocking smile on his bruised face, "not so mighty now, are you?"

Quinn stared at him; that was all he could do. He had sacrificed that leeway trying to destroy the Horcrux. Any action right now meant death. If he physically moved, his magic wouldn't be able to keep him alive. If he used magic, it would break the delicate balance the spells operating on him were in, which would yet again mean death.

"You ruined my life," Rivers said. "Since the day I met you, my life has gone all wrong. You were the reason why I went to Azkaban. You're the reason I ended up as a Death Eater. When I thought I had made myself safe in that cesspool, you foiled my plan. I had just gotten out of Pettigrew's supervision, and the Dark Lord had begun trusting me. But there you were again, the Invisible Vigilante, Death Eaters' nemesis. Do you know how much pleasure that man takes in torturing others? He put me through all worlds of pain until he was bored and then ordered me to fight here at Hogwarts like nothing ever happened. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?!"

Quinn simply stared at Rivers. He had no idea what Rivers was talking about. He was in no capacity to even think about it, not that there was anything he could do about the situation anyway.

'I don't want to die like this,' thought Quinn. His magic trembled as the thought passed. He had destroyed Voldemort's Horcrux, injured him, and served him on the silver platter to Dumbledore. He had been successful in his mission. He could finally return home now. It was time to get back to his life.

"Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic," Rivers spat. "Even if I kill you know, I won't feel any contentment. . . . I guess I can only kill you today and then go after your family for revenge. It will only be a pity that—"

A cut appeared on Rivers' throat, and blood sputtered out. He grabbed his throat as shock and panic pierced his eyes. He looked at Quinn as blood leaked from between his fingers and hand. Rivers opened his mouth, but nothing came out except some gurgling noises.

Quinn watched Rivers collapse on the ground with emotionless eyes. If he was going to die today, he was at least going to make sure that there was one less threat against his family.

'I would have liked to say my goodbye.' The faces of his family and friends passed through his mind as he felt his body go cold. He wanted to say his sorries, right the wrongs, and go out without those regrets.

Tears dripped down the side of Quinn's face as his eye grew heavy.

Finally, he felt his magic grow weaker.

Then. . . he closed his eyes.

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FictionOnlyReader - Author - To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.

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